Rocinante lifted his eyes, catching a glimpse of Sir Crocodile resting by the fire, drying himself off while reading today's paper. Just as the older man turned his head, the blond lowered his stare, pretending to look down at his second glass, waiting for the Shichibukai to finishing surveying the area before he went back to staring.

The marine was in quite the conundrum. Right now Crocodile was occupying the same space his brother was. Doflamingo ordered him and the executives to keep a lookout for Crocodile, and while Rocinante was confident that the others were out making merry with some prostitutes, or gambling money away, there was always that risk that his brother or someone else in the crew might come across the Shichibukai.

What made matters worse was him giving away his name to Crocodile. In any other situation, this wouldn't have been so bad but he was playing the role of an assumed mute, and his brother couldn't know that he was capable of speech. If Doflamingo and Crocodile crossed paths, there was that slight chance he'd be mentioned, what with him being brother to the captain. And as far as Crocodile knew, Rocinante could talk.

It was clear he would need to take extreme measures in order to keep Crocodile away from his brother. Sengoku gave the orders to keep the two parted, but now the marine had his incentive.

Rocinante pushed his sunglasses up, slightly tilting his head and giving Crocodile another glance. Right now he was lucky the man didn't want anything to do with the miserable weather. The rain was keeping the Shichibukai inside, but Rocinante doubted the weather would proceed to be cold and wet for ten more hours.

Crocodile leaned back, looking over the paper he was reading, directly at Rocinante. The blond snapped his head back down, grabbing his drink and taking a rather large swig in order to deter the pirate from any suspicion.

How was he going to distract Crocodile?

Rocinante sank into his seat, his spread legs kicking the legs of his table, causing it to wobble, and him to stumble forward, grabbing it and stopping himself from making another scene.

"Excuse me?" A soft voice whispered.

He looked at the waitress standing by him. She looked incredibly nervous, as though she were still recovering from cleaning Crocodile's hook. The marine watched as she placed a glass of something dark in front of him, her face turning red as she pulled away, avoiding eye contact with Rocinante.

"Sir Crocodile ordered this for you."

Rocinante stared at the glass offered to him, not saying a word as the waitress walked off, only giving a glance over when he picked it up and brought it to eye level. He stared at the dark liquid, detecting the scent of something strong, and knew right away that this drink given to him wasn't some random act of kindness. Pirates always carried ulterior motives. He placed the glass down and cupped his hands together, letting his natural distrust of criminals show on his face as he rested back into his seat.

Did Crocodile see something in him that he didn't? Rocinante could imagine that his choice of dress might suggest a certain amount of delinquency to his behavior; he didn't think he possessed the usual manner of a pirate. Even if he did, it didn't explain the free drink. Sure, he caused food to spill over those men. Rocinante could see how someone might misinterpret his mistake as purposeful action, but a man like Sir Crocodile?

And then there was Crocodile lighting up his cigarette. It was the sort of favor that Rocinante never cared to think too much about in the past. He'd experienced his fair amount of strangers asking for a light. But Sir Crocodile had no reason to kneel on the unkempt floor of a bar, look Rocinante in the eyes, and speak to him, asking him questions, making further comments, and laughing at him while offering him a light.

"What's your game?"

The sound of Crocodile's low voice right behind him caused Rocinante to jump in his seat. He stopped the table from shaking too much, saving his glass from spilling its contents all over the place. He looked over his shoulder and spotted the Shichibukai pulling a cigar from his coat, gold eyes resting on him.

"Excuse me?" Rocinante asked. He frowned. No, it didn't really matter so much that he was talking again now, did it? Crocodile wasn't about to forget that minor detail.

"Don't play dumb," the pirate replied, bringing the cigar to his lips. "You've been watching me." He fished through the pocket of his coat and took his lighter from it. "You made a point to make sure I caught you each and every time."

Rocinante expected Crocodile to be offended. The pirate continued to stare at him, eyes filling with something heavy and hazed. But it wasn't the usual dark look the marine was accustomed to seeing in a pirate.

Crocodile smirked. "And those ridiculous attempts cover up your tracks with hasty movements. A tad juvenile, don't you think? A man your age is better off making his intentions clear."

So Crocodile was aware he was being watched? Worse, he though the marine's attempt to not look conspicuous was done on purpose? Rocinante thought he was decent when it came to detective work, but the pirate's remark seemed to be proving him wrong. Then again, Crocodile didn't suspect Rocinante to be an undercover marine. No, the older man thought he was being a terrible flirt.

There was a bright side to this: Crocodile was speaking to him. Considering Rocinante just finished asking himself how he was supposed to keep the pirate far from his brother, this start of a conversation over a drink could prove to be a fine distraction. All Rocinante needed to do was play into the pirate's hand. Crocodile thought he was flirting with him…well, the marine pretended to be a pirate; a not so secret admirer shouldn't be too hard.

Rocinante rested his shoulder, letting his fingers wrap around the base of his glass, but not quite ready to grab it. He saw the way Crocodile watched his movements, and understood what to do in order to keep the pirate around.

The blond glanced over at his drink, showing off a look of disinterest. "Yes, well," he began, "what were the odds of me coming up successful? A guy like me, going up to a pirate like you? I mean, come on?"

"And now you're rejecting my offering to you?" A giant hook gestured at the neglected glass. This time Rocinante could detect a tinge of annoyance in the man's voice.

He quickly thought up his response. "It got you over here, didn't it?" He plastered on a confident smile, lifting a hand up and pointing it at the remaining chair occupying his table.

The marine never played the "hard to get" card before. Most of the time he was obvious with his intentions, letting girls know right away he liked them back. Rocinante never had a pirate pursue him before, and he wasn't sure he was going about this the right way.

Crocodile shifted the cigar to the side of his mouth, watching Rocinante's hand slowly lower back down to the table. He leered at the chair. "I don't like being lead on."

Rocinante waited for the fumes released from Crocodile's mouth to die down before grabbed his shades, pulling them down, and responding: "Well, are you going to do something about it then?"

Crocodile's eyes lit up. Rocinante watched the cigar tip downward, Crocodile's jaw lowering, not quite prepared for such a haughty comeback. Heck, Rocinante was surprised to hear the words come out of his own mouth. But he said them, and he couldn't take it back, not that he would if he could. Crocodile's severe expression was diminishing, and Rocinante could spot the pirate's exposed incisors as a grin appeared, finding Rocinante's defiant attitude…attractive? The marine doubted that. Crocodile viewed him as a challenge, something he wanted to overcome and accomplish, and Rocinante was sure he could handle that for a few hours, at least until the Shichibukai grew bored of this island and left to his next series of criminal activity.

"You going to take the seat?" Rocinante asked, lifting his shades back up and covering his eyes from the older man.

"My, my." Crocodile circled around the table, Rocinante, smirk growing as he took his cigar, giving it a flick and letting some ash fall. He stopped in front of the chair and with the use of his leg, pulled it out. "Such confidence. You weren't showing any of that before."

Rocinante grinned. "I'm full of surprises."

The Shichibukai took his seat. Rocinante kept his grin. He took his glass and brought it to his lips, catching the pirate shifting in his seat. It was a strange sight to behold. The pirate that fought against Whitebeard was now throwing aggressive glances at him, hand rubbing against the golden curve of the hook, mouth slightly parted and taking in eager breaths. He had the pirate right where he wanted him. All he needed to figure out was a way to get Crocodile back in his ship and off this island before his brother or anyone else–

"…An interesting coat you have on you."

Rocinante nearly spat out his first gulp when Crocodile calmly announced those cruel words. He covered his mouth just in time, stopping himself from rudely coughing up the drink that the pirate ordered for him. Except now he was choking. Rocinante's face burned hot as the alcohol settled in his mouth and throat. He blinked a few times, watching Crocodile stare and wait for an audible response from him. A smile formed on the pirate's face. No, a smirk. Worse than before. With his elbows on the table, head lowered, eyes on the marine, and that evil grin showing off all sorts of intentions, Rocinante figured that him nearly spitting out his drink was the least of his problems.

He gulped down ale and coughed out his reply: "My coat?"

Sir Crocodile rolled his cigar between his index and thumb. "Yes," he replied, shrugging and no longer possessing that predatory gaze from before. "It's nice. Feathers."

"You like feather coats?"

The pirate shrugged. "I'm fond of them. They're not my style. I'd never wear feathers in public myself, but I do find the appeal."

The marine would never have guessed that Crocodile might enjoy the sight of fluttery, light feathers. But then he couldn't imagine any sort of relationship between Crocodile and his brother, and it did seem that Doflamingo knew the man.

"Thanks," the blond said. "The coat, I mean. Thanks for liking it. Err, I mean, well…"

Several weeks keeping of his mouth shut, and now Rocinante was struggling to keep a conversation with another person. And it would be another ten hours before he left it. Rocinante placed his glass down and brought his hand up to his mouth, once again feeling the heat of embarrassment, now being fueled with his first glass and soon to be second.

"…thanks for the drink," he finally said. He watched the way Crocodile gave a slight, half-hearted nod with his head, somehow looking bored and tired of everything, while also appearing amused by the his attempts to keep his interest. Rocinante supposed the pirate was figuring him out. Yes, Crocodile was probably scolding himself for letting this fool trick him into thinking he was a tease.

But then Rocinante heard the metallic sound of the man's rings hitting his hook.

"Rocinante?" Crocodile muttered, hand continuing to slide across the hook. Rocinante shuddered at the combined sound of his name and those rings clicking against the metal. "Where are you from?"

The rather personal question came as a surprise to Rocinante. He grabbed his drink and took another sip, the few added seconds giving him the adequate amount of time to calm down and think up an answer. "The North Blue."

"You're not too far from home then." Crocodile lifted his hand from the hook. He took his cigar and gave it another light shake, letting more ash fall to the floor. "Whereabouts?"

"Oh, nothing special." The marine took another sip. His head was beginning to feel warm. His stomach was heavy with liquid, lighting him up and making it hard to tell if he was blushing because this conversation felt awkward and impossible to conceive, or because he didn't eat enough today and this stuff he was drinking was probably from the East Blue. It tasted like it might be from the East Blue. It was strong. Rocinante sniffed. "Just another small town."

Crocodile reclined into his seat. Rocinante caught the man glancing over at the window, trying to determine whether things outside improved through a foggy, unclean pane. "Have you come across pirates in your travels?"

Rocinante was sure the surrounding area was starting to heat up. A majority of the customers fled the pub shortly after Crocodile stabbed one of the villagers, but things were getting unbearably stuffy, and Rocinante wanted to rip his beanie off and toss it aside. He wanted to take off his feather coat, but he couldn't because Crocodile liked it, and he wasn't sure how the man might react to him removing it, not after that compliment.

Maybe he was a little drunk. "A few," Rocinante answered, his eyes now measuring the amount of ale he'd consumed since Crocodile took his seat. How much more could he handle? Perhaps he ought to consider pacing himself? Oh, what would Sengoku do at a time like this?

"I take it you've never dealt with the quarrels that come when you interact with pirates?"

That was a lot of words that the marine didn't quite understand. Rocinante brought his hand up, letting it settle underneath his beanie so that he could run fingers through his hair, and allow some cool air to run through. He was hot, and Crocodile's questions sounded more like some interview, and Rocinante was never good at those.

His fingers rubbed against the side of his head "Well, no," he admitted. "I didn't have to worry too much about those. You see–"

"–Finish your drink." It was a gentle command, supplied by a few tender curls of the fingers gesturing towards that half finished glass.

"Ok." Rocinante picked up his glass and followed his given orders without a thought.

The door to the pub opened. Crocodile turned and stared at the small collection of people entering, the door remaining ajar as they passed through. Rocinante was sure he caught a smile on the older man's face.

"What were you about to say?" he heard Crocodile ask.

Rocinante blinked, temporarily activating his powers, turning off the sound of the people chatting, walking, ordering their food and drink, and on the opened door, and the sounds outside. The rain was dying down.

"Marines usually keep things in control," Rocinante said. He sounded a little too cautious. He needed to calm back down before Crocodile noticed. More than he already did. How was he going to keep Crocodile around once the weather improved?

"Are you a marine?"

Rocinante stared at his drink. "No," he lied.

A long trail of smoke blew across the table. "Look at me when you answer, Rocinante."

The blond raised his head up.

Crocodile pointed a finger at him. "Shades."

Rocinante removed his sunglasses, exposing himself to the older man. Without the shades, Rocinante could feel cool air pool around his eyes. The sensation lasted only a few seconds, but it alerted him just how warm he'd become. How much of that was the alcohol, and not a result of Crocodile casually ordering him around, dry smile growing wide each time Rocinante complied?

"Tell me; are you a marine?"

He remembered a technique where the person being interrogated was supposed to look not quite directly in the interrogator's eyes. Rocinante rested his eyes on the uppermost button on Crocodile's shirt. It was a very nice button. Too nice for a criminal. His vision blurred and he looked upwards, eyes now on the ascot. Very nice ascot. The color was…nice. Everything was nice. Crocodile looked nice.

Rocinante grinned. "Nah, I'm not a marine," he said, chuckling out every other word. "I'm just...traveling. I'm not alone, if that's what you're trying to in-sin-u-ate." He spread himself out, both hands waving to Crocodile. "I'm doing my own thing. I'm working hard though. I'm…" Rocinante's chest tightened when he saw Crocodile bring his hand to cover his mouth and the look of amusement breaking through his usual tired character. "Oh. I'm getting drunk."

"Yes, you are." Crocodile looked over and raised his hand, catching the attention of a waiter. Rocinante picked up his sunglasses, his body warm and relaxed, only stiffening when he noticed Crocodile ordering a few things for the blond to snack on.

He waited for Crocodile to send the waiter off, and then, grabbing the tassels of his beanie, said: "Thanks."

Crocodile blew smoke from his pursed lips, not looking the least bit affected by Rocinante's comment. "It's not a problem," he remarked. "I'm not paying for anything here, remember?"

"I could've ordered," Rocinante pointed out. Crocodile crossed his arms, looking away from the smiling blond. "But you ordered for me. I don't have to pay then. I mean…you didn't have to do that, but you did…"

Crocodile stared over to the window, his thin lips twisting at the ends when he caught a glimpse of something. Rocinante watched the man uncross his legs, bring a hand up to his mouth and remove his cigar, allowing his smirk to grow. It took some concentration, but Rocinante was able to focus his eyes on the clouded window, and noticed that there were no drops of rain being added to the collection pooling down the stained glass.

"No more rain," the blond remarked. Which meant there was nothing keeping Crocodile inside, not unless he was afraid of getting mud on his shoes. "Guess that means you're gonna leave?"

Crocodile broke away from the window, looking offended by Rocinante's remark. "Finish your drink," he ordered.

"What?" Rocinante asked. It was his first act of defiance towards Crocodile, and it wasn't even intentional. Yet the blond was already regretting having said the word.

With the use of his cigar, Crocodile pointed at the blond's drink. "This doesn't go well with the food I ordered for you. No, I had to get something finer, something that would compliment your meal. And I despise clutter at the table, even at a place of this standard."

Rocinante sat there, turning more dumbfounded with each additional word spoken by Crocodile. And the pirate continued to survey him, patiently waiting for the young man to oblige to his whim, the increasing sternness in his golden eyes being the only change in his appearance.

He took in the scene; face flushing the moment Rocinante comprehended the one catch that would keep the Shichibukai in place. Crocodile was not the normal kind of flirt, but it was obvious the man was trying to wine and dine him. And Rocinante wasn't the least bit ashamed to admit that it was working. He reached for his glass, his hazed eyes never leaving Crocodile's, and he brought it up to his mouth, reminding himself he still had a mission to accomplish, and that he just so happened to be enjoying himself while doing it.

He downed the ale, feeling the spices and heat of the alcohol run smooth down his throat, leaving only a dry burn that was soothed with Crocodile's enthusiastic words: "Good boy."

Finish your drink, Rocinante.

Tell me your age, Rocinante.

Don't laugh while you eat; it ruins the appetite.

Somewhere between the second and third glass the dwindling, sober part of Rocinante's mind informed him that Crocodile was giving out orders, not suggestions, and he was falling deeper into trouble, complying to every demand without providing just a bit of struggle.

Take off your cap, Rocinante.

Move closer.

I want to run my hand through your hair, Rocinante.

Don't move.

He was drunk, and his hands were shaking under his weight as he leaned over the table, listening to Crocodile make a remark about blond hair while simultaneously rubbing his fingers against Rocinante's scalp, fingers collecting and giving quick tugs at the root, testing the younger man's complacency, and growing more entertained when Rocinante did nothing but turn a deeper shade of red.

Rocinante was sure his makeup was no longer the defining trait of his person, nor the unusual attire he donned, or his clumsiness. He wasn't sure what to make of his personhood at the moment, but when Crocodile brought his hook over to the young man's chin, lifting his head up just enough to further test Rocinante's contentment in this unveiling game of master and slave, the blond felt nothing but relief. The cool metal against his hot skin was a welcoming sensation, and Crocodile's slow breathing and gentle stare made the examination process less intimidating.

"Do you have any idea what sort of trouble you're getting yourself into?"

Anyone could have said it. Crocodile, the waitress, the manager, any of the civilians watching Rocinante bend over backwards to please this man, only to slip forward and nearly hit his head against the table. Hell, Rocinante might have muttered it to himself, but just as his forehead was about to make contact with the wooden table, a hand roughly grabbed and pulled him back up, and Rocinante was reunited with those hungry golden eyes, eager to control and manipulate him like a puppet.

And the strings were tightening.

"I slipped," the blond slurred.

"You did." Crocodile carefully fixed the man into a standing position, making a few inaudible remarks as he struggled to keep a hold of Rocinante while also maneuvering out of his seat, around the table, and behind the blond. His grip remained form, ever changing, but always there, reminding Rocinante of his place.

"Thanks." He cracked an uneven grin. "You're not so bad, for a pirate."

"Hmmm…"

Rocinante was turned around. The hand that gripped his shoulder slid down to his side, where it could better assure that there would be no future tumbles.

"Get your things," Crocodile ordered. Rocinante did so without a moment's hesitation, placing his beanie on and pulling it down till he felt the tassels stretch in his hands. The glasses were hung around the collar of his shirt. The feather coat barely made it over his shoulders. He let Crocodile continue to survey him, feeling proud of himself when the pirate nodded his head, approving of this less than graceful version of himself. "Lets go," Crocodile said, letting go of Rocinante, assured that the blond would follow no matter how drunk he was.

He was right. Rocinante staggered behind, one hand reached out, trying to grab hold of the man's coat that lazily hung on his shoulder. But Crocodile was always a few steps ahead, which, considering Rocinante needed the occasional help to keep balance was an impressive feat.

They left the pub and the marine was welcomed with the refreshing sensation of cool, moist air tickling his heated cheeks. The air wasn't so stuffy, and his feather coat no longer as claustrophobic. He felt Crocodile grab him, a possible sign that the blond stopped to enjoy the weather, and he felt himself being tugged into the direction of the more populated part of town.

"What?" Rocinante blinked several times, his eyes having a difficult time readjusting to the light. He grabbed on to Crocodile's shoulder, legs shaking and threatening to slip. "We-Where are we going?"

"There's a nice hotel just a few blocks down," Crocodile remarked, pushing Rocinante off of him. "It shouldn't be more than a ten minute walk, assuming you can manage another step without falling over yourself."

"No, no, no," Rocinante said. He brought his arm over Crocodile's shoulder to press a finger against the man's lips. His mouth remained opened when he felt how soft they felt, and then remembered he was all over the Shichibukai, and that Crocodile's entire being felt relatively soft and warm. He just left a hot pub, but right now those extra layers of silk and fur adorning Crocodile felt amazing and Rocinante just wanted to snatch it away….no, wait!

His brother! And Sengoku! He couldn't forget about his mission to keep Crocodile away from Doflamingo.

"No, we-we can't go to town." Rocinante struggled with every word. "I can let you go…there, no, I can't have that. That would be very bad."

Crocodile grabbed his hand and yanked it away from his mouth. Rocinante suddenly stumbled forward, his body losing its grip when the body he was holding on to began to crumble. He fell about halfway before Crocodile grabbed him by the wrist and pulled him back up.

"Experiencing a change of heart?" he asked.

Rocinante felt his legs being to shake. "No," he answered. "It's just…"

He was drunk. Rocinante was a detective, a great undercover agent, and a damn fine marine, and he knew if he was sober he would've come up with an elaborate excuse as to why going further into town was a bad idea. But he was drunk, and all he could think about was Doflamingo and his stupid crew, those horrible people and the way they manipulated children, and his brother planning to take over an entire country. And Doflamingo wanted to talk with Crocodile, and Sengoku didn't want that to happen, and neither did Rocinante, but he wasn't too sure why at this point, even with Crocodile's frightening eyes trying to force him to comply.

"I don't want my b-brother to see you," he answered. Whatever sobriety remaining in Rocinante's mind screamed as words continued to flow out of his mouth, disregarding any sort of consequences that might follow. "I can't have him spot you, otherwise that m-might be a problem. You can't talk to him. I need to keep you away…ok?"

Crocodile raised a brow at him. "Brother?"

Rocinante's jaw remained unhinged. He was beginning to understand what he said to the man. The jig was up, but he was too drunk to be upset over the matter. So he shrugged at Crocodile, and were it not for those annoying tassels getting in his face, might have taking the time to nod his head or even give a vocal reply. Instead he blew air at them, hoping the weak current would push them away.

"Ku-haha…"

Rocinante blinked. "What?"

"Kuhaha!" Rocinante fell to the floor; Crocodile letting go of him in order to hold on to himself. The blond readjusted himself, fixing his coat back into place, and grabbing his sunglasses from his leg, placing them over his face after a few tries. He lifted his head and saw Crocodile grinning down at him. The shades made it hard to tell what sort of smile it was, but Rocinante was relieved when Crocodile leaned forward, hand reaching out to him, that smile not faltering one bit when Rocinante grabbed it with his wet hand.

He was pulled up, and this time Rocinante felt a jolt of excitement run up his spine when a arm, Crocodile's arm, wrapped itself around his back, the base of his hook pressed firm against him.

"I understand." Crocodile snickered some more, but his hold kept Rocinante feeling strangely comforted. "Yes, I figured someone like you couldn't possibly be traveling alone. This makes sense."

"W-what?"

This time Crocodile pressed his finger against Rocinante's mouth. "My ship is just south of here. It's hidden well, not that it matters. I seriously doubt your brother will have reason to go so far beyond the town's limits."

The blond's eyes widened. Crocodile's finger was warm, and though it wasn't pressed nearly as hard as Rocinante's had been to Crocodile, it felt him feeling weak and incapable of parting his lips.

"You can rest assure your…integrity will remain intact," Crocodile continued, voice falling a pitch and leaving Rocinante little choice but to hold on to the domineering Shichibukai. Crocodile lifted his finger from Rocinante's lips, the dark lipstick somehow not staining the man's skin. Had he really been that delicate all along? "Now, Rocinante," Crocodile began, "without further making a fool of yourself, follow my lead and I'll show you just what sort of trouble you committed yourself to…"

Rocinante's jaw finally began to drop.

"I require a definitive answer, Rocinante."

Hearing his name caused him to shiver. Why, oh why, did Crocodile keep saying his name?

"Yes," he answered.

"Yes?" Crocodile chuckled. Rocinante could feel the heat from the hook begin to earth its way through his coat. "Yes what?"

Wasn't this supposed to be a mission to keep Crocodile away from his brother? Rocinante's job was to get Crocodile out of town, not to sleep with him. Yes, alcohol was involved, but how much of it could Rocinante place the blame on? At what point did the spying marine become prey to the pirate?

Rocinante nervously grinned at Crocodile, that domineering hold on him pushing him further into a primordial corner. "Yes, Sir Crocodile."