Work Text:
The nights were different.
The dark felt different when there was someone in it who had decided to stay. Rosinante slept better. In the mornings, sometimes Doflamingo was still there. Other times, there was only the indentation in the pillow that said he had been, and either way it was different from before.
The way Doflamingo looked at him was different too.
Rosinante was thirty-five weeks pregnant and could barely get off the bed, but Doflamingo looked at him like he was something worth looking at.
Rosinante tried not to think too much about it.
The resumed sex life had settled into a routine.
Doflamingo had favourites. Chapter four specifically. He'd mutter it as a preface before rearranging Rosinante with practiced movements. He'd then position himself in a way that made Rosinante's vision white out, leaving him embarrassingly loud every time without fail.
One night, after a particularly satisfying round.
"You're getting better at this."
"I'm good at everything."
"You... really... are," Rosinante agreed, breathless before wincing slightly when Doflamingo reached for the washcloth and started working through the pool of mess on his stomach.
Doflamingo’s mouth twitched into what almost was a smile.
"Go to sleep, Rosinante."
He went to sleep.
Thirty-five weeks.
He was enormous, his back hurt constantly, and he was tired in a way that permanently lived in his bones.
He napped most afternoons, preferring the quiet, unused study.
Doflamingo noticed.
He began stopping by frequently, as if the room had suddenly become useful to him.
He came in twice to find Rosinante asleep in the window seat. The third time, Rosinante was awake and trying to lever himself upright from the too-soft cushions. He stood beside Rosinante and let him grab his forearm without being asked.
"You're going to stop sitting in that seat."
"It's comfortable."
"It's a trap. You sink in and can't get out."
"I got out."
"With my help. You were going to be there until the child arrived."
"It was very comfortable up until the getting out part," Rosinante mumbled.
"I don't want our baby to be born on that chair."
Rosinante stared at Doflamingo's back as he moved away to grab a file.
Our baby.
He stood there with it for a moment, warmth moving through his chest before he could stop it.
The party was Disco's.
Middling, by Underworld standards. Disco had the money but not quite the standing, and the room reflected it. Doflamingo knew every face in it within thirty seconds of arriving. Knew exactly which ones were worth his time.
He came anyway. Absence sent signals he had no interest in sending.
Besides, he liked this. The high ceilings, the chandelier light. The energy of a room full of people performing respectability at significant expense.
The VIP section was exactly right. Raised platform with a full view of the room below. A table with more food than anyone would eat. Bottles expensive enough to mean something.
He settled into his seat and let the evening come to him.
He'd started with the red. Déesse. Good vintage. Disco's people had done their research.
Moved to the whiskey from the North Blue that had appeared at his elbow without him asking. Disco knew what he liked and had made sure it was there.
He finished it.
A new bottle was opened. Some kind of vodka that Doflamingo didn't hate, but didn't like either.
The women near the table were beautiful and behaved like they knew it. They aimed it at him with precision. He gave them the right smile, the one that made people feel chosen without promising anything.
He had always been good at this.
He let one of them lean close to say something in his ear and he laughed at the right moment while feeling absolutely nothing.
The fish course arrived. East Blue, peppercorn reduction. Close enough to a dish he remembered from Mary Geoise that the memory arrived before he could stop it.
Rosinante at three, pushing his untouched plate across the table without a word. Doflamingo had demanded more, and the slaves had foolishly failed to prepare extra. Rosinante had said, softly, that he didn’t want his.
Doflamingo had taken it.
Halfway through, he had looked up and caught Rosinante watching. Staring intently at the fish.
He had ordered another plate immediately. He was furious at what he couldn't name.
Rosinante had polished it in three bites.
Doflamingo set his fork down.
He looked at the woman beside him. She said something pleasant while refilling his glass. He gave the appropriate response. She laughed. It all landed the way it was supposed to.
He had been doing this for the last hour. Moving through the room without enjoying any of it.
The alcohol was good. The food was good. The women were beautiful.
He watched her hands and thought about different ones. Rougher. Clumsier.
He missed Rosinante.
The hands on him were the wrong hands.
He set his glass down. Caught Trebol's eye across the room and walked over.
"Stay," he said. And left.
Doflamingo stepped off the edge of the balcony and let his strings find the clouds the way they always did. The threads automatically shot out of his fingers, reaching towards the sky before he'd fully decided to move.
The first twenty seconds were less automatic.
The ground dropped away faster than Doflamingo expected and he had to make an undignified correction.
The wind was strong tonight. That was all.
He levelled out and moved across the night sky toward Dressrosa. The air up here was cold and helped, slightly, to clear his head. The island was already visible on the horizon, soft warm lights in all corners.
He looked at the garden, visible from this distance, and had a thought he hadn't asked for.
Rosinante on the bench, their baby on his lap, the three of them in the afternoon light.
The alcohol talking.
He had left a party he should be enjoying to go back to Rosinante, who was most definitely asleep because it was late.
Thirty-six weeks. Rosinante had refused to come the party. Had sat there with his enormous stomach and emphasised the popping risk.
Doflamingo was just checking to make sure his brother hadn't popped yet.
This was practical.
That was why he was going back.
The palace was silent.
Doflamingo moved through the corridors in the dark, into Rosinante's room.
A small lamp had been left burning. Something Rosinante started doing recently.
Rosinante was on his side, the only way he could sleep now, surrounded by the specific arrangement of pillows that had evolved over the past weeks. One between his knees, one at his back, one under his head. His hair was loose across the pillow, belly large and heavy, hand curled against his chest.
Doflamingo stood in the doorway for a moment, taking the sight in. A few more weeks, and he wouldn't have this view again. Not for a while at least.
He came in, closed the door, and sat on the edge of the bed. He reached out and touched his hair. Rosinante's hair was always softer than it looked.
He touched his face after. The line of his jaw. The slope of his cheekbone. A small scar at the corner near his eyebrow. He’d gotten it as a child. Clumsy, even then.
He caught himself. He was about to withdraw his hand when Rosinante's face turned toward his palm. He was not awake yet, just turning toward it, the way you turned toward warmth without deciding to. His face pressed into Doflamingo's hand and stayed there.
Doflamingo went still.
Rosinante surfaced slowly. His brow creased as his hand found Doflamingo's wrist in the dark.
He opened his eyes, looking at Doflamingo for a moment.
"What are you doing here?" His voice was rough with sleep. He hadn't moved Doflamingo's hand from his face. "Shouldn't you be at the party?"
"It was boring."
Rosinante looked at him, unimpressed.
"Doffy. You love Disco's parties."
"Not always."
"You love any party with a VIP platform and expensive whiskey."
Silence.
"You weren't there," Doflamingo said, barely a murmur.
Rosinante froze.
Then he moved his hand to cover Doflamingo's where it rested against his face. His thumb moved once across the back of his knuckles.
"You smell like their alcohol," Rosinante said. "It's making me nauseous."
"Disco has inferior taste."
"Go wash it off."
He still hadn't let go of his hand.
"I'll come."
Rosinante was already moving before Doflamingo could reply, hauling himself upright with careful effort.
Doflamingo stood quietly and let Rosinante put a hand briefly on his arm for the last push.
Rosinante got himself upright. Stood there, enormous, hair sticking up everywhere, sleep shirt not quite covering his stomach.
Doflamingo looked at him for a moment longer than necessary.
"Bathroom," Rosinante said. "Let's go."
Doflamingo went.
Doflamingo ran the water while undressing. Efficient as always. Except for the shirt button he missed entirely and didn't notice until he tried taking his shirt off
Rosinante, who was standing beside the tub, watched and said nothing. He pressed his lips tightly together.
"Don't," Doflamingo said, without looking at him.
"I didn't say anything."
"You were about to."
Doflamingo stepped in as Rosinante lowered himself onto the edge of the tub.
"The edge is wet," Doflamingo muttered.
"I'm not going to fall."
"You don't know that."
"I know that you'll catch me if I do."
Doflamingo looked at him and didn't disagree.
He reached for the shampoo. Got a reasonable amount into his palm and started working it through his hair.
He immediately got some in his eyes. He closed them, pretending nothing happened and kept scrubbing.
Rosinante watched this for a moment. Then he leaned forward and took over, working the lather properly through from the roots.
"I can do it myself," Doflamingo mumbled, yet his hands dropped without protest.
"Yes, Doffy. I know you can." Rosinante pressed harder, his thumbs massaging the base of his skull. The tension that lived that permanently began to give.
Doflamingo let out a soft exhale while his shoulders dropped by degrees.
"Was the food good at least?"
"The fish was good."
"What kind?"
"East Blue. Peppercorn reduction."
"Mm." His hands kept moving. "Fish sounds nice."
"What kind are you craving?"
"Anything simple."
"I'll tell the kitchen."
Rosinante's hands stilled for half a second. He couldn't stop the smile that was forming on his face.
"You should be asleep," Doflamingo said. "Are you not tired?"
"I'm always tired." Rosinante started rinsing the shampoo. "What were you doing? Before I woke up."
Silence.
Rosinante noticed the slight redness on Doflamingo's ears.
"Looking at you," Doflamingo whispered.
Rosinante's hands moved to the washcloth now.
"And touching your hair."
Rosinante worked his way down before moving back up. The washcloth moving over his shoulders and arms. When he reached his hands, Doflamingo caught his wrist.
Brought it to his mouth and pressed his lips to the back of it.
Rosinante let his hand stay there.
"The water's getting cold," he said eventually. "You're going to get cold."
Doflamingo released his hand. He stood, water running off him, and reached for the towel.
He wrapped it around his waist and looked at Rosinante, cock hard and straining against the towel.
"Then let's fix that." His lips curled into a smirk.
He helped Rosinante to his feet and guided him back to the bedroom.
The whole time, he was unable to take his eyes off him.
His stomach was enormous, face slightly damp from the steam, sleep shirt riding up.
"Chapter four," Doflamingo murmured, one hand pulling off the towel at his waist, the other already reaching for the waistband of Rosinante's shorts. "Let's do chapter four."
"You're drunk," Rosinante said, hand against his chest with no intention to push him away.
"I'm fine."
"You missed a button on your shirt."
"Doesn't matter. The shirt is gone."
Rosinante looked at him and shook his head, amused. He let Doflamingo take his shorts off.
Later that night, Rosinante blew out the lamp and lay on his back, unable to fall asleep.
Doflamingo was beside him snoring. The alcohol and the evening had caught up with him.
Rosinante turned to stare at his parted lips. His hands moved to his stomach, feeling the faint movement beneath the skin.
His heart quickened.
He would have to tell him soon.