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Another date, another guy ghosting him.
Rosinante suppressed the urge to throw his phone against the wall. Instead, he tried to put it on the coffee table, but then it slipped out of Rosinante's hands and hit the corner of the table with its screen before falling to the floor. The touchscreen was now nothing but a spider web of cracks.
Rosinante cursed under his breath. And he had just had the screen fixed. Doffy would be so disappointed when he would see that the repairs only lasted a week or so. Oh, Doffy wouldn't show his disappointment; he would just sigh, shake his head with a rueful smile, and give his clumsy clown of a brother money to get a new screen. Not a word of reprimand, because Rosinante wasn't worth reprimanding. Like a dog that puked on an expensive carpet because it didn't know any better.
Rosinante fished a crumpled pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and lit one. He took a long drag as he sank into the soft cushions of the couch. Of course, it was soft and comfortable; it was Doffy's couch. Everything in this apartment was Doffy's.
Doffy hated when Rosinante smoked inside, especially on his couch. Rosinante burned holes in the upholstery many times, and there was always ash hiding in the seams and crevices between the cushions. The beautiful, expensive white couch stank of cigarette smoke, and while Doffy did reprimand his brother for this, he never did anything to stop Rosinante's bad habits. And did not get rid of the couch (maybe so that Rosinante couldn't ruin the new one, too).
As long as Rosinante could remember, it had always been like this. His older brother, the shining star of the family, top student, entrepreneur, the youngest millionaire in the country, hot, successful, popular – and clumsy, awkward Rosinante who could never beat Doffy at anything, with his average grades, average looks, and what his parents diplomatically called “peaceful disposition”. Doffy called it “zero motivation”.
But what motivation could Rosinante build up if everything he touched somehow collapsed? His dates all left him after the first meet-up (seriously, did Rosinante smell or something? Or was it his clumsiness?). He couldn't keep a job for more than a week, and lately had trouble even passing the first interview. They never called back, ghosting him like all the guys he tried to hook up with. The only time he managed to rent an apartment on his own, he nearly burned it down when cooking.
So yeah, no wonder he had zero motivation. What was the point? But at least, he always had Doffy to fall back on.
Oh, Rosinante knew very well that Doflamingo's perfect facade was just that: facade. His company? A front for his shady business. His looks? Carefully maintained to hide his excessive drinking and drug consumption. His friends? A bunch of sycophants who only followed him while Doffy fit their image of a perfect leader. His love conquests? All one-night stands, none of them a true connection.
Maybe in a way, Doflamingo was just as pathetic as Rosinante. He had been letting his loser of a brother live with him for years, after all.
Rosinante put his feet on the couch's armrest and lit another cigarette, scratching his thigh under his sweatpants. A lot of people would consider him lucky, he supposed. He lived in Doffy's luxurious penthouse, had a generous allowance, and never heard 'no' in response to his requests. He did not have to work, did not have to care for anything. Cooking and cleaning were done by a housekeeper.
Rosinante wasn't even Doffy's housewife substitute. He was... a pet, probably. Kept for sentimentality's sake.
He hated it. He hated his brother for doing this to him.
Sometimes, Rosinante wondered if he would've been able to make something of himself if Doffy hadn't been so indulging. If Doffy kicked him out of the apartment and told him to earn his own money. Rosinante would have to learn to fend for himself, and it would be painful... but he would finally be his own man. Free of his brother's suffocating care.
Rosinante even tried to provoke Doffy into kicking him out.
He smoked on the couch. He wasted Doffy's money on hobbies he would take up and abandon in the next week. He poured all of Doffy's expensive alcohol into the toilet once. He acted like a jerk to the few one-night stands Doffy brought home.
He took Doffy without giving him time to adjust and enjoyed his winces and gasps of pain. He demanded a fuck when Doffy came home late at night, tired and stressed, with dark circles under his eyes that he hid behind his sunglasses. He tied Doffy up and blindfolded him, which he knew Doffy hated, and left him like this for hours, watching him squirm and hyperventilate, only to pet his hair, coo and soothe him afterwards.
And Doflamingo, the gracious and generous older brother that he was, allowed it all. Oh, he could yell at Rosinante and slap him and call him a pathetic failure... but he would always get into their shared bed, wrap his arms around Rosinante's waist, and kiss him goodnight before falling asleep.
This little chaste goodnight kiss always felt like a knife twisting in Rosinante's chest; like his brother pushed his hand inside Rosinante's rib cage, grabbed his heart, and clenched it in his fist. This kiss had never changed since their childhood. In the beginning, it was their mother who kissed them goodnight. But then their father got bogged down in debt, they lost all their fortune, and their mother's heart condition couldn't be treated anymore.
After her death, it was Doffy who took her place. He would deal with Rosi's bullies or help him with his studies during the day, and then kiss him goodnight before bedtime. In Rosinante's mind, Doffy's face merged with his mother's – and so it doubled the weight of his guilt when adult Doffy wished him goodnight, his wrists still chafed from the rope Rosinante put on him.
They were tainting their mother's memory by mixing their blood in incestuous perversion.
He wondered sometimes what Doffy thought about it. If he was remembering their mother's face when he looked up at Rosi while being fucked by his own little brother. But then, it was Doffy who resembled their mother more; Doffy, with his pale straight hair, long lower eyelashes, chiseled nose, and their mother's smile (when he was truly smiling and not grinning like a maniac).
No, Rosinante looked more like their father: with softer features, wavy wheat-gold hair, and absolute financial ineptitude. Rosinante rubbed his chin, feeling his three-day stubble, and chuckled darkly; maybe he should grow out a mustache and see how Doffy would react. Doffy hated Father.
Rosinante must've fallen asleep, because the visions before his eyes couldn't have been real. He saw himself and Doffy in their parents' bed – a huge four-poster that felt like a ship to little Rosi; he loved diving into its soft feathery blankets and played pirates on it together with Doffy, with the canopy serving as their sails.
But now he was an observer, and he saw his own ass – pale and unsightly, obscene in this sacred memory from his childhood – moving up and down between his brother's spread legs. He heard his own heavy breathing and Doffy's broken moans, and all of it made him nauseous. The Rosinante on the bed seemed to have felt his disgust, because he snarled and wrapped his hands around Doffy's throat, choking him.
Rosi – the one who dreamed, the one who observed – stepped closer, and he was little again, he suddenly realized; he saw his small bare feet sticking out of his pajama pants, toes sinking in the fluffy carpet. When he glanced at the bed again, he gasped, because the two figures changed, shifting – now it was his parents who lay in their bed, and it was Father who had his hands around Mother's neck. Rosi opened his mouth but no sound came, only the rattling of the bed and his mother's choked gasps –
And Rosinante woke up in the real world, panting and sweaty, his throat constricted. For a second, he was horrified, because the rattling stayed – but then he realized that it was the sound of the key turning in the lock and the door opening.
Rosinante squinted as the lamps reacted to the movement and bright electric light filled the living room. When he was finally able to open his eyes, Doflamingo was taking off his suit jacket, hanging it on the backrest of a chair.
“Good evening, Rosi,” he said, his eyes hidden behind the sunglasses, as always. He stretched with a tired groan and then looked at Rosinante at last. “Did you fall asleep while smoking again? Rosi, we talked about this.” His tone was one of gentle disappointment. Like he was talking to a child.
Rosinante wanted to hurl the ashtray at his head.
“If your penthouse burns down, you will get your insurance, don't worry,” he snapped instead, the bad taste from his dream still bitter on his tongue.
Doflamingo sighed.
“Rosi, stop it. You know it's you I worry about, not the penthouse.”
Yeah, Rosinante knew. He knew, and it only made the bitter taste worse.
It was wrong to want to hurt the person who cared about him. Who... okay, Rosinante could admit it: who loved him. Even though his love weighed Rosinante down like a ton of lead on his shoulders. Even though his love was rotten to the core.
Doffy just liked to feel superior. Liked having a useless, pathetic charity case at home.
(Doffy hated their father, though; their father, whom Doffy called useless and pathetic, who ruined them and left them penniless, who was soft-hearted and passive and looked so much like Rosinante.)
(But Doffy himself was nothing like their mother. He was cruel, ruthless; he did not care for other people or the suffering he caused. Doffy wasted money on his loser of a brother while ruining other families and people's lives.)
Doffy was nothing like their mother, and that look of concern on his face was a blasphemous lie. Rosinante was going to prove it.
“Yeah, like you actually care,” Rosinante spat out, taking another cigarette.
“Of course I do. I love you, Rosi.”
Lie. Lie, lie, lie. Rosinante lit his cigarette with trembling fingers, burning himself in the process.
“Prove it, then,” he muttered under his breath, but Doffy heard him.
He loosened his tie, those long, agile fingers working on the knot with ease, and Rosinante couldn't tear his eyes off them. Then Doffy walked up to him and went down on his knees, graceful as a bird landing on the water.
Rosinante forgot how to breathe for a moment, his brother's face suddenly so close.
“What do you want me to do?” Doffy asked, and his voice was uncharacteristically soft. His usual smile was still hiding in the corners of his mouth, but it was gentler, more genuine than his constant self-assured grin.
Rosinante's mouth twitched too, but not in a smile.
“You know what to do,” he rasped, then grabbed Doffy by his hair and pushed his face into his crotch.
Doffy moaned, nuzzling him through his sweatpants. Rosinante's cock was soft for now, but it never deterred Doflamingo; he was an overachiever, after all. He pulled the rubber band of the sweatpants down, and Rosinante lifted his hips, helping his brother to free his cock from the underwear.
“Wait,” Rosinante said, picked Doffy's sunglasses by the bridge, and took them off.
He liked to see Doffy's eyes – or rather, eye, because his left one was missing, taken by one of their father's creditors as a method of persuasion to pay his debts. Doflamingo's right one was beautiful though: dark brown, surrounded by thick eyelashes that were so light they were barely visible.
Their mother's eye.
Rosinante couldn't help himself; he traced the outline of that eye, watching the pupil dilate, focused on him and only on him in what looked like devotion (but couldn't possibly be devotion, could it?).
The ash from Rosinante's forgotten cigarette fell on his fingers, burning him again and bringing him back to reality. He grabbed Doffy by his hair and pulled at it, making him moan.
“Look at me,” Rosinante said – and Doflamingo obeyed, never taking his eye off his face as he took the soft cock into his mouth.
Doflamingo worked on him with the same devotion that clouded his gaze, like sucking his little brother's cock was everything he had ever wanted to do in his life. He didn't just try to do a good job; he showered Rosinante's cock with love: swallowing it greedily, moaning when it grew hard in his throat, taking it out of his mouth to marvel at it, blowing bubbles out of spit and precum and lapping up the drool that was dribbling down the shaft. All of this without taking his single eye off Rosinante.
He looked like a fucking whore, this perfect big brother of his. What would his associates say if they saw him like this, swallowing cock like the world's tastiest treat? But then again, they were all crazy bootlickers, those “executives” of his; they would probably just regret that it wasn't them Doflamingo was sucking off.
No, that privilege was reserved for his precious little brother.
Then why didn't it make Rosinante happy?
Wasn't this a dream life he was having? Fooling about all day long, doing whatever he wanted, eating the best food, living in luxury with no need to work a single day, having his hot, successful, bread-winning brother get down on his knees and serve him eagerly after coming back from work.
Instead, it made Rosinante feel like garbage.
He tugged on Doffy's hair, making him release his cock. His brother winced in pain but never looked away, licking his glistening lips. His face was a mess, his cheeks and chin stained with spit. Rosinante's cock twitched and leaked precum, wanting nothing more than to be buried in that talented, silken mouth again.
Even in this, his older brother was perfect. Rosinante hated it and hated himself.
“Open your mouth,” he said, taking a drag of his cigarette. Doffy obeyed immediately, sticking out his tongue for good measure. Nasty, perverted, perfect bastard.
Rosinante brought his cigarette to Doffy's mouth and flicked the hot ash onto his tongue.
Doffy flinched in his hold – but kept his mouth open; his eye was still trained on Rosinante, and now it was welling with tears.
Rosinante's cock grew even harder, although he did not think it was possible. He leaned down, trembling like a bloodhound that smelled its prey, focused on those shiny droplets forming in the corner of his brother's eye.
Doffy never cried like ordinary people did, not ever since their mother's death. But his eyes had always been weak and sensitive, and they watered easily thanks to a plain physiological reaction. He had dark-tinted glasses prescribed to him when he was five, protecting him from this weakness as well.
But Rosinante loved seeing his tears. It was like his brother was actually human. Like he could feel sadness and pain just like Rosinante did.
“Swallow it,” Rosinante whispered, and Doflamingo obeyed. Rosinante watched his tongue disappear in his mouth together with the little pile of ash, and saw his Adam's apple bob as Doflamingo swallowed.
The tears spilled over, running down his cheek. Rosinante licked them off; salty. Doffy blinked, his eye still wet and glistening. His eyelashes got darker, sticking together and looking painted thanks to that.
“Go back to sucking,” Rosinante told him, and Doffy did. His eagerness did not subside; in fact, it seemed like he was working on Rosinante's cock with even more passion, and when Rosinante's bare foot found Doflamingo's crotch, he sensed hardness underneath his toes.
His brother was a filthy pervert.
The cigarette in Rosinante's fingers was almost finished, and he tugged at Doffy's hair again – but not strong enough to drag him off his cock.
“Give me your hand,” he said, and Doflamingo offered his open palm without hesitation. Rosinante took one last drag and pressed the burning cigarette butt to the inside of Doflamingo's wrist, snuffing it out against the tender skin.
Doflamingo's whole body convulsed, and he let out a muffled cry that reverberated around Rosinante's dick. The vibrations, the tight vice of Doflamingo's throat, the new tears that flowed out of his eye – all of it was too much, and Rosinante came with a low groan, spilling his seed deep inside his brother's throat. His orgasm was so powerful that it left him blind for a moment.
He came to, panting, and felt Doflamingo struggle against his hand. Rosinante released him, and Doffy sat back on his haunches, coughing. Dribbles of spit and cum fell on the expensive fabric of his dress shirt and pants. He was still painfully hard, but Rosinante didn't have the energy to deal with it right now.
His body felt heavy and warm, and the familiar bitter taste was filling his mouth, like it was him who had just swallowed a load of cum. The high of the climax passed, this one blissful moment when Rosinante could forget about everything but all-encompassing pleasure, and with the cold fingers of reality, there came the memory of his earlier dream.
Fuck. Rosinante covered his face with his palm, then cursed because he was still holding the half-crushed cigarette butt and now had ash in his eyes. At least it was cold... Doffy got the hot ash on his tongue and wrist.
He was still trying to wipe his eyes when he felt a cool, wet cloth on his face, and the gentle touch of fingertips.
“Here, let me see. There, I think it's all gone.” Doffy finished wiping the specks of ash from the corners of Rosinante's eyes, and Rosinante could finally see properly. Right in front of him, there was his brother's concerned face.
“God, Rosi, you are so clumsy.” Doffy chuckled, putting the cloth aside. “How do you manage to hurt yourself all the time when trying to hurt me?”
The air got punched out of Rosinante's lungs with this phrase, and he shut his eyes again, pretending to still wipe them. Give it to Doffy to ask the worst questions with the worst timing.
Yes, Rosinante. How do you manage to always make yourself feel like scum when trying to get revenge on Doffy?
What was he even getting revenge for? For Doffy caring about him? For Doffy helping him? All Doffy did was take care of Rosinante. He did everything Rosinante asked him to, including offering his own body for his little brother to use, and what did Rosinante do in return? Hurt him on purpose and got off to him crying.
To Rosinante's horror, his own eyes were welling with tears now. But before he could escape to the bathroom to wash his face and maybe drown himself in the shower, he felt Doffy's arms around him, soling and warm, pulling him into an embrace.
Beneath his ear, he heard Doflamingo's heartbeat. Steady, reliable. Like everything about his brother.
“Shh, shh, it's all good, Rosi. Were you upset?” Doffy petted his hair – a soothing gesture that also reminded Rosinante of their mother. She used to hug him and pet his hair too when he ran to her, crying after tripping on his own feet and being laughed at by other children. “Did you have a bad day?”
“My date dumped me,” Rosinante mumbled, just to say something. It sounded childish, but this was how he was feeling right now: like a little boy who did something bad and felt so guilty about it that his parents had to console him instead of punishing him. “And I broke my phone screen again. Sorry.”
“Don't think about it. We'll get you a new phone.” Doffy took him by his chin and lifted his head to look him in the face. “As for your date, it's his loss. If he was stupid enough to dump you, he did not deserve you.”
It sounded like something a typical parent would say, you are the best boy in the whole world and all that... But Doffy spoke it with such conviction that it moved something in Rosinante's chest. If Doflamingo really thought so... maybe it was okay.
His perfect, popular older brother knew best, after all.
***
Doflamingo smiled and kissed the top of Rosinante's head, feeling how his brother slowly calmed down.
His wrist was still stinging from the cigarette burn, and Doflamingo raised his arm to inspect it – carefully, so that he did not disturb Rosinante. His poor little brother could get quite upset sometimes when he saw the traces of the pain he himself inflicted.
Doflamingo, for one, did not mind them. Every welt, bruise, and burn was a proof of Rosinante's love. A signature on the contract of Doflamingo's body, a promise to never leave. Who else would so eagerly accept his darling brother's darker side?
Doflamingo licked the burn on his wrist, an electric jolt going through his body at the pain. Yeah, no one else could take Rosi with all his wants and weaknesses. Certainly not those men he tried to date. Doffy made sure that all fools who tried to hook up with his naive little brother got the warning; so far, most of them were smart enough to stay away. One idiot who didn't ended up meeting some of Doflamingo's less pleasant employees.
And the jobs. Rosinante was a walking disaster; any job would be dangerous for him. Doflamingo had to pull more strings here, but lately, Rosi seemed to have stopped trying to apply. Good. Safer this way.
It's not like he had to work; Doflamingo had more than enough money to support him. Rosinante was like their father; he couldn't be trusted to make his own decisions.
But unlike their father, Rosinante was not a doormat. He wasn't afraid to argue with Doflamingo – something that none of his followers dared. He wasn't afraid to fight with him or hurt him. And he was Doffy's precious little brother. He was special.
Their mother once told Doflamingo that a person was truly strong only when they had someone to love and protect. She was right, Doflamingo thought, rubbing his brother's back. He had Rosi to love and protect, and for this, he was going to become the most powerful man in the world.
How else would he keep his little brother safe?