A/N: I've been sitting on this AU for a while so.. fuck it, here you go. Inspired by the prompt "kissed them as a distraction while stealing their wallet." Art for this au can be found on my tumblr (link in profile) /tagged/pickpocket-au

Please read the warnings at the beginning of each chapter, they will be updated. This fic is gonna be messed up. If you have questions about what ways exactly it'll be messed up before you start reading, just drop me a PM and I can give you a rundown of all the expected warnings.

WARNING: explicit violence & noncon feat. sex-averse Law


Life in the underworld brought Doflamingo many insights on the human condition.

Hell didn't exist. Evil was a myth. Praying to God for salvation would never work, because the only devil was man himself.

Corruption, misery, suffering. All were manmade.

And the desire for destruction was something everyone had. The progression of society naturally led to this.

Harnessing destruction was the only means towards power, but still there was always the risk of destroying yourself in the process. Power was intoxicating, blinding, debilitating. Lust for power, for dominance, for ownership, would only lead to your early demise at the hands of that which you sought to control.

Doflamingo had seen the pattern everywhere he looked in history. He watched it happen over and over again with his own eyes. Men overburdened with desire, collapsing under the weight of their own audacity and blind pride, ruined by greed.

And yet, those who remained humble only gained a long life laboring under the yoke of those same men.

It was easy to decide which he would rather be.

One night Doflamingo is standing outside of a restaurant with a few of his men, chatting on the sidewalk while waiting for the car to come around. He's not really paying attention to his surroundings – it's been a pretty laid back evening so far, just dinner with an old friend – when some passerby walks straight into him.

He's surprised, but after a bottle of good wine his temper is fairly subdued so he doesn't shove the guy into traffic like he might on another occasion. All he does is say, "Watch it," rather mildly, his men observing the scene silently.

But the stranger doesn't move away and keep walking as expected. Instead he looks up at Doffy with a lazy smirk and presses full up against him, drawling, "Oh, hello handsome."

Doffy's brows shoot up when he finds himself being dragged down by his tie into a wet kiss that reeks of vodka, and he grabs the skinny wrist of the hand that palms over his crotch, using it to force the other man to take a step back.

The man doesn't appear at all dissuaded, grinning at him with the fuzzy levity of someone who's far too drunk to realize who they had just felt up.

The guy's blatant come on could have been cause enough to leave him in an alley with a busted leg, but he also happens to be quite good looking himself, and the alcoholic fumes were so strong Doffy feels like he caught a bit of a buzz from that kiss, so Doffy finds the whole situation more amusing than not. He grins back at the guy, letting go of his wrist in favor of dropping a hand on his shoulder and guiding him away in the direction he had been walking before encountering Doffy as an obstacle. "Get lost, kid."

The guy laughs but continues on his merry way without a fuss, and with only a slight lilt to his gait.

Vergo is watching him skeptically, and Doflamingo chuckles, "That brat is really asking for trouble."

At that moment their car pulls up to the curb, and Doffy straightens his jacket as one of his men opens the door for him. Then he pauses. And checks all his pockets again.

That fucking kid just stole his wallet.

"Find that little shit and bring him back, he's a fucking pickpocket," he snaps, and two men dutifully break away from the group to sprint down the road in the direction the thief disappeared in.

Doflamingo glares after them, then gets in the car, followed by Vergo.

"That was a very insolent move," Vergo says flatly as they drive away.

"Stupid fucker has balls, at least," Doffy growls. Maybe not for long though.

Shortly after he gets back to the house, his men return with the thief in tow.

They leave him handcuffed to a chair in one of the basement rooms, and that's where Doflamingo sees him for the second time, ugly bruises blooming over his face and blood drying on his chin from a split lip, with all the possessions he was carrying laid out on a table, including Doffy's wallet.

The guy looks younger after being roughed up, sitting barefooted without his coat, in just jeans and a flimsy t-shirt. He really is skinny, a leanness that hinted at days gone hungry. His eyes are pale, sullen, and completely alert. The drunkenness must have all been an act for the sake of catching rich men unawares. It would have worked too; if Doffy hadn't happened to notice his empty pocket before getting into the car this kid would have had plenty of time to escape scot-free.

Unfortunately for him, he wasn't as lucky as Doflamingo was tonight.

Doflamingo picks up his wallet and slides it back into his pocket after checking that nothing is missing, smiling cheerfully at the kid.

"Not your best night, eh? You really picked the wrong man to mess with."

The kid only watches him, and Doffy paws through the rest of the items on the table. A set of keys, a plastic Bic and an empty pack of cigarettes, a little folding knife, and a thin leather wallet. Doffy picks that up next and flips it open, finding an expired driver's license and not much else.

"Trafalgar Law. Only 24, hm? You're not looking so good, Law."

He looks over the kid again, slowly so Trafalgar can really feel his appraisal, but the little shit doesn't so much as flinch. Well. That just wouldn't do.

Doflamingo drops the wallet back on the table and crosses the room with a few strides, coming to a stop right in front of Law.

"It's rude not to speak when spoken to, kid. Didn't your mother teach you some manners?"

Law didn't keep eye contact with him when he moved. Instead of craning his neck to meet Doffy's eyes, his attention seems to have drifted off somewhere to the side. He still doesn't answer.

So Doflamingo backhands him, knuckles cracking across an already black-and-blue cheek. Law's head snaps to the side so fast he'll probably have whiplash in the morning, and he only makes a little noise in his throat, sounding more surprised than in pain.

Doffy gives him a second to regain his bearings before grabbing his jaw, pressing in a new set of bruises as he forces Law's chin up so he can grin right in his face, "Pay attention when I'm talking to you."

Despite the injuries that Doffy has absolutely no compunctions about adding to, and more evidence of an unpleasant life that becomes obvious under decent light and closer inspection—the kid must look like death warmed over in bright sunshine—he can't help being pleased that his first impression is reaffirmed.

Trafalgar Law really is good looking. His eyelashes are long and coal-black, his lips are full (and only slightly bloodied), and his high cheekbones make him look expensive. Doffy almost wishes he had thought to tell his men not to mess up his face.

However, Law is also just shy of gaunt, with unhealthy dark circles under those nice thick lashes. The kid looks so pathetic Doflamingo thinks he might be a junkie, and his head had to be at least a little unscrewed if he thought he could pull off such a brazen scam on a gang boss surrounded by men right on the open street.

And the longer Doflamingo looks, the more obvious it becomes that behind the obvious distaste there's something else lurking in Law's eyes. Something that's too sharp to be madness, and too unsettling to be called hate. Doflamingo has had a lot of experience with hate, he knows what it looks like after seeing it laid bare on so many faces, and hate never turned him on this fast.

Eventually Law decides he's looked too long and jerks out of his grip, and Doflamingo lets him go, deciding to reach down and start undoing his jeans instead. Law kicks him in the knee then, hard, but that doesn't stop him from popping open the button and drawing the zipper before taking hold of the waistband and tugging them off his hips.

"Keep struggling, it's getting me hot," he tells Law with a smirk. "You really shouldn't have tried to feel me up, you know. With a pretty face like yours, someone might take it the wrong way."

Doffy gets the jeans dragged off his legs while Law fights him the whole way, only stopping for half a minute when Doflamingo sinks a fist into his gut. He pulls the kid's shirt up and over his head, which is about as far as he can get it with Law still cuffed to the chair, leaving him in only a pair of black shorts.

"Oh, I like these," he says, running both hands over the revealed tattoos inked into Law's dark skin. Law bares his teeth at him, his body coiled tense and unyielding under Doflamingo's touch.

Doffy can trace a few individual ribs underneath the smooth skin and muscle. The kid is so skinny he can imagine exactly how hard he would have to press to crack one of those thin bones. It wouldn't take much, just a little force... and then snap.

He likes how slim Law looks under his hands, and how fucking breakable he feels. It only takes a glance at Law's face, into those hard narrow eyes, to cement the fact that Doflamingo is going to spend the rest of the night exploring all of the brat's limits.

His hands switch direction and slide back down Law's sides until he hits sharp hipbones, then he dips a little lower and cups a palm between Law's legs, giving him a rub and a firm squeeze. Law's cock hardens up nicely inside his shorts with a little focused attention, and when Doffy finally pulls off the last remaining barrier it pops out, eager for more.

Doflamingo grins, "Look at this... you're a bit of a slut." He closes his fist around the stiff length and gives it a few loose strokes. It's silky soft, and nice and hot against his palm.

That's what finally causes the brat to use his words. Law hisses, "What the fuck do you think you're doing?" His struggles begin again with fresh indignation, though Doflamingo holds him easily with a hand pressing down heavy on his thigh.

"What's it look like, kid? I'm gonna fuck you."

"Don't touch me you piece of shit."

"Who's going to make me stop? You?"

Law sneers at him, "I'll fucking kill you."

It just makes Doflamingo laugh. "Such language...you really are a stupid brat. I'm going to enjoy this."

He lets go, leaving Law hard, his cock flushed with a drop of precum beading on the tip, and exits the room without a glance back. He stops just outside the door and addresses the man he has standing guard there, "Bring him up to my room. Don't rough him up too much if he fights, I want him awake."

...

He fucks him with a condom, of course. Who knew where the brat had been, who else had fucked him, whose dirty needles had been under that skin.

It's funny, but Law honestly looks more tortured receiving pleasure than pain. Abuse he seems to brush off with indifference; he doesn't scream, or cry, or any of the reactions that Doffy savors so much in others. It's only when Doflamingo starts concentrating on making him spill, then his face twists up like he's experiencing the most exquisite agony. It's fascinating. Doffy wants to force him to come again and again, until Law has ripped himself up into little shreds.

After he coaxes a second orgasm from the brat, Law's chest is heaving. Doffy can see the pulse beating fast in his throat. His eyes are fogged over, and he moans pitifully, turning his face into the sheets when Doffy doesn't stop.

"Oh fuck. Fuck—I'm going to fucking kill you for this," Law gasps, the words sounding like they're being dragged from him.

There's no sign of surrendering to the pleasure forced on him, or even the smallest hint of shameful enjoyment that would be apparent in even the most uncooperative victims. It genuinely seems like he hates coming, which makes Doflamingo wonder just how fucked in the head Law really is.

Of course, he also indulges himself fully in the simple enjoyment of using Law for his own physical pleasure. Overall there's not a single dull moment during the time Doflamingo spends fucking him. Even towards the end, when Law has been worn down past the point of struggling or voicing protests, his eyes are still brimming with that vicious look, filled with poison just for him.

He lets the kid go once he gets tired, shoving him off the bed after the last round and calling for whoever is watching the door to come and escort him off the property.

Law gets dressed in his messed up clothes without a word, seeming to be out of threats. His neck is littered with fresh bite and suck marks, the shadows of fingertips plain to see on his jaw and hips and the insides of his thighs. Random bruises from his encounters with Doffy's fists, or his men, are dark and ugly in contrast with his smooth sepia skin. There's still dry blood in the corners of his lips.

He looks about three times worse leaving than he did coming in, and that's really saying something.

It's a nice look, and Doffy enjoys it even though Law doesn't spare him a second glance on his way out the door. Then he settles down to get a few hours of sleep before he has to start the day, not thinking any more of it.

But the next day, when he's stuck in a family meeting that's beginning to drag on pointlessly, his thoughts wander back to the night before. Law's slender hips and bony feet had been sweet indeed, though Doflamingo is stuck on his eyes most of all.

Those lovely eyes continue to stick with him beyond the limits of a passing amusement. Whenever he has a few spare minutes to himself, they float up from his memory and spread themselves over his thoughts, silent and gray, like the huge wings of a moth. Heavy-lidded, exhausted, long lashes dipping low, or wide and sharp and bright with outrage, and always intently aware of him, always toxic.

Doflamingo finds himself wondering at the source of that toxicity. He believes he has a pretty good grasp on all types of misery that occupied the little gaps and crevices of someone's character, but he can't quite put his finger on what was so odd about Law. Poets claim the eyes are man's window to the soul, and the more Doflamingo thinks about it the more he wants to break Law open and lay his hands on that poison so he can feel it for himself.

After a week of becoming only more distracted by his curiosity, to the point where even some of his family have asked what's on his mind when his attention lulls, he makes up his mind that there's nothing to be done except satisfy it. He sends someone to go track down the brat and bring him back to the house.

Instead of getting Law, his man is sent to the hospital with a knife wound in his gut that quickly turns septic. Which seems... only fitting. That's when Doflamingo decides this whole thing really requires his personal attention, from beginning to end.


Thanks for reading, what'd you think?