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Impel Down Alpha Penitentiary is suffocating.
Sanji’s throat fights for air that isn't bogged down by the scents of metal, sweat, and alpha pheromones strong enough to resist the military-grade suppressants that leave behind a sanitary tang in his nose.
Officer Sadi’s boots echo in front of him as she marches down the hall, leading him to his destination. Not a cell—no, this prison is not suited for Sanji’s omega temperament and record of scattered misdemeanors. He resists the urge to scratch at the itch of the scent-blocking patches over his glands. For his protection, the guards insisted.
Best not to trigger any unplanned ruts of the inmates, or goad them into ill-advised escape plans.
This particular visitation room is far from the cells—tucked deep in the recesses of the prison near the few administration back-offices where Sanji is assured that self-control is exercised more generously. He doesn’t quite buy it, but he doesn’t have much of a choice. If it’s the only place in this hell hole where he’s safest from the knots of the most dangerous criminals of the Grand Line, then so be it.
Well, all knots but one.
“This way,” Sadi says, gesturing into a room framed with officers—three on each side of the door, and four on the opposite wall positioned between the gaps of the the ones they’re facing. None of them look at Sanji as he passes, their gazes fixed straight ahead.
Air filtration masks cover their noses and mouths.
Inside the room, another officer with a clipboard waits at the center, far from the nest of sanitized but otherwise scentless blankets and pillows piled high behind him.
“This is our conjugal cell,” Sadi says as the door clangs shut behind Sanji. He jolts from the sound, glancing back before facing the officer again. “The walls here are seastone like the rest of the penitentiary—only twice as thick as any other cell. As you may be familiar, it’s the most effective natural resource that we have for suppressing scents, though in hotbeds of alpha pheromones like this, it’s merely a dampener. Your scent is unlikely to leak out to the guards or inmates elsewhere in the prison, and any mating scents should be severely limited.”
“Yeah, I read the pamphlet,” Sanji says gruffly. And the forums and articles—both the click-bait bullshit and screen-capped clips from the more reputable investigative work stuffed behind paywalls.
Sadi’s expression is inscrutable as she receives the clipboard from the other officer and holds it out to Sanji. “Then this is all that's left. Your waiver—once you’ve read and signed it, we’ll leave you to prepare.”
“Can I smoke in here?” he asks. His eyes skim through the dense paragraphs and legal jargon outlining the liabilities and the rights he forfeits by proceeding with this visit. “You confiscated my lighter and cigarettes, but—”
“If you wish to smoke before he arrives, you may,” Sadi interrupts, “but I can’t allow the lighter or carton to be present when he’s in the room. For safety reasons.”
“He’s not gonna do anything to me,” Sanji mumbles, scrawling his signature at the bottom of the form. “But sure, I’ll take what I can get.”
With a lit cigarette between his lips, his pockets empty of contraband, and the jarring clang of the door sounding the guards’ exit, Sanji is left alone in the cool cell. He peels away the patches over his glands, sighing in relief as the scent of bergamot begins to fill the sterile room, blending with the tobacco of his cigarette. According to Sadi, he has quite some time to set up his nest and prepare.
He’ll need every minute.
"Inmate."
Beneath his skin, Doflamingo feels itchy, his blood too warm as it circulates, rushing loud in his ears, pumping through his organs and extremities. His limbs twitch—not enough to upset the chains lashing him to the wall of his cell, but enough to remind himself that they're there.
He's grown used to them. Most days. It's all about visualization. Taking to the recesses of his mind to escape this place.
Now, though, instead of imagining himself in some exotic locale, Doflamingo pictures in vivid detail the freedom to simply pace his cell. Soft, muted steps of his slippered feet take him from one side to the other in his mind, burning off the restless energy that builds as he descends deeper into a pre-rut state.
"Inmate."
Doflamingo releases a slow breath through his nose and cracks his eyes. He's so keyed up he failed to notice the team of guards approaching his cell. The door creaks open, and his lips curl into a triumphant smirk as an anticipatory heat blazes through his core.
He came.
"Where to, gentlemen?" he asks mildly, blinking up at his captors. He already knows the answer, and the guards either don't like him very much or know that an answer isn't needed. Likely both.
"Up," the burly masked guard nearest him directs, crouching beside him. Doflamingo inclines his head away from the wall, and his grin grows as the iron cage of the muzzle in the guard's hands is fitted around his mouth, leather straps fastened tight to the back of his head. The straps dig into his skin, spiking his irritation as the other four guards work on his bonds, releasing him from the shackles chaining him in place.
The guards give him a wide berth, batons at the ready as he rises slowly to his feet. Otherwise still, he rolls his neck out, allowing the guards to shackle his ankles loosely together, wrists in front of him connected to the heavy seastone collar around his neck. A testament to the proximity of his rut—he hardly notices the dip in his scent the seastone provides, already succumbing to the restless itch to move his legs as the guards escort him through the door and down through the endless maze of cells and corridors.
Voices shout at him from all sides as other inmates catcall him, trying to get a rise out of him, but Doflamingo remains laser focused on the path ahead, and the distinct lack of scent that gives way to… not a scent, exactly, but the dual sensations of anticipation and relief sting at his nostrils all the same.
"Hold."
The guards come to a stop in lockstep outside their destination, Doflamingo's chains clatter as he complies. The smell of cigarettes and bergamot curl through doorway as it cracks, bringing with it the undercurrent of his little blond bunny's anxiety, and he breathes in deep. A pleased smile tests the bounds of his muzzle as he's ushered inside.
"You're here," he says in greeting, eyes scanning appreciatively over long legs and trim waist, soft features and bright eyes as his visitor whips his head up to face him.
The cuffs binding Doflamingo's wrists and ankles fall away and he moves before instructed, closing the gap between himself and the little omega, attempting to bury his nose in the other man's neck.
"Inmate!"
A low snarl sounds from the depths of his chest as he finds himself impeded by the muzzle, tongue lolling uselessly in front of his teeth as the iron presses into Sanji's scent gland.
"He can handle it," Doflamingo says sharply, reeling himself back. "Do you think he'd be here if he couldn't?"
Sanji stands still as a statue as the alpha’s scent flares—a useless warning to guards whose masks filter it away, but overpowering to him as he’s awash in the rich, earthy smell of Doflamingo. The alpha whose bed he shares for sporadic months at a time for heats, ruts, and pleasure before the man’s untimely arrest.
Perhaps he should have taken the out.
Alphas that commit the crimes that Doflamingo did to earn his spot at this penitentiary are the kind that would be smarter to stay far away from, and downright idiotic to gravitate toward. And their inconsistent, noncommittal relationship doesn’t require Sanji to be here, now. In fact, he was told multiple times by the penitentiary administration, Sadi, the waiver, his friends and family, the list goes on—he could have said no.
His body burns from the heat emanating through Doflamingo’s bright orange jumpsuit—he can see wide eyes from the guards at the entrance just over Doflamingo’s shoulder just as his own flutter, the scent of vetiver overriding his sense of smell.
“I’m fine,” he urges them, his voice smoke-stained and more airy than he expects. “I signed the waiver, just—” Doflamingo’s muzzle digs into his scent gland, cutting his comment short as his breath catches. His message must get across either way. The clanking of the door swinging back into frame reverberates through the room, this time with the added, heavy slide and snap of a lock being set in place.
He attempts to steady himself with a deep inhale, but his lungs fill with Doffy Doffy Doffy instead. The alpha always has an effect on him, but after so long without experiencing it, he hadn’t realized how potent his pheromones would be.
“Doffy,” he says finally as a greeting.
"Bunny," Doflamingo coos, and his hands flit to Sanji's waist, fingers closing around the majority of it as his thumbs dig into the flat of his abdomen through the starched material of his neat little pinstripe shirt. "You never call, you never write…"
The tension in his voice reveals the strain he's under as he makes to forge ahead with the formalities of a proper greeting, even as every fiber of his being calls to him to devour the little treat in front of him. To bite, to mate, to claim.
His higher reasoning says he’s no better than an animal in this state, a beast driven by baser instincts alone. His lower reasoning relishes in it. These are the times Doflamingo allows himself to toss the reins of his carefully-maintained control, become a passenger to his needs alone, and in moments like these, he craves for Sanji most of all. Saliva pools on his tongue and his grip tightens as he breathes in deep, searching for the scents of any unwelcome interlopers clinging to the omega.
The familiar nickname coils tight in Sanji’s stomach and his eyes shudder closed at the restraint apparent in Doflamingo's voice when he speaks, the flare of his scent and how it begins to seep into the air that has just begun to smell like Sanji. His pulse ticks up in pace.
“Didn’t realize I was that good of a conversationalist,” he huffs. It’s comical to think about writing Doflamingo or calling him just to talk. He doesn’t figure that their banter, the teasing and back-and-forth volleying of slick words counts. He raises a hand, intending to cup at Doflamingo’s cheek, draw him away from where he’s interrogating his scent—instead, his fingers hook in the open spaces of the muzzle cage. He remembers the fine print of the waiver listing out the various precautions taken by the penitentiary to avoid a lawsuit and help Sanji depart in one piece.
The muzzle is one such protection offered to them as an unmated pair. His tongue darts out to wet his lips, his skin prickling from the air of possibility.
Doflamingo's breathing roughs and his chin dips, head moving under the light pressure of the dainty fingers curled into the muzzle separating his teeth from the sweet taste of Sanji's skin.
He takes a step forward into Sanji, then another, backing him up towards the nest.
The rut must be setting in. Meanwhile, Sanji hasn’t even started to slick—at least not nearly enough to be where Doflamingo’s head seems to be at. The alpha isn’t Sanji’s mate, for fuck’s sake. What they share is far too casual, circumstantial even, for Sanji’s heat to be triggered.
He needs time, and he has very little of it.
His grip tightens in the muzzle, and purely on impulse, his hand shoots up, yanking Doflamingo’s face upward and to the right. The sudden movement loosens the alpha’s hold on Sanji’s waist only enough for him to slip away—a giant step back to the nest, then darting to the left into Doflamingo’s temporary blind spot. His heart races as he puts distance between them. The room is not full of obstacles, no hiding places or crannies to tuck away into. He’s in a cage with an apex predator, and his clock is ticking.
The faintest hint of wetness brushes against Sanji’s skin in his underwear.
Blood rushes to soft cheeks, and beneath his button-down, the creature's chest rises and falls unevenly. Sanji's scent floods Doflamingo's system, notes of citrus invading and growing steadily thicker as the omega's wary blues track his every move. Doflamingo's heart races, and a thrill skitters up his spine, muzzle digging uncomfortably into his skin as his lips peel back from his teeth in a soundless snarl.
The hunt is on.
"Run, rabbit," he breathes, stalking the perimeter of the nest, closing in on Sanji.
His reaction is instantaneous, the whispered words marking the start of their race like a starting gun. Sanji darts beyond the reach of Doflamingo’s arm as he lunges—more of an intimidation tactic than a genuine attempt at capture, Sanji realizes as he spins to keep his sights on the alpha.
Still, he looks wild—pupils nearly invisible in the fluorescent light, his grin wide, pushing at the edges of the muzzle's cage. His stature, tall and fit, is curled forward and prepared to pounce, shoulders slinking with every step in Sanji’s direction like a big cat on the prowl.
The sight pulses deep in Sanji’s core, a primal craving for the moment he evaded Doflamingo’s outstretched hand—for the chase. How long can he keep away? How close can Doflamingo get without catching him?
“You’re rusty, Doffy,” he goads, side-stepping as Doflamingo makes to corner him. “Not going easy on me, are you?”
This time, when Doflamingo lunges, he closes the gap between them. He cages Sanji in, hands on either side of his head connecting with the wall in a loud slap. "You tell me," he grins, inclining his head and breathing deeply of Sanji's scent. The omega's eyes flutter, and his head tilts ever-so-slightly before he takes the opening, ducking underneath Doflamingo's arm to escape.
Sanji watches as Doflamingo only moves to crane his neck to the side, observing as he backs away slowly. It pisses him off—the way Doflamingo let him slip away—like he’s being underestimated. Given a handicap that he doesn’t need. Against the wall, he thought he’d been had—until he wasn’t.
The arousal that had surged from the charged moment in closer quarters abates, replaced by an indignant fury that spills out of him unfettered. “If you’re not going to try, then what am I even here for, huh?”
A low, rumbling chuckle is the only warning Doflamingo gives Sanji before lunging again—this time feinting right, then using his advantage in stride to pressure Sanji on his left when he reacts too late, backing him into the corner of the cell. His right hand finds a home between Sanji's legs, and his fingers rub exploratory circles over the fabric until he feels Sanji's slick seeping through the material, dampening his fingertips. "You tell me," Doflamingo repeats hoarsely, his voice shot through with arousal. "Is it my rap sheet, my sparkling personality, or because you want what all bunnies want: to be good and bred?"
Sanji’s chest heaves from the stimulation, his body melting into the touch as the sharp, lemony scent of his slick seeps into the air. His mind however, is undeterred. “You can’t handle one rut without sticking your knot in a wet hole,” he hisses, grasping at Doflamingo’s wrist, nails clawing into his skin. “If you think I’m gonna—hah,” he gasps, then with his full force, he jerks Doflamingo’s hand across his body so he can slide out from the corner opposite with the momentum. He stumbles, shaky legs finding their footing as he puts space between them once more. “—just bend over—” He lurches away as Doflamingo’s hand swings around to snatch him but misses narrowly, giving him a space to duck under as the alpha regains his bearings, locating Sanji’s new position in the cell. “Then you called the wrong omega,” Sanji pants, a self-satisfied smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth as he spots a bead of sweat trailing down Doflamingo’s temple—now this is more like it.
A far cry from what Sanji said during the last heat they shared, but it's no matter. Doflamingo doesn't have to rub it in the man's face that it's only a matter of time before he's begging to be fucked full. If he didn't want to squirm and cry on Doflamingo's knot, he wouldn't have gone through all the trouble it took to get here. After all, they're not even a mated pair. Doflamingo wouldn't have faulted him for declining his request.
And yet…
The thought of Sanji doing just that reinvigorates Doflamingo for the chase. The start of his rut looms, and he approaches Sanji head-on as his patience thins. Caught off-guard by the recklessness of the charge, Sanji pivots, eyes flying wide, preparing to dart away. The toe of his shoe catches on a blanket and he loses his balance, wobbling for a split second before Doflamingo slams into him, knocking him down onto his hands and knees in the nest. Triumphant and panting, Doflamingo curls over Sanji's back, slipping an arm around in front of him to palm at his stomach, pulling the taut curve of his ass into his hips.
"Isn't this better," he teases, quiet and saccharine now that he's captured his prize. A low, pleased groan punches from his chest as he feels Sanji hot against him. Iron indents flushed, creamy skin as Doflamingo makes unsuccessfully to taste the omega's nape exposed by the waves of gold falling forward into his face.
Sanji feels the thick bulge beneath Doflamingo's jumpsuit, searing even through their clothes as he’s held tight against it. He makes a final push for escape, hands and knees digging into his nest for purchase, but his hips don’t budge from where they’re pinned to Doflamingo’s.
He’s caught at last.
The moment his mind accepts it, his body celebrates—his breath gusts from him, his muscles begin to lose their tension. Fresh slick dampens his underwear further, and his cheeks warm at his body’s willingness to submit. As thrilled as the chase makes him, feeding his pride as an omega who is not so easily subdued by any alpha, his biology continues to humble him, singing when he can no longer run from its purpose.
Long fingers slip between the buttons of Sanji's shirt, stroking at the downy skin beneath before hooking into the fabric and tugging hard. The sleek material rends with a muted sound, buttons popping from the placket and disappearing into the nest beneath them, the hem of his shirt pulling free of the waistband of his pants.
Doflamingo grinds his hips harshly against Sanji's ass, a frustrated sound building in the back of his throat at how many layers are separating him from what he desires.
Affronted by the damage to his clothes, Sanji grabs at Doflamingo’s wrist, hissing over his shoulder, “Hey, watch it—” The arm supporting his weight collapses, elbow and shoulder hitting the nest in quick succession as Doflamingo bears his weight down on top of him.
“Hah!” The shift in position drags Doflamingo’s clothed erection over him anew, sparking a reactive jolt of his hips that pushes back against the alpha before he can stop it.
"There you are," Doflamingo rasps, taking Sanji's suggestion and rolling his hips forward. With his shirt mostly out of the way, Doflamingo's fingers travel lower, dipping beneath the waistband of Sanji's pants, his underwear. He teases his fingers at the omega's slick entrance as he continues to rut into his clothed form. Sanji's scent multiplies, hanging dense and cloying in the humid air of the cell. A groan wracks Doflamingo's frame and his head drops between his shoulders, cheek pressing against Sanji's.
The wet slide of fingers along his skin held tight by the confines of his clothes drags a frustrated sound from Sanji’s throat. It feels good, it almost feels right as Doflamingo’s hips thud dully against him.
He wants more.
The muzzle presses into his cheek, teasing him with the proximity of Doflamingo’s scent glands. He turns into him, openly mouthing at the space where leather straps dig into soft, shaven skin.
“Get,” he pants, his hand sliding over Doflamingo’s wrist, “get this shit o—aah!—off me, already.”
Sanji doesn't need to tell him twice. Doflamingo handles the blond easily, flipping him onto his back like he weighs nothing at all, quickly and roughly divesting him of his pants. His shirt gapes open, and Doflamingo pops the remaining buttons without destroying it further, then he slides down the omega's body, legs and feet inching out of the nest as he settles between Sanji's glistening thighs, intent on having his fill of Sanji's slick only to be stymied by the muzzle again.
Sanji’s hips lift, meeting only the cool metal of the muzzle and the hot waft of Doflamingo’s breath over his already warm, damp skin. “Fucking—hell!” he whines, hips nearly thrashing as he expresses his frustration. He peels his head off the nest, reaching frantically for Doflamingo. Cheeks, ears, leather straps slide under his fingers until he finds the buckle and begins to claw at it.
"Yes," Doflamingo breathes, relieved as Sanji's aim dawns on him. A low hum vibrates through his chest and he retraces his steps up the nest, giving Sanji leverage to work the straps through their metal buckles as his hand finds its way between long, lithe legs. He presses two fingertips to Sanji's soaked entrance, bowled over by the soft, velvety feel of his sex. "Fast as you're able, bunny, please," he rasps, tucking his head over Sanji's shoulder, hips moving unconsciously in time with the thrusting of his fingers, cock trapped and aching in the confines of his jumpsuit.
“I’m working on it,” Sanji pants, tossing his head back against a pillow as Doflamingo’s fingers slip into him, distracting from the task at hand. When the last buckle finally slips free, he threads his fingers into Doflamingo’s hair and pulls him close, grinding freely against his fingers.
Unimpeded at last, Doflamingo buries his nose into Sanji's scent gland, inhaling deeply and exhaling a needy sound that causes goosebumps to break out along soft skin begging to be claimed. Doflamingo laves his tongue over the gland, tasting the other man on his palate.
Omega. Sanji. Mine.
Another sound of satisfaction shakes through his chest, eyes drifting in their sockets as he follows with a scrape of his canines.
“Ah-alph—hah, Dof,” Sanji keens, shivering as the sensitive skin alights with the sensation, the idea of being claimed. Doflamingo won’t—he’s never tried—but without fail, he teases it, makes Sanji’s heart race with the potential of it. The thrill of being marked.
He tugs at short strands, pulling downward as his nerves spike. “Thought you wanted a taste,” he huffs when Doflamingo resists, laving over the gland again.
"Always keeping me on track," Doflamingo chuckles hoarsely, lips trailing up the side of Sanji's neck. When he reaches the jut of his jaw, Doflamingo lets himself bite. Not hard, but enough to sate the impulse for the time being. The slender frame beneath him tremors and Sanji clenches hopefully around his fingers, a fresh wave of slick seeping out from between them with each ingress. Doflamingo pulls them free, sucking the digits beyond his lips and curling his tongue around them until they come away clean.
With heavily lidded eyes trained on him, Sanji watches in return. His cock aches at the sight, and he bites his lip before making a half-hearted attempt to hurry Doflamingo along.
The tip of Doflamingo’s nose drags from collarbone to sternum, down the flat plane of Sanji's abdomen as he makes his way lower. Fingertips dig into the undersides of Sanji's thighs, and he holds him fast, lapping at the juices running down the creamy skin to where his thigh creases, nose bumping against Sanji's dick when he makes it to his destination. A strained noise rips through him at his first unadulterated taste.
Sanji moans as he feels the wet glide of tongue, and his toes curl where they hang in the air, stuck in place by his pinned thighs. Doflamingo licks into him, a filthy sound reaching his ears in the bare room. His knees pinch as his face burns.
“Is that—hah—all you got-nghh!”
A happy groan drags and pitches into a low whine, and Doflamingo turns his head, biting at the meat of Sanji's inner thigh. He swipes his tongue over the angry, raw flesh before returning his attention to Sanji's hole, thrusting his tongue inside.
Sanji's goading is cute, typically. Endearing in the haze of his heats and otherwise casual encounters between the two of them. During his heats especially, Doflamingo enjoys responding by slowing down, dragging out whatever torture Sanji happens to be protesting in the moment, making the proud little omega crack and beg. During his ruts though, Sanji's words hold considerably more sway, acting without Doflamingo's say so on the older, animalistic structures in his brain. He's hard-wired to prove to the little thing that he'd make an exceptional mate. His grip on Sanji's thighs tightens as he redoubles his efforts, all in service of making the blond sing.
“Fuck!” Sanji’s voice pitches high as his lungs push it out of him, a shaky, dry sob chasing it soon after. “Fucking—finally,” he rasps as a wave of pleasure builds within. Then through grit teeth and shallow, quick breaths, “There, right there, yes, yes!”
Sanji's thighs tense where they bracket Doflamingo's ears, and a fresh burst of slick floods his mouth to run down his chin, his neck, rivulets making a break for the collar of his jumpsuit and soaking into the rough-hewn orange fabric.
He works Sanji through his climax, releasing his grip on his thighs to stroke over downy hair and soft flesh, the lean muscle beneath as Sanji's whines melt into satisfied whimpers that send a powerful dose of pride surging through him. He lowers Sanji's legs into the nest, and his inner alpha rejoices with little nips to Sanji's thighs, sucking bites and open-mouthed kisses to every inch of skin within reach. He laves his tongue over Sanji's sensitive dick, his own hard and throbbing in the confines of his suit, reminding him urgently of what he has yet to do.
"Bunny," Doflamingo mumbles, setting his cheek on Sanji's thigh and gazing up his torso to alight on watery blues.
In the slow, syrupy comedown of his orgasm with the air around them alight with a blend of earthy musk and citrus, Sanji’s heart skips a beat. Doflamingo’s face is framed by his marked up thighs, chin glistening with his slick, and despite the rut that must be nowhere near sated, he takes the time to regard him.
It’s the behavior of a mate. A flush blooms on his cheeks under Doflamingo’s heavy gaze, the endearment on his tongue.
“Dof,” he mumbles back. His fingers twist in the nest, itching to scent the fabrics against Doflamingo’s glands, to bury his nose in it while Doflamingo knots him—he cuts off the dangerous thought there.
“What’re you waiting for,” he gripes, hoping to bury the burgeoning sensation in his chest with pure arousal once more.
"Permission?" Doflamingo chuckles, hurriedly disentangling himself from Sanji's long limbs to sit back on his heels and work the zipper down his suit. The thick, fluorescent material slips from his shoulders as he shrugs it off, material pooling around his waist.
He regards Sanji, flushed from chest to cheeks beneath him, mussed and pretty and fertile, possession and arousal competing for Doflamingo's focus as he drinks his fill of the little omega in his post-orgasmic state. Sanji's a far nicer sight than he's encountered in quite some time now. Perhaps it's by rut or by circumstance—or a little of both—but he seems to have become very attached to this omega in his absence.
Doflamingo raises up on his knees, shimmying his jumpsuit off the rest of the way, flopping onto his back beside Sanji to kick it free of his feet. He rolls onto his side, flinging an arm around Sanji's waist to bring him along, settling the blond half atop his torso as he moves to lie flat once more. His hand migrates from Sanji's lower back to palm his ass and his hips begin to roll. A reedy noise peels from his lips and he buries his nose in Sanji's neck, relishing the drag of his weeping cockhead where it catches between Sanji's cheeks.
"Let me take care of you," he huffs, nearly unintelligible, the words buried into soft, heated skin that smells overwhelmingly of Sanji, his own scent beginning to mix pleasantly with the omega's as they tangle together.
“You just did,” Sanji says, distracted by the the heat sliding between his legs. He can smell himself more strongly now, his own slick smearing across his skin as Doflamingo nuzzles into him. Fingers dig deeper into his skin, and he gets the sense that’s not what the rut-minded alpha meant. The thought of Doflamingo going soft on him just to dangle something deeper than what they have in front of his face rankles him—this is supposed to just be sex. They made that clear at the start of their arrangement: no feelings, no labels, no attachment. Just appeasing their natures and libidos through casual—good, hot—sex.
He reaches back, cupping Doflamingo’s cock and guiding the tip inside him with a gasp. “‘Sides, how’re you gonna take care of me locked up like this, huh?” he asks, breathless as he pushes back onto the thick length.
Doflamingo's disappointment is short-lived, his frustration less so, though it too fades as Sanji's wet heat begins to envelop him.
"Silly me," Doflamingo breathes, his smile stretching wide and then distorting as his jaw slacks.
Always keeping him on track, he teased before taking care of Sanji, and it's true. Regardless of what his biology is demanding of him, that isn't what this is. That Sanji doesn't think Doflamingo can take care of him with the considerable resources he has at his disposal—despite his incarceration—is materially inconsequential. Laughable, even.
Doflamingo plants his feet in the makeshift nest, and his fingers slide underneath Sanji's ass. He kneads at the flesh, then digs in, lifting the omega almost all the way off his cock before pulling him down harshly to sink to the hilt, groaning as Sanji spasms around him.
Finally.
The sudden fullness pushes a whine out of Sanji on the tails of the air escaping his lungs. He clings to Doflamingo, knuckles white where they grip his shoulders, knees pinching to keep the cock buried deep inside him, and the overwhelm of sensation draws a primal reaction from him, a soft utterance as he regains his breath.
“Alpha.”
Calling for him like that—
Doflamingo could warn the little thing that he's treading on dangerous ground, but he won't. It's more fun this way. A rabbit entering a den of wolves, thinking it's just the same. He can hardly blame Sanji for his misguided assumptions. After all, they each have fur and feet and teeth, don't they?
Doflamingo's hands migrate from Sanji's ass to the jut of his hips, trailing down to the bend in his knees as the blond shakily maneuvers himself into a seat. The muscles in his thighs flex and contract as he begins to ride Doflamingo, breath escaping in little puffs from parted lips, heavy-lidded blues glazed and focused skyward as Sanji uses Doflamingo's cock to make himself feel good.
"Perfect, bunny," Doflamingo purrs, "Take what you need." The tension in his spine coils tight, and he wills himself still, running his tongue over his teeth.
The alpha's chest is firm where Sanji’s hands have migrated to lean on for support, the steady thumping of the heart beneath his ribcage setting a tempo for his efforts. As thrilling as the chase is, being caught and pinned, he’s just as thrilled to mount Doflamingo like this. He feels powerful even while sating the need inside him that longs to be claimed, marked, bred.
He owns himself, he sets his pace, he takes on his terms.
With each mind-numbing thrust, Sanji loses himself to the tending of an orgasm preparing to spark to life within him. His thighs begin to burn and shake beneath Doflamingo’s warm, broad hands, so gentle as his fingers massage smooth circles into his skin. Encouraging, praising him—Sanji’s pace quickens in response.
“Fuck yes,” he unleashes with a guttural sound, his head dropping to hang low as he stares Doflamingo down, his jaw hanging open as he drinks in the sight of Doflamingo’s appreciation. “Again,” he breathes as he sinks deep and grinds his hips in a filthy roll.
"Gorgeous," Doflamingo croons, breath catching in his chest. His fingers flex, then dig into the meat of Sanji's thighs, pleasure swirling liquid and lazy in his stomach, even as his rut demands he get a move-on. He will in time, and he knows Sanji's not going anywhere for a while.
When he does, though, Doflamingo won't be able to see him again—have him again until the next time, should Sanji choose to come at all. It's Doflamingo's understanding that, if he so desired, they would be able to share Sanji's heats too.
But it's not up to him.
He redirects the troublesome thoughts clouding his mind, focusing again on the vision perched in his lap, skin rosy and dewy from his efforts, legs trembling where they dig into Doflamingo's sides as he works himself ever closer to his next release.
"Almost," he soothes with a fond grin, "just a little more and you're there." He cants his hips, rocking up to meet Sanji as he sinks down to help him along.
“C’mon, then—” Sanji urges as he collides with Doflamingo's hips rising up to him. Neediness claws at his throat, threatening to whine and plead as omegas do, and he tamps it down. He’s not even in heat, for fuck’s sake, he can keep his composure.
He pushes away from Doflamingo as his tempo begins to slip, resting a hand on the thigh behind him for stability as his fingers slide over the tip of his cock. He finds a new rhythm, shallowly bobbing on the length buried within while stroking himself, putting himself on display for the alpha to see fully. Tempting him, baiting him, testing the bounds of Doflamingo’s self-control in his rut.
“I’m—hah—doing all the work here,” he huffs, watching sharp eyes track his movement, eyeing his pumping hand and swirling hips.
"And here I thought you liked it that way," Doflamingo drawls with lift of his lips. His hips rise to greet Sanji more forcefully this time, jostling him in his lap.
Sanji scowls, brows pinching. “Shut up,” he says, concentrating as the motion helps his efforts, quickening his hand to match. Doflamingo obliges him with another thrust, and another, until Sanji is focused entirely on working his hand over himself as he’s bounced on the alpha’s cock. He doesn’t think about how much he enjoys the manhandling, why he likes to needle at Doflamingo’s patience until it snaps. What it means that Doflamingo recognizes the pattern, playing into it—he noticed it during the last rut they shared, just before the alpha knotted him into a babbling, whining mess.
It’s that reminder that tips him over again, the waves washing through him in a crushing roar. He bears down, his body tightening, convulsing around Doflamingo as more slick leaks from him, pushed out in thick streams that make obscene noises when Doflamingo doesn’t slow.
Doflamingo's awareness narrows from the pretty thing straddling his lap down to where they connect, the rhythmic pressure of Sanji's walls fluttering around his cock—near-painfully hard now and pulsing in time, begging for release. Fingernails sink into his flesh, pulling a hiss from between clenched teeth as Sanji collapses onto his chest, spent, clinging to Doflamingo as he fucks him through his second orgasm and past it.
Not enough. Not enough. Not enough.
This way, he doesn't have the leverage he needs to drive himself deep into the omega at his pace. Mark him from the inside with his seed and claim him—
A growl sends them rolling in the nest until Doflamingo is upright between Sanji's soaked thighs. "Flip over," he directs—though he doesn't wait for Sanji to comply. He pulls out to the tune of the omega's mournful cry, hooking a hand around the hollow of Sanji's knee to flip him onto his stomach. Doflamingo guides his cock back inside Sanji's cloying heat, and their hips collide with a harsh smack.
Sanji feels carved through, drenched in sweat and slick, drained only in preparation to be filled. He tries pushing up to his elbows only to find himself smothered in the nest, crowded by Doflamingo’s scent as its carried into his lungs with every inhale. This is it, he thinks, nearly delirious. What he’s been waiting for. Doflamingo pounds into him with hot, heavy breaths warming his shoulder, and he can’t even offer resistance as spent as he is. He lies there, body weakly clutching the nest as he’s driven deeper into it, pushed up into the pillows lining the wall.
“Doffy,” he whines, a hand reaching back to claw at Doflamingo’s thigh, hold him close. His muscles protest, but he twists to look over his shoulder, his vision hazy and clouded. His voice breaks. “God—fuck, alpha!”
The plaintive sound of the omega calling for him cuts through the white noise blanketing Doflamingo's brain. Long fingers tighten their grip around Sanji's waist, possessive and bruising as he mindlessly hauls Sanji into every thrust.
Mate.
He sounds like a mate. Like he belongs to Doflamingo.
His hips stutter, and he groans, pitching forward to drape himself over Sanji's back. Heat builds between them as their bodies slide together, and the contact with Sanji's skin sends Doflamingo's drive spiraling. He buries his face in Sanji's neck, nosing over the gland there, mingling their scents together as his hips continue their brutal pistoning. Another ragged groan drops his jaw wide, and he fills his mouth with the taste of Sanji's sweat-slick skin.
"Omega," he mumbles, the gland caught between his teeth, "Bunny—need—"
Unable to articulate himself further, he shoves his hips forward harshly, drawing shuddering lungfuls of Sanji's scent and whining with every thrust, certain the omega must understand. He needs to knot him, to stuff him full of his seed. To stake his claim so that everyone can see plainly who he belongs to. To take care of him like only Doflamingo can.
“Knot,” Sanji slurs, high on the dangerous drag of teeth over his skin. The thrill, the risk, the threat of follow-through sends his blood pumping, his body milking Doflamingo. He can feel it, the swollen bulge straining against his rim with every thrust, blistering hot compared to the already-heated skin of the alpha he’s pinned beneath.
“Stick your—hah—fuckin’ knot in me, nghh I swear to god—” His hand slips away from Doflamingo’s thigh, swinging up to grab a fist full of the alpha’s hair where he’s nuzzled so tightly against Sanji’s scent gland. Like this he could pretend that the shallow bites over his gland sink deeper, that they’re in Doflamingo’s bed where he last spent his heat nesting and fucking away his floral-hazed fever, that he’s being claimed. He can fantasize and come one more time around that thick, fucking knot, if only Doflamingo would just do it already.
A guttural sound shakes through Doflamingo as the fingers tangling in his hair tighten, forcing his mouth firmly to Sanji's skin. The omega is hot around him, squeezing him and bearing down as he endeavors with what little leverage his has to push himself back onto Doflamingo's knot.
The pressure builds and builds in his gut with every tease as that sensitive part of him catches on Sanji's rim, only to slip back again. One hand breaks from Sanji's waist to slide around to his middle, fingers slipping along sweat-damp skin to palm at the flat of his stomach, holding Sanji in place as he rocks forward. With a final harsh thrust, his knot breaches Sanji's rim, and overwhelming pleasure consumes him. Doflamingo's eyes disappear into the back of his skull and the coppery tang of blood bathes his teeth as he sinks them deep, lost in his rut and the riptide of release.
Sanji’s frame tightens, every muscle coiling to weather the orgasm that wracks through him. With Doflamingo slotted inside him, his knot throbbing with every pulse of his cock as his spend further fills him, Sanji’s every sense is flooded with the alpha. The euphoric bliss is far and beyond what he’s felt with Doflamingo before, and he floats through it, relishing in the novel sensations.
Only in the aftermath, when his body becomes limp and his blood thrums pleasantly under his skin does he register the dull pain under the slow laving of Doflamingo’s tongue over his scent gland.
He feels hot as the realization dawns.
“You marked me?” His voice slurs from his exhaustion, and his weak attempt to yank away is fruitless—Doflamingo’s knot tugs deliciously, keeping him secure beneath the alpha and sending a fresh ripple of pleasure through him. “What th’ hell were you thinking, fuckin’ knot-brained alpha—”
Doflamingo's release feels endless—different this time than in past iterations of spending their cycles together. He whines as another wave of pleasure crashes through him, and his hands lazily rove Sanji's body, thrusting shallowly as he continues to empty himself inside his mate.
"My omega," he rasps, tongue sluggish with the ever-present arousal his rut brings, only temporarily sated now that he's in the thick of it. Even as he rolls onto his side, bringing his omega along with him, his hips stutter forward and his cock pulses hopefully, locked deep inside Sanji's heat. His body curls protectively around the smaller one in his arms, and he continues to lave at the mess he made of Sanji's elegant neck, high on his scent burrowing beneath broken skin.
Sanji groans as he’s moved, his back plastered to Doflamingo’s front, while possessive hands grope over his chest, his cock. Sweat clings to his skin, but can’t pierce the overwhelming air of their combined scents—now tinged with familiar floral notes. The smell begins to coat Sanji’s tongue, his lungs, makes his heart race and his insides throb around the knot within. Doflamingo scrapes his teeth over the bite, and a needy whine escapes Sanji as he tries to fuck the knot further inside himself to no avail, almost as if—
“No,” he murmurs, breath hitching as his nipple is carelessly pinched. He releases Doflamingo’s hair, brushing the back of his hand over his forehead in disbelief. “Shitty fucking alpha—” The symptoms are undeniable: the fever and the sweat he can’t shake, his scent evolving, his renewed need after several consecutive orgasms.
Doflamingo marked him, claimed him as a mate—and his body is eager to respond with his heat.
Lavender. Geranium. Chills break out along the skin beneath Doflamingo's fingertips as Sanji's scent changes, rolling thick and sweet and heady through his lungs on his next inhale, bringing him up out of his rut-induced haze long enough to register what's happened. What he's done, and the change in Sanji's condition as a result. He exhales a huffing laugh into Sanji's nape which terminates in an oversensitive hiss as Sanji tightens around him.
"I suppose I made a mess of things, hm?" Doflamingo slurs, an unrestrained grin unfurling over the broken skin beneath his lips. The hand pinching idly at Sanji's nipple drifts lower, seeking out his cock and curling his fingers around it, giving his mate something to hump into while he's stuck like this on Doflamingo's knot.
“Don't,” Sanji snaps, gasping as his hips rock instinctively between the thick knot he’s snagged on and the warm, broad hand offering relief for the unrelenting need swirling inside him. “Don’t act innocent—I’m gonna—” his toes curl at the vibration echoing through him when Doflamingo hums against his neck. “I’m gonna fucking kill you,” he whines as his predicament sets in—not just for the duration of this heat. Being stuck with—to—Doflamingo can be bearable in small doses, but they’re a bonded pair now. For life.
Sanji flushes at the commitment tied to Doflamingo’s impulsive decision. The unattainable fantasy he so easily lost himself to in the heat of the moment has manifested into reality—and his biology is refusing to let him think of anything besides further cementing the bond with Doflamingo through his heat.
"Bunny," Doflamingo coos, "don't be mad at me." He buries his pout into fevered skin, and it quickly dissipates as Sanji melts into him. A high keen slips from between hitching pants to range around the cell and Doflamingo responds with a pleased groan, shifting languidly with the movement of Sanji's hips. "I'll see to it you're taken care of. You know I will."
“Yeah,” Sanji grumbles, his reluctance wearing down incrementally as the more pressing need of relieving his heat grows. “You better.”
He can feel the smile that spreads over his nape, and his eyes roll back as teeth indent his skin once more.