Carlisle Desrosiers (♡ | SakaLyle)

introduction

Carlisle wasn't a stranger to the marines' base at HQ. No, rather, the man would strut his way through Marineford as though he owned the damn place, ("and I probably could, if the price was right," he'd say, with no hint of irony). He also was no stranger to the stares he'd receive from marines who'd wish nothing more than to strangle him but refrained, for he was, by all intents and purposes, untouchable. He met regularly with the top ranking Vice Admirals, Fleet Admiral, and sometimes the Admirals, to discuss marine budget plans concerning weapons, and more importantly, how much Sea Prism Stone the World Government's fleet would be needing. Thus would begin the fun game of supply and demand, seesawing the prices as he saw fit and watching them squirm. Many of these seafaring men could not meet Carlisle's wit, match his silver tongue with the same level of speed nor sense. They could try, but he'd always win, he'd always get what he wanted. That's the way he liked it.

Until he hits a wall. Quite literally. A man of brick and molten iron, with cold, mean eyes and a straight, oppressive posture. He bore a scowl embedded in his stone face, one that appeared to have existed from the womb. Did they use him on posters around the base to exemplify what marines should aspire to be? The picture-perfect soldier? 

"You're late. Such disrespect." So the rock pile can speak, but does it have a name?

This must be the newest challenge to his authority. Give it a few months, and there'd always be a fresh face in the marines waving their dick around, trying to show they're hot stuff. They always lose. Either they'd be reprimanded by higher ranking officers, or Carlisle himself would put them in their place. It seemed this would be a case of the former. Carlisle couldn't have been more delighted to be introduced to "Admiral Akainu," thanks to the Fleet Admiral's hasty intervention. He was well aware of the damage their Seastone broker could inflict on them should they choose to misbehave, thanks to the World Government's backing. It's all in the contract. 

Carlisle pondered the name Akainu. His sources had mentioned a new Admiral being named. 'Red dog,' huh? "You better leash your mad dog, Sengoku," he says whilst turning up his nose, "or better yet, get a muzzle on him."

The image of it must have been seared on both of their minds, for almost immediately the Admiral was heated, fist beginning to ooze magma, which hissed as droplets hit the tile. Fixated on the sight of the tile festering and giving way, Carlisle wondered what that would do to his flesh. He tugs at his bandanna, pulling it up higher on his neck. He still maintained that the man would look cute with a cage upon his maw.

Sengoku, tired of their mutual antagonizing, squeezes the other marine's shoulder, both as a restraint and a warning, and suggests it's time to discuss business. This may have halted Akainu's advance, but his fist remained clenched and shook ever so slightly. Carlisle's grin broadened with unbridled glee. Oh no, he wanted this one. When he passes the two to approach their meeting table, he makes sure to ghost a gloved finger or two over the rabid dog's jawline, pleased with the shudder that seized the other's muscles. Ooh, he was holding back so hard. 

"Care to show me to my seat?" He blinks twice in succession, batting his long lashes at his new puppy friend. 

For how raw and heated his anger was, he remained frozen in place, jaw working. How terrible he was at listening to commands. He hadn't the patience for this, so Carlisle claps his hands, much to the growing dismay of the onlooking marines. Chop chop, pup. The Admiral digs his hand into the wood of the chair, nails on chalkboard as he scrapes the legs backward and presents the seat to his guest. It seemed inviting enough, even if the poor mahogany would splinter under his grip. He wasn't the one paying for it. The broker acknowledges him with a mock curtsy and claims his throne, long slender legs naturally crossing. Was that so hard?

"Now where was I—" 

The wind is knocked out of his lungs as the seat is shoved violently against the table, causing the poor furniture to tremble on its hinges. Completely caught off-guard, his composure is momentarily lost, and it leaves him wheezing out a curse. The palms of his hands come up to brace himself against the table's edge as pushes in a feeble attempt to move a more comfortable distance away, but it is in vain, for his gentlemanly host remained right behind his personage, solid, immobile.

Even when leaning down to gloat in his ear, he still towered over him. His tone is gruff, satisfied with himself. "Comfortable?"

"Very," he grinds out, baring a strained toothy smile. 

While he attempted to recollect himself, Carlisle was beginning to simmer. He had never been so shamed in public like this, and it was starting to churn something undesirable in his core. If he got away with this, it'd give the other marines ideas. It'd rattle the untouchable epithet he had earned for himself, worked to the bone to get. No one was allowed to get the best of Carlisle Desrosiers, least of all without his permission.

In spite of the increasing pressure on his diaphragm, he sits up a little straighter, reminds himself that he has a reputation to uphold, and begins conducting business as usual, seemingly ignoring the volcano casting a shadow over him. Fleet Admiral Sengoku was relieved to have finally moved beyond whatever strange play had just transpired between the two. 

As they juggled numbers and stock, Carlisle could feel the lava beginning to retract, gradually cooling. Although he hadn't backed off completely, as the heat radiating off the hand perched next to his shoulder remained. There would be moments as Carlisle moved his arms, animated in conversation, that he'd briefly brush his back over the Admiral's hand, which would earn him a firm jab of his index. And yet, he did not remove his hand, which piqued the broker's curiosity. It was all he could focus on, even with the premise of money dangling right in front of him. This boggled his mind, for cash always came first, and he was in a daze by the time their meeting was adjourned. Marines file out, all save for one.

Ah, right. Unstoppable force, meet Carlisle.

Carlisle clears his throat, looking from the table to the man behind him. There was something akin to amusement on the marine's face as his brow arches. "Did you need something?"

"For starters, I can't leave my spot," Carlisle chuckles, tossing his head back so that he could brush his face dangerously close to the man's hand, "and if there's a reason you're holding me hostage, you haven't demanded your ransom yet."

He watches as the tendons are pulled taut, knuckles threatening to cut skin. Were those goosebumps? As Carlisle tries to hone in on the rising hairs upon Sakazuki's skin, sea colored hues narrowing, the hand suddenly jerks away with a speed he did not expect the man was capable of. Quick to take advantage of his newfound freedom, Carlisle jolts out of his chair, halting the other's retreat.

"Where are you headed to in such a rush?"

"Away from here." No kidding.

"Oh? Running away? I never took a man of your stature to be such a coward."

Now he hesitates, hovering by the door. Got him. He turns around slowly, regarding Carlisle with furrowed brows. Poor man, he just couldn't figure out what he'd done wrong to deserve this interest. "What do you want?"

That was an easy question. All the alarms in Carlisle's head were set off from the moment their eyes locked. God, he had so many things he wanted. What didn't he want? He wanted the uncomfortable heat of molten iron branding him, the song and dance of fire. The brick to crumble and give way. The mutt to snap off his leash and bite. The volcano to erupt and suffocate him in the smog in his wake. He wanted to get burned. 

"You."

There was a delayed reaction, where Sakazuki stood there mouth agape, and this gave him just enough time to slither his way against the other's massive body without consequence. With just his fingertip, he trails a path from jaw to chest, feeling his chest give a stuttering heave. There's something dark in the noise that drags out, a grunt that lights up every nerve and sets off a spark. One of his hands settles on Carlisle's waist, heavy, and pulls him in tighter. Sounds like he wanted this too, and that's the only green light he needed. Just as he hooks a finger into a button, his wrist is seized. Thinking of it as playful, Carlisle breathes out an airy laugh. 

Then there's an intense pressure building up, and feeling trepidation beginning to creep into his lust, Carlisle hazards a glance up to see Sakazuki's face contorted. Uh oh, time to abort. He tugs at his wrist but the Admiral doesn't budge an inch, and he only manages to twist his hand a few degrees.

"You evil, traitorous vixen," he rumbles, lifting his free hand to the smaller man's neck, "you may have the rest of these idiots fooled with your faux charm, but I know what you are."

Jokes on you, Carlisle almost says, I'm into that. What he isn't into is how hard the man squeezes, and he yelps as he feels a snap in his wrist. It is just now dawning on him that he's not in a good situation, one in which humor and flirtation won't get him out of. Alone, with a guy who could break all his bones just by blowing too hard in his direction. And with how he's talking, he might actually be onto something here. 

But that couldn't be possible. No one knew of his underworld ties. The World Government wouldn't trust baseless accusations, not after all Carlisle had done for them.

"Big man with a plan, you think you have it all figured out? Wanna show off how mean and tough you are, picking on your own ally?" He scoffs, no longer attempting to escape. Just moving his wrist shot a burning sensation up his entire arm. "Whatever you're accusing me of means nothing without proof, of which the burden of providing falls on you. They'll never believe you."

He must have not liked what he said, for there's a deafening crunch, and then Sakazuki lets the broker's hand fall uselessly to his side. Carlisle digs his molars into tongue, tasting copper as he builds up the willpower to hide the pain. The madman, he actually went ahead and broke his wrist. Was he not worried about the World Government's retribution? Had he no fear of retaliation? Did his sense of justice override his sense of fealty? How... very attractive. 

Carlisle does not bother stifling his laughter, which only comes out harder as the marine is visibly taken aback by the reaction. "Forgive me darling, I may have been mistaken about you. You're no ordinary military dog."

Lifting his sore arm to rest at his chest, he gingerly inspects the damage. Nothing that wouldn't heal over some time. Years spent as a doctor's apprentice, he can pinpoint the radial bone as the problem, judging by the placement of the Admiral's hold. It couldn't be any worse than a fracture, and for that, he was grateful. Bones heal. Pride, however, does not.

Carlisle does not leave the other man any room to speak. ""

Sakazuki is left standing there as Carlisle retreats to lick his wounds.

But he'll be back. He was sure of it.

history + biography

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