Love-Love Party

written by A. E. Stover
this version is self-edited


ONE PIECE [CANON AU] [M] [Doflamingo; Crocodile] [Angst; Romance] [Short Story]
“Dofla-kun.” There was a girl, a long time ago, who used to call him that. 








That’s what the woman was calling him. He didn’t know if he told her to call him that. Maybe he had; he couldn’t remember. He figured it didn’t matter; he didn’t know her name, so he supposed it was fair.

The woman rolled her hips and the heat enveloping his hardened flesh reminded him of the time he’d nearly gotten himself thrown into a volcano. But that was a long, long time ago; before he’d become a member of the Shichibukai.

The woman slowly began bouncing up and down in his lap, her small hands squeezing his shoulders to keep her balance. She gave breathy moans and gasps as she moved, and she arched her back to thrust her bare chest into his face. “Dofla-kun…”

There was a girl, a long time ago, who used to call him that. It was out of contempt back then, with a voice that was nothing like the needy girl riding him now. So to hear it said like this, by a voice filled with arousal, disturbed some part of him in a way he hadn’t expected.

The woman stopped moving with a sigh, drawing her breasts away from his face. Her pouting lips, lips that he’d yet to taste, her dark eyes, ones that had pulled him in earlier that night, and her ebony hair, pulled back in a tight ponytail at his insistence; they were features he remembered on someone else, a long, long time ago.

“Dofla-kun,” she began, one hand moving to the nape of his neck. He found her touch electrifying, but he knew it wasn’t because of her. “Don’t you like me?”

He just grinned at her, leaning forward to nip at her ear. “Just enjoying the view,” he said, moving his hands; he had one squeezing tight on her ass and the other roaming up to her chest, his thumb coming to flick her nipple before he palmed her breast in his hand. “Keep moving, babe.”

He drew away in time to see a lazy smile on her face. He heard her make an appreciate sound as she moved again, that wet, tight heat around his cock gliding up and down with ease. She moved her hips faster, throwing her head back and exposing her neck for him, and he obliged; bit her throat and kissed along her jaw. She thrust her hips faster, harder; she gasped. “Dofla—”

He moved his mouth over her’s, if only to silence her, and quickly lifted her off his lap and onto the bed, where he rammed into her hard and fast, keeping her moans and screams muffled with his lips. But he couldn’t keep her quiet forever; she broke away with a gasp for air—

“Ah! Oh, god, don’t stop. Don’t stop, don’t stop!”

He didn’t and thrust harder, moving her legs up and over his shoulders to get a better angle and—

“Yes! Oh, right there! Yes! Ah! Oh..!”

He pinned her wrists down over her head against the mattress with one hand. He leaned forward and put his lips next to her ear. “Say my name,” he growled. “I wanna hear it.”

“Ah…! D-Dofla-kun!”

He fucked her. He didn’t know who she was, what her name was, how old she was. Like hell that mattered. He fucked her and she screamed his name, crying over and over— “Dofla-kun!”

Would this be how she would sound? He couldn’t help but wonder. So wanton and needy, completely unashamed — If he fucked her, would this be how it would go? Stepping out of a bar, stumbling blindly into a hotel, any hotel; they were at a cheesy one, called “Love Party,” if he remembered; her hands fisting his cock, getting him ready, her lips kissing, teeth biting, her wet pussy sucking him in —

“Oh, god…!”

His mouth was still beside her ear, and he grinned as he rasped; “So responsive…” He reached down to rub her clit with his thumb. She jolted with a start and cried out, her body writhing beneath him. He rubbed furiously, the pad of his thumb gliding effortlessly over the wet nub.

Then he slowed; his thumb, his thrusts. He slowed everything down until she jerked her hips desperately against his body and cursed him out, her words tumbling in a slur.

He grinned, watching her brow knit together in frustration, watching her wanton face looking desperately at him, watching her writhe and twist against him; watching her fight back, wanting that spark, that bite. Wanting to see her out of this stranger.

He grinned wickedly at the dark-haired beauty sprawled on the bed before him. “Oh-ya. Something the matter?”

She cursed and pleaded, begged, shouted; everything she said was lost in her lust.

He moved his thumb over her clit and enjoyed her gasp. “Ah, did you want this? Or maybe…” He stopped and reached over to the back of her head, grabbing the long ponytail and pulling her up. He heard the woman hiss, eyes dancing with uncertainty as he yanked her up to his leering face. He pulled her hair free, and watched the ebony waves cascading down. He pulled out and thrust in quickly, earning a loud moan. Her hands, no longer restrained by his iron grip, went to his neck again, pulling him back down on top of her.

“Tell me what you want,” he said, looking into her dark eyes.

She looked back at him, eyes glazed over with arousal. “I want you,” she breathed.

He twirled a strand of her dark hair with a grin. “But you already have me, doll.” He looked down at her tauntingly. “You’re gonna have to be more clear with me, babe.”

There was amusement that flickered behind the lust in her dark eyes. “I want you to fuck me hard,” she tried again, shamelessly, “and make me cum.”

Her words excited him, and he pulled out slowly. “On your knees,” he ordered, slapping her thigh, and watched her obey. Her pert ass was in his face, and he grinned wider. “Cute,” he remarked, raising his hands to smack his palms soundly against the soft globes of flesh.

“Dofla-kun, hurry,” she moaned impatiently, wriggling her ass. “Make me cum.”

There was a moment’s hesitation in which his grin dropped from his face. There it was again, that strange feeling. It burst through out of nowhere and settled somewhere inside him, twisting and turning. He batted it away and rose to his knees, coming closer to the woman waiting for him now. The head of his cock bumped against her entrance, and she gave a small whimper at the contact.

This was a whore he’d picked from a bar. This was not her, he thought as he entered her, slowly. She was somewhere else, doing something else. He pulled back and thrust in, pulled back and thrust in, slowly, slowly; then faster. This was not her. This was not her.

“Dofla-kun, harder! Fuck me harder! Make me cum!”

He gripped the woman’s hips and fucked her, his jaw tight and eyes screwed shut as he slammed into the dark-haired stranger over and over.

“Ah! Ah, Dofla-kun! Dofla—!”

Soon the heat pooling in his groin filled his body and consumed his head. He couldn’t stop himself, even when he realized what he was doing. It only made him groan and tighten his hold on her, quicken his pace; he fucked her harder, harder, faster; he couldn’t stop — not now, not when he was almost there, he was so close.

She shouted his name and cursed, screaming that she loved his hard cock, she loved being fucked from behind, she loved when he was being rough with her. The whore wanted to cum, wanted to cum so bad; her body was melting, every nerve was on fire, and she was moaning, crying, begging him to go faster, to keep fucking her.

When she finally came, when the tight heat around cock grew tighter and milked him along, he briefly saw, somewhere in his mind’s eye; he saw her, thought of her, allowed him to pretend that — just for a moment — the woman he’d just fucked was her.




Three months later, he was perched on a balcony outside an office. A large, heavy chair blocked most of the room from view, but he could see the familiar gray wisps of smoking furling into the air. He grinned and rapped his knuckles against the glass.

There was a pause before a head finally turned to look around the chair.

He waved, the grin on his face stretching wider. “Yo, Croc-chan~” he jeered from his place on the balcony.

Crocodile stared at him for a moment. Then, with the hook on his hand, drew the curtain to cover the veranda window.

“Oi! Don’t be rude to your guests!”

“You’re not a guest. You’re a trespasser,” came the gruff voice. “Come back when you’re properly invited.”

He scratched his head, then stepped down from the railing. He approached the glass and, with a few flicks of his hand, the lock was undone from the other side. He opened the glass door and pulled the curtain aside; “I’m inviting myself in~”

“Like hell you are!” Crocodile threw his ashtray at the flamboyantly dressed man.

He dodged it and let it shatter on the floor of the balcony behind him, his grin proudly remaining on his face. “Aw, Croc-chan,” he crooned, “isn’t that the ashtray I sent you a year ago?”

“No. I threw that one out already. And don’t call me that.”

“You’ve got horrible manners, Croc-chan.”

“So I hear. And stop that.”

He jumped into the office and danced around to settle himself on the desk, purposely messing up a stack of papers he knows is particularly important.

Crocodile watched his work fall into a mess. “…Oi.”

He pretended as if nothing had happened. “You know why that is?”

“You’re sitting on an important contract. Get off, and get out.”

Instead, he kicked the heavy chair back and dropped himself in Crocodile’s lap, enjoying the mortified look of shock twisting the man’s face. “It’s because you lack social skills!” Then, leaning in close, he added; “Why don’t you and I pick up where we left off so I can teach you, Croc-chan?”

The man glowered darkly at him. “I thought I told you to stop calling me that, Dofla-kun,” he hissed with utter contempt.

A knock came at the door before it opened. A woman dressed in a white suit and a large, matching hat strode in. “Sir, there’s an issue with the…”

She paused, taking in the sight of a very flamboyantly dressed man with a massive, pink-feathered boa currently sitting in her boss’ lap.

Said flamboyantly dressed man in her boss’ lap turned around and gave the pretty woman a flirty wink. “Ah, sorry babe, but Crocodile’s a little busy right now with—”

He barely dodged the wave of sand in time.

He crashed through the glass door, dancing here and there to avoid the sand chasing after him and tossed his head back and laughed. He landed on the balcony in his usual bow-legged fashion and grinned. “Another rejection! …Maybe next time, then?” He tilted back and dropped down just before another wave of sand pummeled through the air.

At the office, Nico Robin watched the scene unfold with a serene smile. When the odd man was gone, and when Crocodile was seated at his desk again, ignoring the shattered glass on the floor as if nothing had ever happened, she finally inquired;

“Who was that?”

“An idiot,” came the absent response. “Don’t let him in next time. If you see him, kill him.”

“Understood. And if I may continue, sir…?”

He grunted his okay.

“There’s been an issue with the recent transport of goods…”

Crocodile shifted through the mess of papers on his desk, going through them again, and saw a flash of pink that hadn’t been there before. He stopped and stared at it, debating whether or not it was safe to touch this slip of paper he knew belonged to that idiot blond who had waltzed in and out seconds before.

“…It seems as though the goods were intercepted by a rouge team…”

He slowly moved the paper out of the mess on the desk and held it up to his face. It was a coupon for a love hotel; specifically, one named Love-Love Party!.

Crocodile crumpled the coupon in his hand. It turned to dust after the moisture drained out, some of the discolored, grainy remained trickling to the floor.

Nico Robin quietly left the office, shutting the door behind her and walking down the hall.

She wasn’t surprised to hear the wooden door crackling audibly as it shriveled up into dust.





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