Chapter 28
Donquixote Doflamingo was currently staring unabashed at Crocodile.
Because A) The man’s fucking sexy, B) he’s getting bored of this warlord meeting, C) The man’s fucking sexy, D) and the way the man is just… existing is practically begging to be stared at, Doflamingo couldn’t peel his eyes away from Crocodile even if he wanted to.
Now get him straight, it’s not unusual for Crocodile to come to a warlord meeting dressed to the nines, Crocodile’s one out of three that do that, the other two being Dracule Mihawk and Boa Hancock, but everyone knows, everyone in the goddamn world knows that Crocodile is the king of the fashion police of the Grand Line.
And right now, on repeat in Doflamingo’s head that song ‘did I mistake you for a siren god’ is playing on loop as he just… stairs at Crocodile.
Cause this man! Lord, this man is fucking sexy!
Crocodile is currently leaning back in his chair, with One of his legs out stretched, a cigar loosely hanging from his lips as the smoke lazily drifts from his slightly parted lips, and around his head as he listens to whatever boa Hancock and Gecko Moria are arguing about this time. Crocodile dressed in a silk black button up, an emerald green male corset that cinch is his waist sexally. The male corset had darker shiny designs to look like crocodile scales, flared black dress pants, heeled black crocodile skin dress shoes. He had a black tie on that looked like it was made out of real black alligator skin. And a alligator skin belt with a quite large pure gold crocodile shaped belt buckle, with emeralds as the crocodiles’s eyes. He had a shit ton of jewelry, Gold, silver, Diamond, and jeweled rings, bracelets, necklaces, every goddamn piercing you could get in your ears, both side of his nostrils were double pierced, and he had a septum piercing, he had 1 inch stretched ears, and Chunk Snakebite piercings made out of gold, he had angel fangs piercing, Two matching Monroe piercings beside the angel fangs, surface under his right eye and dermal under the left eye, dimple piercings, and Golden and diamond studded fang grills. And Crocodile had make up on, he didn’t just have on make up he had on messy make, a deep sparkling Emerald green eyeshadow was under his bottom lash line that faded into black that went around his eyes like eyeliner, With a bit of smudged and messy eyeliner and pointed bottom lashes. And to finish the look he had on a open long fur coat that made him look like a sultry devil that could melt your underwear off with a single look.
The tension in the room is palpable as Doflamingo's eyes devour every inch of Crocodile's form, unable to look away. Crocodile’s gaze, however, remained fixed on the fleet admiral, seemingly oblivious to the intense stare he was receiving.
And Doflamingo wants to know what the fuck the man sounds like. It’s not like he’s the only warlord that never talks during a meeting, Dracule Mihawk, and Bartholomew Kuma hardly ever talk as well. But they still… somewhat, speak to everyone. Mikawk only when he wants something, or is telling somebody to shut the fuck up, or is asking if he missed something, or if it’s time to leave. Kuma is just… there? Every once in a while he’ll speak up, or you’ll hear him muting allowed as he reads the Bible in his hands. But crocodile, nope not once has he ever spoken.
Well, that wasn’t until Hancock and Moria started saying/yelling some out of pocket, quite vulgar and nasty shit at of each other. And that seemed to be the breaking point of Crocodile’s patient because he sighed, pulling his cigar from his lips and letting it smolder in the ashtray before speaking up. “Can you two shut your fucking traps?”
His voice was like nothing anyone had ever heard before. It was a bone rattling deep, rich, velvety-smooth, smooth as the finest silk in the world rumble that seemed to resonate in the very marrow of your bones. It was the kind of voice that made you want to drop to your knees and beg for mercy, or maybe just beg for more of it. It had a thick and heavy Egyptian accent that only added to the allure, making every word sound like it was coated in honey and dripping with seduction.
The room went silent, every single warlord and marine alike snapped their heads to Crocodile, stunned into silence by the sudden sound. It was as if a mythical creature had decided to grace the mortals with its divine presence. The air thickened with the weight of his words, and even Doflamingo's jaw dropped a notch, his eyes going wide with astonishment.
As the silence stretched on, Crocodile’s sighed again, bringing his cigar back to his lips. “Thanks.” He murmured.
Doflamingo felt his heart stutter in his chest, his eyes locked on the sultry figure across from him. The desert king’s voice had been a revelation, and suddenly, the warlord’s curiosity was piqued. He had to hear more of it.
The meeting dragged on, with the usual discussions of territories and alliances, but Doflamingo's mind was racing with thoughts of the mysterious Crocodile. The way he spoke, the power behind his words, it was all too intriguing. He found himself leaning in slightly, hoping to catch another sound from those tempting lips.
As the hours passed, the room grew stifling, and the air was filled with the scent of smoke and the faint metallic tang of the marines' weapons. Crocodile, ever the picture of calm, occasionally took a drag off of his cigar. His eyes never strayed from the fleet admiral, as if challenging him to acknowledge the shift in the atmosphere.
Doflamingo, for his part, couldn’t keep his thoughts from wandering. He imagined the sound of Crocodile’s voice in various situations, the way it would resonate through the air during a fiery battle, the way it could coax secrets from the tightest of lips during a tense negotiation. It was a tool, a weapon, and a siren's call all rolled into one. He had to know more, had to get closer to this enigma wrapped in a fur coat.
The meeting, as tedious as it was, finally came to a close. The other warlords began to file out, their conversations resuming in hushed tones as they retreated from the room. Crocodile stood up with a smooth grace that had Doflamingo's heart racing, the fur coat fluttering around him like a dark angel's wings. Doflamingo's eyes followed him as he sauntered out of the room, leaving a trail of smoke and mystery in his wake.
As the last of the warlords left, Doflamingo took a deep breath, his thoughts racing. He knew he couldn't just let this opportunity slip away. He had to talk to Crocodile, had to find out more about this enigmatic man. He pushed himself to his feet and followed Crocodile's trail, his heart beating like a drum in his chest.
He found he in some hallway, and The site in front of him made him pause in his tracks. Crocodile wasn’t alone. He was with Monkey D. Garp, chatting with him like they were old friends.
And Crocodile even gave Garp one of his really expensive really fancy cigar, leaning in to light the end of the cigar he just gave to garp with his own, which was still in his mouth, giving the man a smile that could melt steel. And Garp? The legendary marine just rolled his eyes, taking a long drag off the cigar.
“Mr. 0, always a pleasure to see you looking so...refreshed.” Garp’s gruff voice echoed through the hallway, a hint of amusement in his tone. Crocodile smirked at the nickname, the gold of his grill glinting in the dim light.
“You know, I never thought you of all people would start calling me that, Garp. I’ve always just been Crow to you, what’s with the change?” Crocodile’s deep voice rumbled, the accent wrapping around his words like a warm embrace.
Doflamingo stopped in his tracks, hearing Crocodile's real name for the first time. He felt a strange twinge in his chest, a mix of surprise and something else he couldn’t quite put his finger on. He leaned against the wall, listening in on their conversation.
Garp chuckled, patting him on the shoulder. “Nha, you’re always just going to be Crow. Just thought I’d stir the pot a bit, see how you’d react. Plus, it’s the name that suits you best now, ain’t it? The desert king with the sting of a scorpion.”
Crocodile’s smirk grew wider. “It does have a nice ring to it, I suppose. But you know me, I’m not one for titles hoarding.”
Garp chuckled again, his eyes twinkling. “That’s what makes you the best, Crow. You never let the power get to your head, unlike some of these hotshot pirates I could mention.”