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"This," Rocinante said, looking around, "is not a private beach."
"No, it's not," Doffy mildly agreed.
Rocinante sighed. Doffy probably just wanted to show off.
Honestly, the man reveled in showing off, and now that Rocinante was examining the beach closer, this was a place for show-offs alright: glorious golden sand, young pretty people lying around frying in the sun, an exclusive-looking club with a terrace a few feet to the side. Rocinante just hoped Doffy wasn't in the mood for dancing all night long. While Doffy was an excellent dancer indeed, Rocinante needed his proper sleep to feel like a human being rather that a wobbly pile of shit and twigs.
Anyway, Doffy wouldn't just be showing off his silent bodyguards stoically sweating in their black suits some few feet behind their backs, or his car brazenly parked in the no parking zone, or his own toned, improbably fit body. He would also be showing off Rocinante, and Rocinante did not intend to spend the day in his linen trousers and long-sleeved shirt. Doffy promised him a beach, Doffy brought him to the beach, and Rocinante fully intended to enjoy the beach and everything it offered — including the chance to lose his trousers for a while.
He doubted he was going to get all that brown, seeing as he wasn't exactly sure whether scar tissue could tan at all. But he was still going to lie in the sun and enjoy it, too.
On the other hand, maybe Doffy wanted to show off his scars, too, and the way they so indelibly marked Rocinante as his property; particularly the ones on his stomach, the three letters Doffy so insensitively liked to trace with his fingers and/or tongue.
Whatever. Rocinante was enjoying himself, period, no matter what was brewing in that sick head of Doffy's.
He shook off his shirt, shimmied out of his trousers, heard some whispers nearby. A little girl loudly noted how his body was all weird. But then again, it wasn't much to look at even before all the scars, so Rocinante wasn't too bothered.
Doffy sauntered up to him, brandishing a bottle of sunscreen and a wide grin.
"Darling," he invitingly said.
"Okay, alright, do whatever you want," Rocinante sighed. "Just, there are kids around. Tone it down a little bit, won't you?"
"But of course," Doffy grandly promised, looking like he wasn't toning down shit. Indeed, the way he rubbed the sunscreen into Rocinante's skin felt much too bedroomy for a public beach. Rocinante imagined Doffy being kicked out for public indecency, and involuntarily snorted.
"What is it, darling?" Doffy asked him, his mouth against Rocinante's ear.
"You," Rocinante shrugged, enjoying the touch nonetheless, "you're being ridiculous. Are you all done?" He wrestled away the bottle. "Can't have you burning in the sun, now can I? You're insufferable enough as it is."
Although, now that he was the one doing Doffy's skin, he kinda understood and forgave his grabbiness. Seeing Doffy like that, nearly naked and bathed in midday sunlight, was almost too much for his aesthetic sensibility.
He managed to get Doffy's skin all done in a more or less reasonable time. He didn't even get too hard. But when he was done, he couldn't help but press his lips to Doffy's shoulder, just for a moment.
He raised his head and saw Doffy grin. The Doffy just plopped down on the beach lounge chair under a tall white canopy, dragging Rocinante with him.
"What — no, what," Rocinante complained. "What's even the point of going to the beach if you're just going to molest me. You could have done that in the bedroom."
"Variety is the spice of life," Doffy wisely said. "Stop squirming."
The lounge chair was short and uncomfortably narrow, but Doffy somehow made them both fit, if only barely.
Rocinante closed his eyes and listened to the susurrating whispers of the tide, and to Doffy's steady heartbeat.
Something hot was stirring the hair over his forehead; either the summer wind or Doffy's breath. Whatever it was, it felt nice, like slow, soft strokes against his skin.
Rocinante was already dozing off when he felt Doffy get out from under his body.
"I'm going for a swim," Doffy breezily said. "Shall I get you anything?"
"A piña colada," Rocinante mumbled, now all sleepy. "Don't you drown there, the paperwork will be such a pain."
"I'm touched by your concern," Doffy seriously said. "Roger that. My darling wants a piña colada, my darling gets a piña colada."
"Oh, is that how this works?" Rocinante muttered without opening his eyes. "Okay then, your darling wants you to behave like a decent man and stop molesting me in broad daylight."
"I'm afraid wish granting only extends to piña coladas," Doffy said from above, "seeing as those are actually doable."
Then, Rocinante felt a light brush of lips over his own.
"I love you too," he said, already half asleep, "now go away."
He woke up with a start, impassive dark eyes staring him down from behind Doffy's back. He nearly fell off the lounge chair, flailed his hands, and hit his nose on the table by the chair.
Magically, impossibly, unexplainably, he managed to knock over his piña colada and get the chilly white liquid all over his torso.
"Aw, damn," he lamented, looking down at his wet chest and soaked swim trunks with great annoyance. And he really wanted that piña colada, too.
His nose was smarting, but the pain was already going down, so the thing that troubled him most was the wasted cocktail. He regarded the lamentably empty glass on the sand, pensively prodded it with his foot and glanced down at his chest, which now was cold and dripping with sticky liquid.
He sighed, experimentally dragged his fingers through the white dregs on his chest and stuck them in his mouth, hoping the piña colada was shitty and unworthy of his bitter regret.
It was heavenly. Damn, now he regretted his eternal clumsiness even more. Distraught, he mechanically sucked the cocktail off his fingers.
Well, at least now he had a good reason to finally take a swim. Although Rocinante couldn't swim very well — or, indeed, at all. He didn't get to learn before their Mother and Father died, and after that, it wasn't much about swimming for him. So on the rare occasions when he did get to spend time by the waterside, he'd just walk into the water until it reached his chest, and then splash for a while. Which still felt nice, if Rocinante did say so himself.
"Need any help with that?" he heard as he was getting up. He raised his head.
A very toned, reasonably tall young man was standing in front of him, covered in water drops and smiling wide, his teeth perfectly straight and perfectly white.
"No," Rocinante said, "thank you, though. I'll just wash this off in the sea."
The man trailed after him, even though he was obviously fresh out of water. Rocinante inwardly shrugged. They lived in a free country.
"Cool scarification work," the man said from behind his back. "I love how it's all kinda messy and chaotic, but obviously done by a pro. Looks damn sick. I particularly like the touch on the letter F, the way it looks kinda — unfinished. Do the letters mean anything?"
Rocinante blinked. Well, that was one way to look at his scars.
"Indeed they do," he mildly agreed.
The man seemingly expected him to go on, but Rocinante just kept walking, taking in the endless blue. Doffy liked to keep him by his side at all times, and the wide, dazzlingly blue sea was not on Doffy's daily itinerary. Rocinante didn't exactly mind Doffy's obsessive attentions, seeing as he got off on them just as much as Doffy did, but, well.
Watching the sea was nice. Walking the sand was nice. Feeling the wind on his face and in his hair was nice, even if said wind felt uncomfortably cold on his soaked swim trunks and his chest that was still wet with white liquid.
"Must have cost you a pretty penny, eh?" the talkative young man continued.
More like thirteen years of his life, and Law's, too. Doffy's as well, as destroyed as he looked, waiting for him in that shabby Nest room.
"Yes," Rocinante said, "the price tag was big. Maybe a bit too big."
"Well, at least they look damn cool," the man said, persistently walking by his side. He was a good head shorter than Rocinante.
"Indeed," Rocinante chuckled.
"What, can't you swim?" the man asked once they were in the water, no trace of mocking in his voice; he just sounded amused.
"No," Rocinante shrugged, this time openly. "Never learned. Can you?"
"Yeah," the man brightened up, "I'm on the swim team for my uni, actually. Want me to teach you?"
Rocinante thoughtfully pondered the offer. Most likely, he was going to learn fuck all, what with the limited time and everything. But then again, he had long learned to never turn down an opportunity.
"Why not," he finally said, "maybe you'll even manage to get me to stay afloat for a second or two. So, you're a uni student? What is your field of study?"
Rocinante walked back to the lounge chair, feeling refreshed and uplifted. He still couldn't swim for shit, but he did enjoy the impromptu class and the conversation, and most importantly, the water.
"I've never seen eyes like yours," his instructor told him, "the color of the midday sea."
His instructor had nice eyes himself, a warm hazel color, so Rocinante told him just that and tried not to drown, again.
In the end, he couldn't even remain afloat for a fucking second. He laughed.
"Have you ever seen a swimmer so hopeless?" he said, pushing his wet hair away from his forehead. It kept getting in his face and dripping all over his shoulders. Damn, he was enjoying this day.
"It's all a matter of practice," his instructor shrugged, "we can continue our swimming lessons if you want. Just give me your number, and we'll work something out."
Rocinante seriously considered the offer. The man clearly wasn't doing it just to be altruistic; he definitely had some hidden agenda. What was it, though? Rocinante couldn't be sure.
Maybe the man was just trying to get to Doffy through him, or to get into Doffy's good graces. Well, that was a very wrong way to go about it. Doffy was quite convinced Rocinante should only be allowed to walk into the sea up to his belly button, preferably on a leash and wearing a life jacket.
Whatever. Rocinante would take whatever excuse he could to go to the beach some more, and Doffy could go eat shit, for all he cared.
"Deal," he smiled, and the man beamed back at him with those artificially perfect teeth.
When they got back to the lounge chair Doffy was already waiting for him with two fresh piña coladas, looking slightly burnt, like he spent a bit too long in the water and never reapplied his sunscreen. Damn, he was going to be grumpy tonight, wasn't he?
As they approached, Doffy's eyebrows steadily rose higher and higher. Rocinante imagined he wasn't very happy about his instructor's hand around his waist, but then again, he did nearly fall on an old lady's lap on their way to the lounge chair, so he kinda appreciated the help.
"Darling," Doffy smoothly said, "I see you're making some new acquaintances."
Rocinante's instructor looked surprised and a bit uneasy.
"Sorry," he said to Rocinante, "is that your boyfriend?"
Rocinante laughed. Doffy and the word "boyfriend" just did not go together.
"No," he said, "that's my brother." He dropped the "lover" part, seeing as it was a bit unconventional and bound to cause confusion. "Ah, thanks, Doffy. How did you know I needed a new one?" he grabbed one of the piña coladas.
"I know you, darling," Doffy casually shrugged, "I imagine it was quite a sight, too. Shame I wasn't there to see it."
Honestly, with his luck Rocinante might just end up repeating the show. He gripped the glass tighter, just in case. The piña colada was really unfairly good, it wouldn't do to waste something that delicious.
"I see," his instructor said, relieved, and grabbed a phone from the nearby table. Apparently, his lounge chair was a few feet from Rocinante's. "You two do look a lot alike. Now, how about that number?" he grinned at Rocinante. Honestly, if Rocinante didn't know better, he'd think the guy was flirting.
Doffy's eyebrows did something improbable on his face, but then he just chortled.
"Fuck off," he lazily told Rocinante's instructor, "he's taken."
"Are you really?" Rocinante's instructor frowned. Rocinante noncommittally shrugged, licking his lips. Damn, that piña colada was good. His instructor watched him for a bit.
"Whatever," he finally said, "the offer still stands."
"Ah, things just go in one ear and out the other with you, don't they?" Doffy genially said. "Get lost."
With the way he said it, it wasn't surprising Rocinante's instructor walked away real fast without so much as saying goodbye. Damn, and Rocinante was really looking forward to those lessons, too.
"Honestly," he scowled at Doffy. "What's your problem?"
He finished his piña colada and vengefully grabbed the second one as a recompense. Doffy just kept watching him and laughing.
"What?" Rocinante finally snapped.
"Nothing," Doffy innocently said and kissed him on the shoulder, where it met his neck. "You're adorable."
Rocinante frowned. He sensed some fishy subtext in those words.
Doffy was grinning at him, hair still wet and his earrings softly gleaming. There still was sand on his now-reddish skin, all over his strong arms and wide shoulders. Rocinante sighed.
"So are you," he vengefully shot right back at Doffy. "Stop grinning."
"Make me," Doffy invited, opening his arms.
…They did nearly get kicked out for public indecency.
Apparently, some people in the city still didn't know Doffy's face, so Rocinante had to employ all of his diplomatic skills to resolve the conflict without resorting to threats and bribery. Doffy just kept casually smiling, his hand on the lounge chair under Rocinante's ass and acting very indecently indeed.
Doffy was indeed in the mood for dancing all night long. At first Rocinante watched him with great delight and something not unlike awe, but then he got distracted by a rather lovely middle-aged, well-groomed lady who sat down at his table. While uninvited, she turned out to be very much into baroque opera and Rothko's art, so Rocinante was genuinely enjoying the conversation when Doffy came along.
On his arm, Doffy had a young, very voluptuous girl Rocinante saw him dance with.
"New acquaintances, I see," Doffy said.
"Cindry, may I introduce my brother Donquixote Doflamingo?" Rocinante courteously said. "Doffy, this is Victoria Cindry. Having fun, are you?"
The young lady on Doffy's arm looked flushed and excited. Rocinante took a sip of his martini. Now that he thought of it, it wasn't that bad an idea to come to this place. At least Doffy got to dance with someone who could actually keep up, and Rocinante got to talk to someone who actually knew who Cecilia Bartoli was, and appreciated her singing, too.
"Pleased to meet you," his new acquaintance charmingly smiled at Doffy. "So, like I said, I saw Lezhneva sing Rossini's Desdemona at the Liceu a few years ago, and she was quite something. Phenomenal, isn't she?"
"Technique-wise, she's above excellent," Rocinante agreed, "but a bit more emotion wouldn't go amiss. Still, what a gift, to see her live. It's a shame I haven't been in the city at the time."
Doffy's companion was starting to look bored. Doffy really should get back to dancing, Rocinante thought. For all that his brother mostly had good taste, he wasn't much into baroque opera or bel canto. Wagner, on the other hand, was a favorite, but there was only so much Rocinante could talk about Wagner. Right now, he was just grateful for the chance to discuss bel canto for a while.
Doffy suddenly sighed.
"Sorry, babe," he told his companion, "that's it for tonight."
The girl pouted. Rocinante goggled.
"What, are you leaving already?" he said, because he sure as fuck wasn't.
"Time for your beauty sleep, darling," Doffy sang. "Charmed," he kissed Cindry's hand and smoothly dragged Rocinante out of the table. Ah, so Rocinante was leaving, too.
"What do I do with you, darling," Doffy philosophically said by his side when they were out of the club, the salty scent of the sea mixed with the heady flower fragrance engulfing them like a great wave.
The full moon was shining brighter than any lantern, throwing sharp shadows on Doffy's face — just the way it used to when Doffy'd come to visit Rocinante back in the asylum. Doffy's face, though, looked notably different from how it used to look back under the New York moonlight.
Rocinante watched him, and thought that thirteen years of his life and a few gallons of his blood certainly weren't too big a price to pay for this expression on Doffy's face.
"Here's a fresh idea: you leave me be and let me finish the conversation," he grumbled, because as dazzling as this current Doffy was, he was still annoying as fuck.
"Hm," Doffy breezily said, "no. I don't like it."
"I don't care," Rocinante complained, "fuck off, you tyrant."
Doffy just casually stuffed him into the car, the huge BMW he got specifically because his Veyron wasn't nearly roomy enough for the things he liked to do to Rocinante.
"Ah, darling," he said, getting in after him, "you really are far too beautiful for your own good."
Rocinante didn't exactly understand what brought that comment about, but he said, just in case:
"You're not too shabby yourself. Ah. I thought I was supposed to be getting my beauty sleep."
"No," Doffy declared, "you're already excessively beautiful, so I'm not letting you sleep, in your best interest."
Well, that was one way to put the message of, 'I'm going to fuck you silly right in this very back seat.' Rocinante fatalistically sighed.
Doffy's skin definitely looked fried, though.
"Have you by any chance reapplied your sunscreen today?" Rocinante asked as he was being undressed at the speed of light. He fully expected a no, which he did indeed get. Well, Doffy wasn't a little baby, for all that he often behaved like one; it wasn't Rocinante's job to chase after him with a bottle of sunscreen, so Doffy really did bring this on himself.
Over the next couple of days, though, he'd be absolutely insufferable. Even more insufferable than usual, that was. So Rocinante resolved to count his blessings, and with another long sigh, he just let Doffy do whatever he wanted.