now he's the rabbit caught in the stew, because there might be the smallest kernel of truth in that statement. that he wouldn't really know his way around another guy's dick. unless that dick was his. because that's the only dick these talented hands have touched.
not for lack of interest. for some ungodly reason sanji attracts more men than beautiful women, despite all his efforts otherwise. every once in a while someone might catch his eye. usually someone big and burly and disgusting that he immediately resents but his nether regions do not. but he's never acted on the impulse, because there's always someone prettier and softer and kinder around the corner that he would rather gravitate towards even if it means a profound lack of attention in the end. it's all acutely fucked up and he should probably find the balls to confront judge himself for doing this to him, but they are, of course, nowhere to be found.
anyway, how different could another guy's dick be from his own? zoro can't be that special. ]
i wouldn't waste words romancing it if it's as stupid as you are.
i'd go slow. tease you. make you beg for it. i think someone like you needs that.
[ his intentions have always been to just ignore sanji as much as he can, to disregard his presence on the ship as just some offhanded source that keeps his mouth fed and his beer regularly stocked. anything beyond that is too dangerous of contact, providing too many seconds to let his eyes linger on the divot of a pressed dimple when cracking a joke that zoro doesn't smile at, or to study the way blond bangs fall over his eyes while giving careful attention to the precise cutting of some vegetables that provide some source of nurtrition that zoro would never be able to name. he's already been exposed enough for the man to slip into his dreams, some filthy enough to source inspiration into the strokes from his fingers for the days that follow, but some as simple as imagining the graze of soft fingertips brushing over his own calloused hands, rougher and scrapped with scars.
it's fucking annoying and zoro is trying everything he can to cancel out thoughts of that asshole blond from invading his every second, day to day, but it sure as hell doesn't help to have sanji suddenly mapping out descriptions of how he'd touch his dick.
no, he's not going to touch himself to this. he's not giving in to this shit. ]
doubt you'd even give me much to beg for you can go slow all you want but you'd still have to really work those fingers right to get me desperate to fuck into your hand
[ there is something significant happening here that he is adamant about never addressing. this goes beyond balancing a set of nonexistent scales, beyond his pride, beyond his anger. beneath the nervous energy dancing below his skin, a flush spreads from the inside out, warm and pink and telling. sanji considers himself a good liar, holding onto his secrets better than gold roger and his one piece, until this green-haired idiot had ventured into his life and threatened to undo it all.
it stokes his flinty temper in the worst way. he doesn't want zoro. just some carnal, fucked up part of him does. the part of him still tethered to the chaos of everything he endured. but that part of him seems bigger lately, stronger, and every time zoro waltzes in like he actually knows where he's going, like he intended on invading his space in the galley to ask for something stupid like beer or rice or just to sit around meditating with his swords by the warmth of the stove when sanji can feel his eyes on his back, it makes it worse. it makes his skin prickle with heat and irritation bloom in his chest.
like now. all those feelings are here, now, but worse than they've ever been. alongside all that thick, stifling desire is the sharp edge of danger ringing in his skull. ]
why don't we skip to the next dance, then? you want my mouth on you, don't you?
[ a sharp ache comes instantly, his cock responding to the most foolish gauntlet he's ever thrown at anyone's feet. ]
[ he partially expects sanji to back out at this point, except that in the short time he's known him (short? it feels like he'd invaded his life ages ago but that might just speak to the impact of the collision), he's never actually witnessed him doing much backing down, for all that they've toed the line of dangerous dares and vocal teases that remained in the safe realm of metaphors, just out of reach of being too abrupt beyond what pride could withstand. this isn't vague enough anymore to live on excuses, not when they're talking about cocks and hands and mouths. the worst part is the way sanji speaks about it in zoro's language, using a challenge as a way to keep him from making a seamless escape.
there's no way he could let himself step away from this, mostly because his stubbornness wouldn't allow it. but is there a way to win when sanji asks a question he's already had the answer to?
of course he wants his mouth, in ways that zoro could never dissect, hating the process of needing to overthink anything beyond his surface understanding of it. he wants to push his cock past those soft pink lips, but even more than that, he wants to crash into them with his own, to lick up the remnant taste of smoke there, stirring it with his own heat of breath, fervor as wet as his own hungry tongue. ]
yeah
[ he hates sanji, hates him for breaking him down to his core of honesty. ]
i want to shut up that pretty mouth of yours fill it up and make you throw away all that sweet talk and see if that tongue can do more than just brag about what a man you are watch you get a little dirty for once
[ there are only a few parts of zoro, when he dissects him, that he could get away with still fantasizing about a woman in his place. his lips. zoro has the most perfectly plump lips that would put any girl to shame. those lips... sure. they could be safe.
his cock is definitely not safe. of course sanji has fucking noticed it — it would be impossible not to in their cramped quarters. he can imagine it now, swollen and thick in zoro's pants, unless he's already taken it out and it's sitting heavy in his palm. the fact that he doesn't know is infuriating. all of this is infuriating. ]
you have no idea how dirty i can get.
[ because zoro has no idea who he is. none of them do. this might be the closest he's let anyone in since fleeing the vinsmokes, and the fear would be paralyzing if he hadn't lived with it his whole life already. ]
you don't actually want me to shut up. you like when i talk. but i can let you have what you want just this once because i want to see what you taste like. give me a preview. when you blow your load all over yourself, put your fingers in your mouth. do a tasting.
[ on the hand, nothing about sanji is safe, from his eyes to his fingers, from his hair to his lips, from his ass to his legs — there isn't a part of the man that zoro hasn't noticed, details he could stitch together just from the corner of his eye while letting his gaze rest upon the polishing of his sword or looking off into the horizon and pretending he doesn't notice the cook lingering nearby. sometimes, he won't shy away, usually when sanji's back is turned, focused on whatever meat is sizzling over the stove, letting zoro steal a few seconds to let the ache inside of him burn.
and it's definitely burning now, because things were easier when zoro could believe sanji was entirely out of reach. but now, he's being dangled a hook, teased a worm on a sharpened edge ready to snatch him at the lips. and he can't stand it. ]
no you don't get a preview
[ because what'll it be? a few texts to scratch an itch and then it's back to watching sanji's face turn into flowery smiles in front of every woman that walks by? he's not letting him off easy. ]
you're not getting half measures from me you either decide you're not a coward and you come over here and take what you want or you step away and keep pretending you're not starving for me
but i'm not putting my hands on myself tonight the only way i come is if you make me
[ now's the time to put a stop to it, before the hammering in his chest cracks him wide open, before his simmering panic stokes into flames. his breath becomes uneven. he has that feeling he always used to get when he didn't know if his brothers were going to kill him or not.
zoro's not going to kill him. nobody ever died from a cock in their mouth. probably.
more importantly, he doesn't want zoro to think he can't do this. sanji's thought about it enough, mostly against his will because his thoughts are traitorous on a good day, and he has talented hands and a talented mouth, so how hard could it be? if he doesn't, he'll be up all night thinking about it again anyway. of zoro's bulk and his strength and his sour face. his pretty lips. his pretty eyes.
and it feels like something between them could break if he backs out now.
not that he cares.
it doesn't take long to find him, and he comes with a beer in his hand. they have the ship to themselves tonight, which is a damn shame since they both should be out with other people in town right now. but since zoro decided to be a big heroic babysitter and bring sanji back to the safety of the merry to sleep off his drunken rage, it's quiet. they're alone.
he wants to light a cigarette, but he reminds himself he needs his mouth for other things. he saunters in with one hand in his pocket, his sleeves rolled up, his clothes rumpled from his earlier mishaps. he's half hard, but the darkness hides it.
he holds out the bottle for zoro to take, already opened. ]
This is what you'd be doing if you were still at the bar, right? [ enjoying a drink, grinding against some nameless stranger. ] Sorry I'm not a stocky brunet.
[ that's the only preamble he gives before he steps into zoro's space, his hand dipping into his waistband. easy. a jolt of something electric moves through him when he curls his fingers around his cock, hard and hot and velvety. it feels different from his own. it feels hefty, like everything else about him.
their faces are very close, close enough that sanji feels the warmth of his breath and sees the exquisite shape of his lips. his mouth suddenly feels dry, his knees weak. his own trousers tighten as he strokes him from base to tip, his grip hard, squeezing out pearls of moisture from the tip that he catches on the pad of his thumb. when he retracts his hand, he presses his wet thumb to the plush fullness of zoro's bottom lip. ]
[ zoro gives him a chance for an out. either they step into this and scratch the itch with the full strength of their claws or they leave it to fester and ache. what he doesn't admit is that this gives him an escape for himself, too; if sanji doesn't come, then there's nothing left to chase, no desire to linger, and he can go on seeing the blond as just that obnoxious crewmate who keeps him fed every day (a lie, he knows, because this pestering emotion won't just wisp away like the smoke sanji blows out of his lips, it'll linger in his lungs like the smoke he breathes in; sanji has his cigarettes to be addicted to inhaling, but zoro has sanji).
as he waits, he just sits at the edge of his bed, wishing he hadn't said anything at all to him tonight. it's not often that he does regrets, but this might be a first. the ship is too quiet and he wishes luffy was here, or even usopp or nami, anyone that could make noise to get this out of his hand, to ease away the aching erection tucked away beneath fabric, and move on from tonight.
fuck it. he's not coming. zoro stands on his feet, ready to step out and march his way up to the deck to let the breeze of the ocean calm him down —
and then sanji steps in, coaxing him to a stop, raising his eyes up to him and studying him from head to toe like it might tell him the answers he isn't sure he cares to know.
he takes the offered beer, but there isn't a single chance he gets to drink it.
when sanji wraps his fingers around his cock, he fights the groan lurching in his throat, where it escapes as a hiss between teeth instead. those fingers are hot, stronger than zoro might have given him credit for before all of this, but still plenty skilled in their attention, that detail less surprising. mouths so close as they are, zoro sacrifices speech to instead let sanji's breath fan over his lips, like it's somehow the closest they'll ever be, as if the other man's hand isn't squeezing around his cock right now.
with the press of a wet thumb to his mouth, zoro's eyes look to sanji's with a darkness that could somehow bear a cunning smile, only his lips never move to show it, instead parting to take that thumb between them as if to accept it for a feasting.
he can taste his own heat, briefly catching the salty dampness lapped up with a flick of his tongue, but it's a temporary flavor compared to what he really seeks out. never leaving sanji's stare, he tightens his lips to suck over skin, dragging them slowly across the thumb, sampling and taunting, pressing up his spit-coated tongue just to suck the slick clean again as he pulls himself off.
he licks over his lips, purposely giving them a wet shine as he hovers his mouth closer. ] Now you.
[ he's already had the thought that he's well and truly fucked several times since walking into this room, but the moment zoro's tongue touches his skin, that thought becomes a reality. the sensation is unbearably soft, tantalizing in a way sanji has only ever fantasized about, addicting. he never imagined anything about zoro to be soft. never thought that anything about him could feel tender.
it's a testament to his own fortitude that he doesn't pull back when zoro eases in, his lips wet and inviting, his words a simple rumble. this isn't what he'd come here for. the stupid swordsman has struck the truth with monstrous ease, flaying away years of armor in the brief flick of his tongue. that sanji just wants to be wanted. that he's still earnest and kindhearted beneath the ornery facade. that the facade is only there because his father hated everything about him so much that now sanji hates it too.
kissing zoro is the sort of sweetness that he aches to have and is immediately ashamed to want as badly as he does. it feels like something a ghost from his nightmares would punish him for. his breath quivers, his eyes wide. bridging that distance is abruptly impossible.
he goes to his knees, a fluid escape while his heart batters his aching chest. ]
I'm getting to it. [ he hooks his fingers into zoro's waistband and drags his pants down, his cock springing into his face while sanji struggles to maintain the controlled air he'd brought into the room with him. now isn't the time to give up the game, though he already feels like he's taken a loss. ] Want to go ahead and beg for my mouth?
[ he smears zoro's precome over his cock, his hand once again twisting along his shaft while he steadies his breath. terror and molten desire make for an unstable combination, but he's determined to see this through, the bare minimum of what he's promised.
he slides zoro's cock past his lips, careful to keep track of all the moving parts of this endeavor — keeping his teeth out of the way, trying to figure out where the best place is for his tongue, wondering how much he should take in at once — and god, the taste makes him shudder, something so heady and arousing about it, nothing like his tongue in a sweet, perfect cunt —
he flinches, his throat closing, wetness springing to his eyes. with a ragged gasp he pulls off, drawing in a sudden breath, his lips glistening with spit, a flush of red coloring his cheeks. the last thing he wants is to seem like he's never done this before. doggedly, he grips zoro's hip and takes him in again, his brows furrowed.
[ it's a mere sampling of taste, his taste with what sanji had provided him, but all zoro can feel on his tongue is the sweet heat of sanji's skin, lingering in his mouth even when he allows it to draw itself away. a memory of smoke rests there, remnants of whatever last cigarette sanji had plucked away, along with a hint of flicked metal, collected over the countless times that the man has rolled the wheel of his lighter to conjure a flame, and the combination works as its own fuel to set zoro's body on fire from within, the need burning hotter than any dream that had previously and temporarily settled his desires.
how easy it is wanting to claim sanji's mouth, to find out if it's more ash or sweetness, if the blond would withhold his tongue for gradual teases or invade with the muscle to satisfy a deeper hunger. he wants, but zoro does nothing except lay the foundation of a path, the invitation in the slick layer dragged across his tongue, like a whispered call.
and yet, the kiss never comes, the motion denied as if to set zoro back in his proper place, to remember the reasons this moment even exists tonight in the first place.
not that he's left with much room for disappointment, because that mouth seems prepared to serve a different purpose, the one that originally set this all in motion. zoro doesn't necessarily feel shy about having his dick out when sanji pulls his pants down to let it free, but even he's not immune to the faint flustered tint on his cheeks at the sensation of hot breath exhaling over an already swollen crown. good thing it's just dark enough in this room to veil it away. ]
I told you. I won't beg if I don't have a reason.
[ not like he'll need to since sanji soon takes it into his mouth so willingly, zoro's own breath slowing just to take in every detail of sensation that comes from the slow movement of lips across the shaft. zoro's had enough mouths on him and put his own on enough cocks to recognize the slow uncertainty from sanji's initial intake; if he'd already been confident about sanji never having been with a man based on the direction of most of their conversations, the confirmation is in the live witnessing of what's no doubt sanji's first offered blowjob.
not that it makes the whole thing any less desirable; sanji's voluntary determination is arousing all on its own, and when that hot mouth takes him in a second time, zoro forces a hard swallow just to fight the moan that wants to make its way out. if things had panned out differently tonight, the attractive blond stranger from the bar could be deep throating him right now, confidently allowing him to fuck hard and eagerly into a expertly trained mouth, and zoro still wouldn't take that over the slow tease of sanji learning learning his way around his cock.
his fingers grip tighter around the neck of the bottle still in his hand, his mind for once far and away from caring to drink the beer inside of it. take your time, he thinks, words unspoken to the kneeling cook, too unequipped for things like assurances or encouraging phrases. that's not his department, as much as nami has continuously tried to push him into learning.
what he can do is ease his free hand to slide back into wavy blond locks, curling around to gently hold the base of sanji's neck. he doesn't grip, doesn't push, doesn't guide, doesn't do anything to direct sanji where to go or force his speed, but he does let his thumb stroke across his nape, a kneading touch that draws a nearly lazy circle, as a slight groan finally gives way with the slick wrap of heated lips taking more of him in. ]
[ a sinking feeling persists in his gut, getting worse by the second. zoro doesn’t make a single fucking sound, and sanji can’t tell if that’s just standard issue zoro or if he’s doing something wrong. he should have — he should have tried this on someone else first, someone easier to read, someone for whom there is no thread of danger pulling him taut like a dumb animal that craves the risk. he shouldn’t have come here at all.
blue-gray eyes flicker upwards through the mess of his hair and he regrets it immediately. zoro is staring right down at him, watching him, something hazy but knowing in his gaze. his face burns, the curse that wants to tumble from his mouth stifled by the fact that it’s currently stuffed full of cock. the wet noises and harsh breaths are the loudest things in the room, all coming from him, and he has the absurd thought that maybe he would be better at this if he’d had the courage to kiss zoro first. he wonders if he’ll ever extend that invitation again.
then zoro’s hand curls around him, his thumb pressed to hot skin like a brand. he doesn’t push him, but sanji reacts as though he does, easing toward until his cock presses to his throat, unflinching this time, his nose buried in the fine grains of dark green hair. he swallows thickly, one hand digging into the sharp muscles at zoro’s hip. something warm and salty drips down the back of his throat — and that’s when he hears it. evidence of zoro’s pleasure from the quietest groan that escapes his lips.
it spurs him on. he pulls back, his slick cockhead slipping past his swollen lips, his tongue curling around him. just that one sound from zoro has him achingly hard in his own trousers, the mere fabric causing an almost painful amount of friction. he almost squeezes himself — almost, but his fingers wrap around the base of zoro’s shaft instead, working in tandem with his mouth. what he lacks in casual finesse he makes up for with willful determination, with blown out lust, his pride nearly obliterated by the desperate, pressing desire to make zoro feel good. ]
[ something had nagged at him since the messages concerning the offer of hand-eventually-turned-mouth, fully aware that it had been initiated as a result of some prideful competition spurred on between them. a handjob would've been easier to be taken on by a man not attracted to men, since touching one's own dick gives something of a precursor preparation, but sucking one falls into an entirely different league that zoro hadn't been sure sanji would be ready for.
it isn't ability that concerns him; the blond seems to carry enough of a stubborn determination to figure something out if he doesn't know how to do it, if anything just to prove to zoro that he could (he's slipped him enough tests around the ship in small attempts to throw him off, to no results except sanji's persistence). but zoro knows where sanji's attraction lies, how spouting charming, poetic one-liners are meant to entice a pair of long eyelashes and the echo of softer giggles. sanji wants women. sanji doesn't want him.
except he moves like he does, even for now, even for a little while as a daring mouth works past the boundaries and simple obstacles of inexperience to take in the fullness of a heavier length within it. zoro hisses a sharper breath when he watches his cock disappear, feels it trapped within suffocating, blissful heat where it leaks dripping evidence of pleasure into that willing throat.
he'd feared that sanji would genuinely hate him for this. little harmless trials and snarky bickering insults can be one thing, a way to kill time or to force sanji to prove his loyalty as part of luffy's crew or just to satisfy his own prickling, unexplained itches to be around the cook. but a trial like this breaks past the limits of their usual games, and what the fuck would it even matter if sanji forever spites him for it?
but if a challenge of pride had spouted all of this, zoro can't find it now, not when those lips work busily and messily to roll over his shaft. he watches the willful drag of spit and precome slide thinly over reddening skin, soft gentle lips made swollen and slick furthering the unbearable craving in wanting to massage over it with his thumb and soothe them over with his mouth in an aching kiss. zoro's penchant for silence stops working entirely, as sanji successfully pulls more sounds free with each stroking massage, deeper grunts paired alongside the lewd noise of sloppy, wet suction.
his fingers work back up into the softness of blond strands, curling tighter and feeling sanji's own willing movements where his palm rests at his scalp. his cock twitches over a hot tongue as groans finally hiss out a word, embodying that fiery pleasure, ] Fuck.
[ he doesn’t want this to end. not just because the act of getting on his knees for zoro has potentially altered the shape of his brain, but because when it’s done, he’ll have no choice but to stand in the aftermath. there’s a reason he’s never acted on his impulses before. women have always been soft, kind, caregivers — like him, without his armor. men are the monsters. he doesn’t know how to fit what comes next into the rigid, terror-soaked boxes that hold everything else he doesn’t have the resilience to face.
this is more than just opening a door. he’s blown up a wall and left himself unguarded. for a swordsman.
a muffled, keening moan escapes his throat when zoro’s fingers curl tight in his hair, his cock throbbing and wet in his trousers. his jaw edges on blissfully numb, but he feels it when zoro’s cock jumps, a delightfully new sensation, and he thinks too late that he should pull back. wet heat floods his mouth. he swallows without thinking, because it has to go somewhere, though a little dribble of spit and come trickles from the corner of his mouth as he clamps his lips around zoro’s softening cock, his tongue cushioning his crown.
he holds him there, gently, trying to prolong the moment. there’s a tenuous barrier, film-like, between this and the outside world that hasn’t yet been punctured. he can still breathe. a part of him can still pretend that none of this ever happened at all except in a dream.
he eases zoro’s cock from his mouth, a slow, deliberate drag of his lips. the taste is still strong on his tongue. the memory of it isn’t going away anytime soon. ]
You still have time to go back to Funky Bar.
[ sanji doesn’t get up. his knees slide open slowly, blond hair falling into his eyes as he looks down, pressing the heel of his palm to his neglected erection. a choked off sob rises in his throat, a shudder moving through him.
he’s already too close to take his time with this, or to be ashamed that he’s about to blow his load in his pants, a damp spot growing in the front of his trousers. he fumbles with his belt and zipper, his fingers shaking, his breath quietly uneven. ]
[ it doesn't help that he'd been half hard from the moment he stepped back onto this ship, made only worse with sanji's sudden promises in his messages that by the time he stepped into the room to follow through, zoro's cock had been plenty stiff and heavy even without the aid of his own hands to get him there. add the overwhelming heat of sanji's hungry mouth to the mix, and it's inevitable that he'd end up coming as quickly as he does.
it spills easily and for a flash of a second, he wonders if he should've warned sanji a bit better to give him more of an opportunity to pull himself off. but the orgasm rides even higher when that tight wrap remains, easing out a low moan just from the realization that sanji is swallowing his come, hips twitching with a helpless jolt as he spurts every drop that leaves him directly into a warm throat.
his breath falls heavy when there's nothing left, drained of all he has, save for desire to still keep sanji close somehow, immediately frustrated with him that a blowjob doesn't satisfy the craving want for the man still kneeling before him. because sanji's still there, still applying the support of a pressed tongue, still holding him like he matters, despite zoro not filling in any of the qualifications of what he's presumed sanji actually wants.
somehow, he could still stand despite the quiver in his thighs, maintaining some semblance of steadiness when that sweet mouth inevitably withdraws from him.
he doesn't respond to the advice. instead, he just casts down his glance as sanji looks away, wishing so badly to see into the blue of those eyes right now, desperate to figure out what's on his mind through all of this. what he can see is that sanji hasn't been immune to any of it, and his own softening cock still manages to throb from ache in catching the evidence of arousal bulging there in his trousers.
sanji's hands move. zoro doesn't. for a lasting moment, he just stares, hating that he's being made to think. it's not typically what he does in situations like these. he doesn't even in situations not like this.
so he isn't thinking when he redirects his fingers forward, sliding a trailing light touch along sanji's cheek until his palm cradles lightly beneath his chin. his thumb strokes along tender pink lips, feeling the smear of come and spit, that wet sensation making him shudder, before he gives a gentle nudge to coax sanji to peer back up to him. ]
Lay back. [ he finally mutters, though it doesn't carry the typical bite of a demand, his voice still deep but quieter like he's simply relaying a request, his eyes still dark but lacking its usual danger. ]
[ somehow, the softness that zoro exhibits alarms him worse than everything else that's come before. he almost flinches at the gentle touch of his fingers, his panting breath easy to mask as desire. zoro's hands are as calloused as any warrior's, and yet careful now, so careful as they handle him as if he's worth something. there's no overt threat of danger but sanji looks out for it all the same; after all, he's never had a man's hands on him for any other reason.
he balks at the request — no no no — because whatever zoro plans to do to him he can take it upright like a fucking man, but then he catches his thoughts and clamps them down. his eyes stare up at zoro, a wintry night sky, unblinking. this should be over now, the scales balanced, except sanji fucked up when he didn't leave right after. well, if it's just transactional, then maybe zoro just wants to pay him back. how romantic.
anything more than that — he can't think of it. he can't even imagine having a thought in the next hour.
slowly, his hand still on his open belt buckle, he eases back, something wary in his gaze. he doesn't put his back on the ground, instead bracing himself on one elbow, painfully aware of how exposed he is, his legs wide open. at least zoro's swords are several feet away on the bed, and sanji's feet are attached to his body.
his lips, still slick and wet with come, burn hot where zoro's thumb slid across. he feels dizzy with how badly his cock aches to be touched, but he doesn't ask for it. he doesn't dare say anything, afraid of what might come out. the truth, maybe. that can't happen. he might say something unforgivably revealing — or unforgivably cruel, all because his heart thuds with desperate anticipation and erratic fear. ]
[ he knows it's a lot to ask him to trust him with that request, mostly because zoro's never once done sanji any favors since he first boarded this ship. except even this, the intentions surfacing in his mind, don't entirely count as a favor either, knowing they come with their own brand of selfishness, the parts of himself that crave to see, to feel, to taste, the honest possibilities of sanji wanting him. zoro's desires tend to fairly limited — alcohol, food, sleep, swords, fights, becoming the greatest swordsman — so it hasn't exactly been easy to navigate where sanji fits into all of it. which is why pushing makes it easier, enough insults and badgering comments meant to keep the distance intact.
but sanji's wormed his way past those barriers by fighting back, whether he meant to cross the accidental line or not, and now — now, the blond is on the floor with an aching hard cock and zoro stupidly wants to give him everything.
when his legs remember how to function, he takes a step to the side so that he can rest the bottle of beer still in hand on the nearest crate, before lowering himself down to the ground on his own knees of front of sanji. keeping his eyes on him, he reaches forward with both of his hands, brushing sanji's aside at his belt buckle as zoro finishes where he'd left off, guiding the zipper the rest of the way down before snagging his fingers into the hems of it all to begin tugging it down. sanji'll have to cooperate in lifting his hips but zoro doesn't stop even when the fullness of sanji's cock springs free and erect (fuck, he looks good when he's hard), dragging his pants down along his thighs, past his knees, until he can leave them in a bundle at his ankles.
he shuffles forward, leaning forward between parted legs, getting a closer inspection of that stiff length, visibly soaked over the crown. chances are, he might not last too long through this, which means zoro'll have to put plenty into that limited time. he can do that.
lips hovering all the swollen head, zoro conjures a wad of spit from his mouth, letting it drip down over an already messy tip, saliva and precome becoming a joint shiny mixture before zoro brings in his palm to drag both slowly down the fullness of sanji's cock, encouraging every slippery inch. instead of taking him full into mouth as sanji had done, he dips downward, parted lips pressing the flat of his tongue to his base, rubbing a massage from wet muscle that works its way down, stroking licks brushing over a sac, as his hand continues to pump steadily. ]
[ he's cognizant of every single motion in the room. the grind of his zipper. the metal clank of his belt as zoro tugs his trousers down. the way he traps his fucking ankles so he can't easily kick him off. he wants to do something about that, but then warm breath cascades over his heated cock, making his thighs quiver. it becomes hard to think and even harder to keep his eyes open, but he does, still propped up and sharply watching zoro's movements like a man obsessed, his brows pinched and his chest rapid with breath.
spit. oh. he might have thought to do that. where he expects zoro to devour his cock, he has a different technique altogether, one that has his balls tightening and molten heat pooling deep in his belly. fuck. fuck. zoro is ten times better than he is, a thought that rankles even as he commits his motions to memory, both for educational purposes and for when he's alone.
it's too good. his back hits the floor despite his best efforts, his gaze suddenly pointed at the ceiling before he squeezes his eyes shut altogether, quietly desperate moans interspersed with his ragged breaths. his hands twitch, digging into the hard floor. could he — zoro had touched him, so why not? his fingers reach for mossy hair, surprised at the softness, trailing down to his nape and back up in a gentle stroke. he touches his earrings, a quiet tinkle in the air, one fingertip toying with his jewelry. there's something so unbearably tender about it that sanji feels a rush of heat spring to his eyes, horrified by his reaction. but he hasn't had — anything like this in so long. hasn't allowed it. anything tenderhearted or warm, any small kindness earned him a broken bone or a black eye.
his pleasure mounts. he won't last long at all, not with the way zoro's working him over. his hips cant upward, the heat of his desire compounding with the sudden swell of grief in his chest, his lips parting with a broken gasp. zoro's name.
he shudders, spilling hot and wet, sliding his wrist over his face to cover the tears leaking from his eyes and wetting his cheeks. his thighs clamp tight around zoro, tremors wracking his body as his cock softens, his desperate panting loud in the quiet room. ]
[ zoro's mouth moves with ease, something only partially attributed to the fact that he has the experience of past encounters to fall back on, because what ultimately maintains a steady motivation is his intentions in making sanji come so intensely that it'll be entirely unforgettable from the cook's mind. and maybe, just maybe, he's trying to memorize every bit of this too, mostly convinced that it's something never meant to happen again after all of this, that this is the only time he'll ever get to press his lips to sanji's body.
he can taste heat and sweat and precome, the pleasant burn of skin beneath his lips, where he drags up parted kisses along the base of a firm cock, paired with filthy licks of his tongue to collect every hint of his taste. his fingers never stop moving, never intent on teasing this out; maybe another time, he thinks, before remembering the exclusivity of this experience, instead deciding it'll be something to pair with a dream or a lone encounter where the only thing he'll jerk himself off to ever again is this memory of sanji's cock pressed beneath his lips — that along with the one of having his own stuffed full inside sanji's perfect mouth.
his strokes twist and squeeze, rubbing his palm over a slick-coated tip to urge more of that leaking substance, though his touch nearly staggers when sanji applies one of his own, surprising zoro with the presence of fingers through his hair. it makes his breath hitch when he hears the gentle clink of touched earrings, the metal sounding softly, his own heart throbbing hot in his chest to earn that unexpected touch in turn.
fuck, don't do that, he thinks, not because he doesn't want it, but because he does, and it only makes the ache for him burn hotter and hotter, ache for something that won't be his after tonight.
his mouth returns low, lips parted to catch the taut skin of his balls, sucking wet and tight, as he feels the shift of moving hips, hinting what's to come. his tongue laps, encouraging the chase of that climax, sensing the way that sanji might need it more than he realize just by the state of his urgent moans, nothing but that sound of the heaviness of breath reaching his ears — nothing until the soft gasp of his own name melts his body to nothing.
come spills all over his fingers in hot ribbons, urging him to pump even faster, for his mouth to grip tighter, squeezing, sucking, come, come, come. zoro doesn't let him go until the thighs pressed around him signal him to ease off, prying away his lips as his fingers slow to lazier strokes. catching his breath, he lifts his head, just enough to be able to see the stretched length of sanji's body, face hidden away by his arm.
regret? shame? the uncertainty of it leaves zoro uncomfortable, not fitted to say the first word after this, not usually caught up in the aftermath of being with someone who isn't just picked up as temporary relief. so he doesn't say anything at all, ducking his head again where he sighs warm breath over soft skin, closing his eyes and tucking his nose softly against an inner thigh, at least until he's made to leave. ]
[ it takes what feels like hours to catch his breath. every time he thinks something stranger can't happen, it does, now with this tenuous bubble of airy lightness that's trapped them both. the floor is hard against his back, and he doesn't mind it. zoro's breath fans out against his thigh, his cheek pillowed there. sanji's lashes are wet, his bottom lip trembling like it did when he was a child. he has a feeling zoro would let him stay right here until morning. he has a feeling that if he leaves now, he'll never come back.
his body still hums with languid pleasure. this might be the best orgasm he's ever had in his life, and he can't believe it came from zoro of all people. through his parted fingers, he peeks downward at the sight of the swordsman tangled up in his legs, his lips a gentle whisper against his skin. he doesn't know what he's supposed to do next or how he's supposed to act now that he has this intimate knowledge of zoro's body gnawing at his brain. whatever comes next, he knows it's going to hurt.
he swallows back the thickness clogging his throat, dragging his wrist over his eyes, his tears smearing into all the other wetness across his face. everything in his life has always hurt; why should this be any different? his fingers curl around zoro's ear, gold slipping between them, coaxing him up towards him. sanji's heart starts again with its hammering at the sight of him, his slick, bruised lips, the barely noticeable flush across his perfectly tanned skin, the sharp cut of his high cheekbone that sanji rests his thumb against now.
he hopes the invitation is still open. more than that, he hopes he can actually do this.
he draws zoro down, his breath stuttering, his damp lashes sweeping shut, and tilts his own mouth upwards. he's unprepared for the shock when their mouths press together, his foundation losing stability, the tremor returning to his lips. his dark brows knit together, his hand fisting in zoro's shirt as if he'll break apart without something solid to hold onto. ]
going from 0 to 100 in mixed emotions in exactly the brand of these two
[ zoro finds no reason to move for as long as sanji doesn't force him to, and there's every bit of a chance that he does, but zoro's prepared for it. how long has he grown used to being a temporary necessity, something merely around to impress with his skill? roronoa zoro, the demon, the pirate hunter, a commodity with a sword or three but nothing more. sex isn't much different; once he's supplied his use, everything ends. it wasn't until luffy that he could even be himself beyond his name, that he could have a crew, that he could have friends, but even still, his drive keeps him fighting to maintain his usefulness, clinging to a purpose.
and where does that tie in with sanji? sanji, who raves about a woman's perfection, all sweet curves and sensitive souls, up against the rugged, scarred muscle of zoro, all sharp lines and gnawing teeth. where sanji seeks angelic, zoro can only live up to being the demon branded into his reputation.
the zoro present here is without his swords, without the hunt, aware that in the aftermath of pleasure, he's bound to be discarded now that he's supplied his use. he hides his face in sanji's skin to let himself live in this dream for a little longer, one where the sound of his name on those lips while coming work as a balm to his own tired loneliness.
but the gentle touch of slim fingers coaxes him forward, his head raises up as he follows sanji's guidance to crawl up over his body. it's how he's first able to see the smeared dampness around those eyes, half-hidden beneath the fall of his bangs. something in zoro's chest squeezes, like a pang of an uncertain ache, eyes unblinking as he sees the silent question in sanji's upward gaze, in the soft parting of still-wet lips, a return to the invitation that zoro was convinced had been rejected for good.
and yet, sanji's lips find his own, soft and needy, to which zoro gives everything that's being asked, met with a firm but rare tenderness. as fingers reach out to him to hold on, zoro cradles his own around sanji's head, tucked against his hair almost protectively, a sudden fiery resolve summoned by the presence of those smudged tears.
where does it all tie in with sanji? he'd asked himself earlier, but the question hardly matters now. because if this is the need being asked of him, then it's what he'll give, lips parting with a swirl of both softness and fervor, his free arm resting to the floor to keep himself hovered over him. they're a tangle of limbs and clothes, sanji's pants still down to his ankles as his own remain nudged down at his thighs, but it all still feels right somehow, cleaning come and spit and sex between their mouths, seeking out the taste of sanji's natural heat. ]
[ he never wanted to let himself believe that zoro could be anything but a hulking idiot of a man, the same as all the rest — primed for violence and never for thought. he could never be anything like the impossible ideal sanji has been chasing for years now, some made up fantasy free of all the hurt he's endured, something that will fill the cracks in the bones that never quite settled right. something that will magically make him whole and wanted and free.
suddenly it's close. sanji feels swept up in some stupid dream, falling into the kiss like he believes in impossible things again. zoro makes him feel like he isn't a battered piece of shit that should have died twice over now. he realizes that the alarm bells are quieter now, that his fear is less from the threat of pain than the promise of an ending.
because this does have to end. he doesn't know how to prolong it. doesn't know how to be the sort of man that just — changes. his tongue presses at zoro's parted lips, curling in for the briefest of tastes as if he can't get close enough, arching into him when zoro cradles his skull. no one's ever held him so close, so tenderly. he winds his legs around zoro's, a strategic shift of his hips rolling them onto their sides so they're facing each other, still chasing zoro's mouth for the dregs of this kiss before the hand fisted in his shirt pushes him back, keeping their mouths inches apart. sanji's breath comes at a rapid pace, his face flushed and cracked open. he looks anguished, like after everything, all roads still lead back to him simmering in his own pain.
he wants to kiss him again, wants to trace the fullness of his lips and taste what makes him uniquely him. he wants to explore the other parts of him, the cut of his jaw and the slope of his throat down to the jagged scar across his chest. if this ever comes again, he doesn't think it could ever be like this.
he releases zoro's rumpled shirt, untangling himself. wordlessly, he pulls his trousers back up to his hips, zipping himself back in, then reaches into his pocket. with a loud flick of metal, he lights a cigarette, balancing his wrist on his raised knee. somehow he feels more exposed like this despite being dressed again. he scrubs at his eyes again. ]
Tell me when I should go.
[ in a spectacularly shitty move, he'll put that onus on zoro. sanji's the one that came to invade his space, after all. ]
[ zoro would stay just like this, getting caught up in filling out the answers to some previously inexplicable questions that had badgered him night after night, like the reason for his own lasting glances in the cook's direction amongst a crowd or why frustration made its habit of bubbling up a lot more quickly when flirtatious anecdotes would slip from the blond's mouth to whatever fairly attractive woman stepped into the room. it's still incredibly stupid, in his opinion, and he could still conjure up a thousand more insults to label sanji, but at the very least, the hunger of this kiss comes with some acknowledgement that he'd kill to keep tasting this mouth.
predictably, sanji seems to come with his own reservations, and when zoro's rolled on his side and nudged away moments later, he can't say that he feels too surprised about the abrupt ending of whatever mishap they'd fallen into tonight.
but even as sanji withdraws himself from their warm entanglement, redressing himself, zoro doesn't do much to move, his eyes carefully observing each of sanji's movements, as if every shift of a limb, every subtle expression, could all come together to spell out what might be going on in the cook's head. figuring people out never typically comes from conversation for zoro, since half of the time, they don't say what they mean (he knows a thing or two about that) and words can prove a lot more complicated than not. action is where it all makes sense, just like every step and reflex of a fight speaks more to zoro's language more than any extended vocal explanation could.
the problem is in how sanji tends to change by the second, moods moving from cheerful to annoyed, from contemplative to anxious, from tangled embraces to withdrawn smoking. the man tends to be a counter to all of zoro's usual methods in understanding the world, which only complicates why the hell he's constantly so drawn to him in the first place.
still keeping his eyes locked on him, he watches the smoke wisp out of swollen lips, knowing he'll never be able to look at them again without thinking of them tucked tightly around his cock, painted with his come, and hungrily chasing after his mouth.
finally tucking up his pants back up over his hips, still resting on his side, he finally speaks up, ]
If you don't want to, then don't.
[ he doesn't ask him to stay; he doesn't really think it's in his place to, not when so much of the question lies in what sanji wants. even amidst all the bickering fights, all the taunting namecalling and snappy retorts, zoro thinks he's made it fairly clear what his position is regarding wanting sanji. for him, it doesn't need to be complicated or spelled out in ways that don't matter. sanji either stays, or he doesn't. the rest can be figured out later. ]
[ of course he'd throw the burden back onto him. as if it's as simple as zoro makes it sound. as if sanji isn't going to walk out of here and be the same person he's always been, only this time he'll know that every carefully careless word will cut into zoro like a boning knife. how the fuck is he supposed to help that? a frustrated puff of smoke escapes into the air, the tension back in his brows. if he becomes the type of man that just hurts other people, he's no better than his brothers.
he can't help but think that for the first time ever, zoro was different. he was kind to him today. and now that he knows there's something else lurking beneath the shitty swordsman attitude, he can't forget it.
they're not that different.
shit, he's tired. he should have just stayed at the funky bar. ]
Fine.
[ it's an answer that says absolutely nothing. sanji stays on the floor for several more minutes to finish his cigarette, smoke curling from his mouth. there's no one else on the ship. it's not like anyone would know if he came or went from his room.
when he stands, he pulls his belt off his hips and drops it to the floor. undoing the first few buttons of his shirt, he steps over zoro and ambles to the bed, climbing onto the mattress and curling up onto his side, tucking his knuckles to his chin. it's a bad idea and he knows it. he'll probably wake from a nightmare in the middle of the night and then he might actually piss the swordsman off when he can't control what he says.
but for now, he's not ready to go. not yet. ]
Crew's not coming back until lunch. I can skip breakfast prep.
[ no, the 'fine' really doesn't say much at all and for the silent minutes that follow, zoro almost wonders if he's going to get anything more than that. not that he gives any hint of impatience, remaining right where he is as the only remaining sound in the air is the quieter exhales of breath, only a faint bit louder whenever sanji blows out another small cloud of smoke. if sanji wants to stay right here on the floor too, doing nothing but laying here, that's just as fine. zoro can sleep practically anywhere anyway.
when he does finally stand, zoro presumes that'll be his exit, brow raising just slightly with curiosity when a belt gets removed, footsteps moving in the direction opposite of the door. he peers back over his shoulder, watching sanji settle into his bed before huffing a breath quietly to himself. ]
Okay.
[ there's nothing further to question, no reason to ask what it all means, because he doesn't have to. he's spent enough nights with confusing questions floating over his head, so what's one more? this time at least comes with company.
he stands up on his feet, shuffling over to the bed, climbing in beside the cook to take up his half and resting on his back, one arm raising up to tuck his hand behind his head as the other rests simply over his chest. his eyes glance up to the ceiling but it's impossible not to feel the taken up space at his side. funny how quickly his confidence shifts. handjobs and blowjobs are easy; sleeping beside another person feels more unknown. it's nothing like sleeping around other people, since that's enough of a common occurrence to happen without a thought.
having sanji this close, he can almost feel the strange squeeze within his chest again. ]
I can sleep until lunch.
[ so sanji can stay here with him as long as he wants. as long as he needs. zoro won't go anywhere. ]
( it doesn't sit right, lying to sanji. in fact — it makes zoro itch under his collar the entire ride down arlong's club, jaw clenched until it cramps, staring annoyed out the rear window in the paid cab. he didn't mean to lie. in theory, it was simple to call arlong and take back his promised work, snorting unapologetically at the threat of losing his spot in the fighting arena, as if zoro gave a shit. bringing nami into it? low fucking blow. he doesn't know all the ins and outs of their partnership, but it seems pretty blatant that arlong has a collar around her neck, and keeps her on a short leash. so, zoro agrees. zoro makes his way to the exact place he promised he wouldn't be. zoro feels sick to his stomach with irritation and disloyalty.
still, arlong greets him warmly enough, in that tense, chest puffing way of his. zoro takes a spot behind his sprawling couch and eyes the club as a whole, packed as it is with people in skimpy clothes, dancing to music so loud it feels like it thumps inside of his chest with every bass beat. it seems like a classy place, as far as these things go. at least arlong sits like a king in his vip nook, private enough from the general going ons of the club, but still on a platform as if to announce from on high that he's more important than everyone else. zoro hates the guy. he already hated the guy, but bringing nami into it makes him little more than a bug to squash. how best to do it? zoro doesn't know. he'll wait until he has a semi-private moment with him, and then he'll be dead.
fantasizing about that moment is the only thing getting him through tonight. it's also the reason why zoro doesn't notice when someone is lead into arlong's booth, until the man himself knocks for zoro's attention, and says zoro, get in here. )
I'm working.
( lighten up. come inside for a second.
sighing, zoro does as he's bid to, tucking his swords under the table as he slides into the booth. it's an oversized bit of furniture and stuffed with a few other big wigs, the table at the center big enough as a stage — and used as one, a stripper pole sticking out of the middle like a post sign reading no turning back. it's occupied. someone dances with a lithe, lean, almost delicate body, moves precise but fluid, like every luxurious movement, every tantalizing flash of a wrist or stroke of a belly is as calculated as a dance. he knows that kind of meticulousness. there's a hazy, lustful fog in the club as a whole, but through the flashing lights and smoke, he sees a pair of intense blue eyes staring back at him, focused, beautiful, seething.
ah. so that's why he didn't want zoro to come. great.
he's pretty, right? arlong asks. zoro maintains his quiet solitude across the table from him, glaring. his mind is playing catch up with this curve ball thrown in the mix. if sanji is here, then arlong is —
he does more than dance. zoro's gaze shoots up. arlong's eyes are already locked on sanji, a grin curving up his mouth. take your shirt off. )
[ he doesn't know who he wants to kill more: zoro or arlong.
zoro, probably.
his jacket was shed a while back, peeled off by arlong's greedy hands while he occupied his lap, and he feels the now-warm metal of the pole through his lace shirt with every twist, careful to keep it at his back. gratitude might have filled him at the allowance to remove his shirt, if he was capable of feeling such a thing after seeing zoro in the room. as it is, all he feels is a simmering rage mingled with a numb sort of fear. he wasn't scared before, just annoyed that the end of this was too far for him to look forward to, but now his instincts kick wildly like an animal in a trap. something doesn't feel right.
he makes a show of untucking his shirt and flicking each button open from collar to hem. soft fabric slips down his shoulders, revealing his lean, muscled body — and his reddened nipples, silver glinting from each one, freshly pierced. so fresh it's been just an hour since arlong brought someone in to get it done for him, sanji stretched out on a lavish bed with some flunky's hand in his trousers while the needle went through. after seeing zoro, though, he doesn't know how he's supposed to get hard again.
jesus fuck. zoro. he's probably got it all figured out now, everything sanji has worked so hard to hide from him. that arlong is the guy that sanji lets put bruises all over him. arlong is the one sanji doesn't fight back. arlong is the one paying all his bills, and sanji doesn't mind rolling over and spending a week in pain if it means eating up all his money. because this isn't worse than what he's already been through. arlong doesn't break his bones. he can still walk after. arlong doesn't lock him in a cage or starve him or make him wish he was dead. arlong just wants to use him for a night or two, and sanji doesn't have a problem being used.
zoro could never understand that. zoro would want arlong's head. fuck. zoro will want arlong's head.
fuck.
sanji looks up with an unchanged expression, his face wiped blank to his usual — bored, dissolute. arlong says something, and sanji pretends not to have a viscerally negative reaction to the order. no, he doesn't think the new muscle is hot. no, he doesn't want to go grind his ass on his cock. and no, he doesn't want to serve him a fucking drink.
sanji lights a cigarette before he picks up the glass that's magically appeared, an expensive scotch with a globe of ice in it, stepping evenly across the table to crouch before zoro's seat. he takes a sip of the drink before dangling it before zoro's nose, his cigarette balanced between two fingers of the same hand. ]
Here.
[ then he slides in his lap, just like arlong wanted. he cards his fingers up the back of zoro's hair, painfully intimate, bringing his mouth close to his ear where arlong can't see. ]
( it's fine. he doesn't need sanji's forgiveness — he needs arlong's head on a fucking spike for ordering sanji around, and he kind of wants sanji's blood too, for listening without argument. where's the guy who barks at him if he doesn't use a coaster? a hand settles around sanji's hip, possessive. almost protective, like he'd fling sanji on the booth beside him and take the blow if arlong decided to lash out, although he isn't really sure that's an option, here. he's cornered, trapped in the booth by other wealthy men. ordinarily something as meaningless as the odds being stacked against him wouldn't stay his hand but sanji? he can't put him in danger when it's clear he isn't fighting back. his fingers get biting, bruising against him, as if to ask why?
ordinarily zoro isn't one to turn down a drink, so it goes to show how much disdain he has for arlong that the doesn't even sip. he just looks over sanji's shoulder at him hatefully. )
This is what you're paying me for. A lap dance and a drink?
( he moves to shove sanji off and bodily shoulder his way out of the booth, but arlong stops him. not at first, with his polite requests — it's when he offers bringing nami over here too that zoro seizes, nostrils flaring, and then settles back in his seat, thoroughly had. every time he lets arlong get away with the nami card it makes a weakness in zoro more and more obvious — at least for now, zoro doesn't have any reason to assume he knows about the connection between him and sanji. so, sanji is safe. sanji is safe? hardly. zoro has no clue how he's going to get an unwilling sanji out of here. hell, he doesn't even know how he's getting himself out of here, and he's beyond willing.
not interested in men? arlong asks. don't worry. sanji's pretty like a girl. you wouldn't know the difference with his mouth on your cock.
it does, after a delayed moment, click into place for zoro. sanji's caginess about him coming tonight with the weak excuse of plants, the bruises that always outline his body whenever he's gone for the night, the reason why he was so angry zoro was asking around about him. arlong, here and at the center of it all, offering sanji's mouth to a presumed stranger like it's his right to do so. maybe, in some way, it is — money is the real heart and song of this dance. is this what sanji is doing to afford all his fancy clothes and all his expensive things, his tuition at school, everything? prostituting himself?
various other conversations go on around the table, about money and deals. business things. arlong gives a gesture to everyone sitting, reading zoro's thoughts. we all have a little fun. his finger points towards himself, seriously. only i get to fuck him, though. no offense. )
Is that so.
( because he fucks sanji semi-regularly, and he's one shitty comment away from lunging himself at him, damn the consequences. )
[ his tension makes him clumsy, and he barely catches himself from hitting the floor when zoro dumps him off his lap like the shitty asshole he is. then he catches nami's name, and every muscle locks, his eyes darting to arlong from beneath his veil of hair as he puffs, nonchalant, on his cigarette. zoro sits like a kicked dog, and sanji wants to throw up. the danger in the room presses in like a hundred hands, suffocating.
he swings his leg back over zoro's hip, seating himself in his lap once more, dipping his first two fingers into the scotch and shoving them into zoro's mouth. ]
Don't fucking talk. [ muttered softly, as he presses down on his tongue. ] Arlong doesn't know about us.
[ he needs it to stay that way. this has now become a goddamn fucking mess, and sanji can already see his money drying up after tonight. but if he can get both of them out of here relatively unscathed, he'll deal with that later. if arlong has his fingers around nami's throat, it's over anyway.
his breath grows unsteady as he pulls his fingers out and presses their foreheads together, stroking saliva down zoro's cheek. for a moment it's just the two of them, sanji's fear a living, palpable thing. ]
Don't make this into a fight. [ he palms zoro's cock through his jeans. it feels stupid even asking, as if zoro can comprehend anything that isn't a fight. he surges in to kiss him, his spine arching, his sore nipples brushing against zoro's clothes. sanji's teeth hook into zoro's plump bottom lip until he tastes the salt of blood. ] Give him what he wants, and we both get paid. We both walk away. You're the one that wanted to come here.
[ he has zoro's fly open now, his hand moving in strong, even strokes. it's like trying to tame a fucking lion. ]
Finish your drink. [ he's calm now, his fear wrestled down and locked away in a flimsy box. ] Arlong takes offense if you waste his liquor.
( well, he's stuck, at least for now. there's no telling what kind of a loophole could get him out of this, and even then, arlong doesn't seem pedantic enough to appreciate something clever — not that zoro is clever, or precocious, or anywhere near the ballpark of competent. he is, after all, in this fucked up situation. sanji's on his lap which ordinarily isn't fucked up at all, but it is, because he's dressed up like a doll for someone else, decorated by the abandoned lattice work of lace, by sparkling diamonds that catch the multicolored lights when the illuminate sanji, like sunlight streaming in through stained glass.
he's beautiful, that isn't new. he smells like his rich money cologne and triple digit shampoo and conditioner, that makes his hair look soft and grabable. it's great. he's perfect. except he put the cologne on for arlong, and washed his hair so arlong could put his meaty fingers through it, and dressed up in things arlong bought so arlong could unwrap his own present. zoro's teeth bite down at sanji's fingers when he pulls them back — he doesn't have to say anything, to show how pissed he is.
with zoro on strict good boy behavior, arlong gets swept up in a conversation with someone else, not loud enough for him to hear. it means he can direct his attention on sanji, taking him all in. he's talking a lot of shit. zoro can feel the spiral sinking in him and easily as he can feel the fight rising in himself. clicking his tongue, he tosses the scotch back and enjoys the burn that comes from shotting a sipping drink. he grunts slightly as sanji grips his cock, but stays stubbornly soft for the moment, too tense to get hard.
don't fucking talk. he doesn't need to. one hand grips sanji's waist and the other moves up, meanly flicking his fresh piercing to see how it hurts him, to inflict some measure of pain himself. fucking arlong. fucking sanji. ) Fucking liar.
( it was never about my plants or i'm okay or i'm better with you. it's always all been about sanji covering sanji's stupid ass decisions. )
[ he realizes, suddenly, that there's so much more at stake right now. sure, this is probably the last he'll ever see of arlong's money, but there are other rich, desperate men to con out there. there are other ways he can scrape together some kind of living, even if it means selling some of his shit or working doubles in some shitty restaurant. but the anger in zoro's eyes, the sinewy, electric rage holding his muscles taut, the accusation in the even gravel of his voice — it's different from their usual fights. he's mad. really fucking mad, in a way that abruptly unsteadies the ground beneath his feet. his instinct in that moment is so fucking childish, the corners of his eyes prickling, a fearful, mindless apology burning on his tongue. worse than losing arlong's money would be losing zoro. what if zoro throws him out? says he never wants to see him again?
the sudden burst of heat when zoro flicks his piercing pinks his cheeks and makes his fingers tighten around zoro's cock. he's grateful for the pain, lifting his panicked, watery gaze to focus on the steel in zoro's expression. it would be so easy for zoro to just erase sanji from his life. his name isn't on the lease. he gives zoro his rent in cash. he's just — some stupid stray that zoro took in to save money, and sanji's fucked it all up now. whatever's glinting in zoro's deep brown eyes can't be anything but hatred and disgust now.
arlong's expecting at least some action between them, or he'll find someone else to put sanji to good use on, but all he can feel are the shadows curling in, the cold dread sealing up like ice around his heart. he can't move, his fingers suddenly slack, zoro's cock resting against his clammy palm. the amount of air in his lungs feels too small, his chest hitching, his eyes going as glassy as a winter sky.
a sound comes from his throat, a quiet little whimper as he tips slightly, as if he might just slide in a heap to the floor, his shoulders quivering. from beneath the canary bangs veiling his eyes, a tear slides down his cheek, unable to will himself to do anything but wait for the inevitable blow to land. where this time? his jaw if he's lucky; he usually doesn't break anything there. his eye if he's not, or his nose if he's really fucked. maybe his brothers will just drag him across the floor by the hair again, or they'll decide to all go at him at once and he won't be able to stand for a week. in whatever case, he's gone. he's done for. he won't survive much more of this. ]
( zoro is committed to his anger for the rest of all time, like a private marriage between himself and his heart, til death do he part from his grudge against sanji. except, then he looks at sanji and he realizes it's already been forgiven, dropped like a load of dead weight upon seeing the look on his face, between one heartbeat and the next. it isn't new. zoro has felt this fear, he knows this panic, of having sanji in between his weathered palms and yet knowing he's somewhere far away, somewhere buried in a past zoro isn't entitled to know about. there's enough pieces to put together a vague image anyway — pain worse than whatever arlong has done to him, pain like something unimaginable, like broken bones and broken spirits. probably the reason why he's so cagey about money, why he doesn't have credit cards, why everything about sanji feels skin deep, a pretty mask he dons for everyone.
except, there's no real mask right now. he's right there, small and broken, wet eyes distant. zoro wants to bundle him up and carry him out like that night at the fight club, like a baby soothed by rocking. he wants to forget he ever saw arlong's stupid face and take sanji back to the apartment, where they can fuck the stink of this club out from each other. but — he doesn't. it would be hell for all three of them, and zoro isn't willing to risk the people he considers most important. thinking, his thumbs smooth up and down sanji's pointed hipbones, chin tilting up to attempt to meet sanji's eyes. when it doesn't work, he leans in, lapping the tip of his tongue against sanji's spilled tear, sucking the salt up as he arches forward, kissing the corner of his eye. )
Sanji.
( not chef or dumbass or waiter or asshole. not even liar, even if he is all those things — the fact that he's sanji is important most of all. carefully, a hand slides up the curve of his back, until he's pressed tight enough to sanji to grip his shoulder and pull him down, free hand covering sanji's on his cock, giving himself a firm squeeze around his palm. )
I need you. Don't leave now. ( he grinds his dick into his hand, mouth pressed to his ear, shutting his eyes so he can pretend like they're at home, like sanji's fingers are greasy from salty fries, like the real housewives of salt lake city is playing in the background while zoro comes all over his delicate fingers, blushing at sanji's mean, prideful laughter. ) Let's do this, so we can go home together. I haven't even put a stupid baby in you yet. We've got a lot left to do. ( tilting his head, he presses a kiss to the corner of sanji's mouth. his dick thickens out in sanji's hand, hard because he's pretty with tears clinging to his lashes, because the thought of getting sanji pregnant no matter how stupid it is, always gets him hard. the actual pregnancy? sure. his tits getting big and full? yeah. the babies and the life and the happiness that would come after? definitely. ) Don't leave me.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tfln overflow — ZORO.
[ shit.
now he's the rabbit caught in the stew, because there might be the smallest kernel of truth in that statement. that he wouldn't really know his way around another guy's dick. unless that dick was his. because that's the only dick these talented hands have touched.
not for lack of interest. for some ungodly reason sanji attracts more men than beautiful women, despite all his efforts otherwise. every once in a while someone might catch his eye. usually someone big and burly and disgusting that he immediately resents but his nether regions do not. but he's never acted on the impulse, because there's always someone prettier and softer and kinder around the corner that he would rather gravitate towards even if it means a profound lack of attention in the end. it's all acutely fucked up and he should probably find the balls to confront judge himself for doing this to him, but they are, of course, nowhere to be found.
anyway, how different could another guy's dick be from his own? zoro can't be that special. ]
i wouldn't waste words romancing it if it's as stupid as you are.
i'd go slow. tease you. make you beg for it.
i think someone like you needs that.
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it's fucking annoying and zoro is trying everything he can to cancel out thoughts of that asshole blond from invading his every second, day to day, but it sure as hell doesn't help to have sanji suddenly mapping out descriptions of how he'd touch his dick.
no, he's not going to touch himself to this. he's not giving in to this shit. ]
doubt you'd even give me much to beg for
you can go slow all you want but you'd still have to really work those fingers right to get me desperate to fuck into your hand
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it stokes his flinty temper in the worst way. he doesn't want zoro. just some carnal, fucked up part of him does. the part of him still tethered to the chaos of everything he endured. but that part of him seems bigger lately, stronger, and every time zoro waltzes in like he actually knows where he's going, like he intended on invading his space in the galley to ask for something stupid like beer or rice or just to sit around meditating with his swords by the warmth of the stove when sanji can feel his eyes on his back, it makes it worse. it makes his skin prickle with heat and irritation bloom in his chest.
like now. all those feelings are here, now, but worse than they've ever been. alongside all that thick, stifling desire is the sharp edge of danger ringing in his skull. ]
why don't we skip to the next dance, then?
you want my mouth on you, don't you?
[ a sharp ache comes instantly, his cock responding to the most foolish gauntlet he's ever thrown at anyone's feet. ]
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there's no way he could let himself step away from this, mostly because his stubbornness wouldn't allow it. but is there a way to win when sanji asks a question he's already had the answer to?
of course he wants his mouth, in ways that zoro could never dissect, hating the process of needing to overthink anything beyond his surface understanding of it. he wants to push his cock past those soft pink lips, but even more than that, he wants to crash into them with his own, to lick up the remnant taste of smoke there, stirring it with his own heat of breath, fervor as wet as his own hungry tongue. ]
yeah
[ he hates sanji, hates him for breaking him down to his core of honesty. ]
i want to shut up that pretty mouth of yours
fill it up and make you throw away all that sweet talk and see if that tongue can do more than just brag about what a man you are
watch you get a little dirty for once
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his cock is definitely not safe. of course sanji has fucking noticed it — it would be impossible not to in their cramped quarters. he can imagine it now, swollen and thick in zoro's pants, unless he's already taken it out and it's sitting heavy in his palm. the fact that he doesn't know is infuriating. all of this is infuriating. ]
you have no idea how dirty i can get.
[ because zoro has no idea who he is. none of them do. this might be the closest he's let anyone in since fleeing the vinsmokes, and the fear would be paralyzing if he hadn't lived with it his whole life already. ]
you don't actually want me to shut up. you like when i talk.
but i can let you have what you want just this once because i want to see what you taste like.
give me a preview. when you blow your load all over yourself, put your fingers in your mouth.
do a tasting.
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and it's definitely burning now, because things were easier when zoro could believe sanji was entirely out of reach. but now, he's being dangled a hook, teased a worm on a sharpened edge ready to snatch him at the lips. and he can't stand it. ]
no you don't get a preview
[ because what'll it be? a few texts to scratch an itch and then it's back to watching sanji's face turn into flowery smiles in front of every woman that walks by? he's not letting him off easy. ]
you're not getting half measures from me
you either decide you're not a coward and you come over here and take what you want
or you step away and keep pretending you're not starving for me
but i'm not putting my hands on myself tonight
the only way i come is if you make me
so get your ass over here and taste me yourself
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zoro's not going to kill him. nobody ever died from a cock in their mouth. probably.
more importantly, he doesn't want zoro to think he can't do this. sanji's thought about it enough, mostly against his will because his thoughts are traitorous on a good day, and he has talented hands and a talented mouth, so how hard could it be? if he doesn't, he'll be up all night thinking about it again anyway. of zoro's bulk and his strength and his sour face. his pretty lips. his pretty eyes.
and it feels like something between them could break if he backs out now.
not that he cares.
it doesn't take long to find him, and he comes with a beer in his hand. they have the ship to themselves tonight, which is a damn shame since they both should be out with other people in town right now. but since zoro decided to be a big heroic babysitter and bring sanji back to the safety of the merry to sleep off his drunken rage, it's quiet. they're alone.
he wants to light a cigarette, but he reminds himself he needs his mouth for other things. he saunters in with one hand in his pocket, his sleeves rolled up, his clothes rumpled from his earlier mishaps. he's half hard, but the darkness hides it.
he holds out the bottle for zoro to take, already opened. ]
This is what you'd be doing if you were still at the bar, right? [ enjoying a drink, grinding against some nameless stranger. ] Sorry I'm not a stocky brunet.
[ that's the only preamble he gives before he steps into zoro's space, his hand dipping into his waistband. easy. a jolt of something electric moves through him when he curls his fingers around his cock, hard and hot and velvety. it feels different from his own. it feels hefty, like everything else about him.
their faces are very close, close enough that sanji feels the warmth of his breath and sees the exquisite shape of his lips. his mouth suddenly feels dry, his knees weak. his own trousers tighten as he strokes him from base to tip, his grip hard, squeezing out pearls of moisture from the tip that he catches on the pad of his thumb. when he retracts his hand, he presses his wet thumb to the plush fullness of zoro's bottom lip. ]
Do a tasting. [ and don't call him a coward. ]
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as he waits, he just sits at the edge of his bed, wishing he hadn't said anything at all to him tonight. it's not often that he does regrets, but this might be a first. the ship is too quiet and he wishes luffy was here, or even usopp or nami, anyone that could make noise to get this out of his hand, to ease away the aching erection tucked away beneath fabric, and move on from tonight.
fuck it. he's not coming. zoro stands on his feet, ready to step out and march his way up to the deck to let the breeze of the ocean calm him down —
and then sanji steps in, coaxing him to a stop, raising his eyes up to him and studying him from head to toe like it might tell him the answers he isn't sure he cares to know.
he takes the offered beer, but there isn't a single chance he gets to drink it.
when sanji wraps his fingers around his cock, he fights the groan lurching in his throat, where it escapes as a hiss between teeth instead. those fingers are hot, stronger than zoro might have given him credit for before all of this, but still plenty skilled in their attention, that detail less surprising. mouths so close as they are, zoro sacrifices speech to instead let sanji's breath fan over his lips, like it's somehow the closest they'll ever be, as if the other man's hand isn't squeezing around his cock right now.
with the press of a wet thumb to his mouth, zoro's eyes look to sanji's with a darkness that could somehow bear a cunning smile, only his lips never move to show it, instead parting to take that thumb between them as if to accept it for a feasting.
he can taste his own heat, briefly catching the salty dampness lapped up with a flick of his tongue, but it's a temporary flavor compared to what he really seeks out. never leaving sanji's stare, he tightens his lips to suck over skin, dragging them slowly across the thumb, sampling and taunting, pressing up his spit-coated tongue just to suck the slick clean again as he pulls himself off.
he licks over his lips, purposely giving them a wet shine as he hovers his mouth closer. ] Now you.
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it's a testament to his own fortitude that he doesn't pull back when zoro eases in, his lips wet and inviting, his words a simple rumble. this isn't what he'd come here for. the stupid swordsman has struck the truth with monstrous ease, flaying away years of armor in the brief flick of his tongue. that sanji just wants to be wanted. that he's still earnest and kindhearted beneath the ornery facade. that the facade is only there because his father hated everything about him so much that now sanji hates it too.
kissing zoro is the sort of sweetness that he aches to have and is immediately ashamed to want as badly as he does. it feels like something a ghost from his nightmares would punish him for. his breath quivers, his eyes wide. bridging that distance is abruptly impossible.
he goes to his knees, a fluid escape while his heart batters his aching chest. ]
I'm getting to it. [ he hooks his fingers into zoro's waistband and drags his pants down, his cock springing into his face while sanji struggles to maintain the controlled air he'd brought into the room with him. now isn't the time to give up the game, though he already feels like he's taken a loss. ] Want to go ahead and beg for my mouth?
[ he smears zoro's precome over his cock, his hand once again twisting along his shaft while he steadies his breath. terror and molten desire make for an unstable combination, but he's determined to see this through, the bare minimum of what he's promised.
he slides zoro's cock past his lips, careful to keep track of all the moving parts of this endeavor — keeping his teeth out of the way, trying to figure out where the best place is for his tongue, wondering how much he should take in at once — and god, the taste makes him shudder, something so heady and arousing about it, nothing like his tongue in a sweet, perfect cunt —
he flinches, his throat closing, wetness springing to his eyes. with a ragged gasp he pulls off, drawing in a sudden breath, his lips glistening with spit, a flush of red coloring his cheeks. the last thing he wants is to seem like he's never done this before. doggedly, he grips zoro's hip and takes him in again, his brows furrowed.
easy. ]
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how easy it is wanting to claim sanji's mouth, to find out if it's more ash or sweetness, if the blond would withhold his tongue for gradual teases or invade with the muscle to satisfy a deeper hunger. he wants, but zoro does nothing except lay the foundation of a path, the invitation in the slick layer dragged across his tongue, like a whispered call.
and yet, the kiss never comes, the motion denied as if to set zoro back in his proper place, to remember the reasons this moment even exists tonight in the first place.
not that he's left with much room for disappointment, because that mouth seems prepared to serve a different purpose, the one that originally set this all in motion. zoro doesn't necessarily feel shy about having his dick out when sanji pulls his pants down to let it free, but even he's not immune to the faint flustered tint on his cheeks at the sensation of hot breath exhaling over an already swollen crown. good thing it's just dark enough in this room to veil it away. ]
I told you. I won't beg if I don't have a reason.
[ not like he'll need to since sanji soon takes it into his mouth so willingly, zoro's own breath slowing just to take in every detail of sensation that comes from the slow movement of lips across the shaft. zoro's had enough mouths on him and put his own on enough cocks to recognize the slow uncertainty from sanji's initial intake; if he'd already been confident about sanji never having been with a man based on the direction of most of their conversations, the confirmation is in the live witnessing of what's no doubt sanji's first offered blowjob.
not that it makes the whole thing any less desirable; sanji's voluntary determination is arousing all on its own, and when that hot mouth takes him in a second time, zoro forces a hard swallow just to fight the moan that wants to make its way out. if things had panned out differently tonight, the attractive blond stranger from the bar could be deep throating him right now, confidently allowing him to fuck hard and eagerly into a expertly trained mouth, and zoro still wouldn't take that over the slow tease of sanji learning learning his way around his cock.
his fingers grip tighter around the neck of the bottle still in his hand, his mind for once far and away from caring to drink the beer inside of it. take your time, he thinks, words unspoken to the kneeling cook, too unequipped for things like assurances or encouraging phrases. that's not his department, as much as nami has continuously tried to push him into learning.
what he can do is ease his free hand to slide back into wavy blond locks, curling around to gently hold the base of sanji's neck. he doesn't grip, doesn't push, doesn't guide, doesn't do anything to direct sanji where to go or force his speed, but he does let his thumb stroke across his nape, a kneading touch that draws a nearly lazy circle, as a slight groan finally gives way with the slick wrap of heated lips taking more of him in. ]
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blue-gray eyes flicker upwards through the mess of his hair and he regrets it immediately. zoro is staring right down at him, watching him, something hazy but knowing in his gaze. his face burns, the curse that wants to tumble from his mouth stifled by the fact that it’s currently stuffed full of cock. the wet noises and harsh breaths are the loudest things in the room, all coming from him, and he has the absurd thought that maybe he would be better at this if he’d had the courage to kiss zoro first. he wonders if he’ll ever extend that invitation again.
then zoro’s hand curls around him, his thumb pressed to hot skin like a brand. he doesn’t push him, but sanji reacts as though he does, easing toward until his cock presses to his throat, unflinching this time, his nose buried in the fine grains of dark green hair. he swallows thickly, one hand digging into the sharp muscles at zoro’s hip. something warm and salty drips down the back of his throat — and that’s when he hears it. evidence of zoro’s pleasure from the quietest groan that escapes his lips.
it spurs him on. he pulls back, his slick cockhead slipping past his swollen lips, his tongue curling around him. just that one sound from zoro has him achingly hard in his own trousers, the mere fabric causing an almost painful amount of friction. he almost squeezes himself — almost, but his fingers wrap around the base of zoro’s shaft instead, working in tandem with his mouth. what he lacks in casual finesse he makes up for with willful determination, with blown out lust, his pride nearly obliterated by the desperate, pressing desire to make zoro feel good. ]
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it isn't ability that concerns him; the blond seems to carry enough of a stubborn determination to figure something out if he doesn't know how to do it, if anything just to prove to zoro that he could (he's slipped him enough tests around the ship in small attempts to throw him off, to no results except sanji's persistence). but zoro knows where sanji's attraction lies, how spouting charming, poetic one-liners are meant to entice a pair of long eyelashes and the echo of softer giggles. sanji wants women. sanji doesn't want him.
except he moves like he does, even for now, even for a little while as a daring mouth works past the boundaries and simple obstacles of inexperience to take in the fullness of a heavier length within it. zoro hisses a sharper breath when he watches his cock disappear, feels it trapped within suffocating, blissful heat where it leaks dripping evidence of pleasure into that willing throat.
he'd feared that sanji would genuinely hate him for this. little harmless trials and snarky bickering insults can be one thing, a way to kill time or to force sanji to prove his loyalty as part of luffy's crew or just to satisfy his own prickling, unexplained itches to be around the cook. but a trial like this breaks past the limits of their usual games, and what the fuck would it even matter if sanji forever spites him for it?
but if a challenge of pride had spouted all of this, zoro can't find it now, not when those lips work busily and messily to roll over his shaft. he watches the willful drag of spit and precome slide thinly over reddening skin, soft gentle lips made swollen and slick furthering the unbearable craving in wanting to massage over it with his thumb and soothe them over with his mouth in an aching kiss. zoro's penchant for silence stops working entirely, as sanji successfully pulls more sounds free with each stroking massage, deeper grunts paired alongside the lewd noise of sloppy, wet suction.
his fingers work back up into the softness of blond strands, curling tighter and feeling sanji's own willing movements where his palm rests at his scalp. his cock twitches over a hot tongue as groans finally hiss out a word, embodying that fiery pleasure, ] Fuck.
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this is more than just opening a door. he’s blown up a wall and left himself unguarded. for a swordsman.
a muffled, keening moan escapes his throat when zoro’s fingers curl tight in his hair, his cock throbbing and wet in his trousers. his jaw edges on blissfully numb, but he feels it when zoro’s cock jumps, a delightfully new sensation, and he thinks too late that he should pull back. wet heat floods his mouth. he swallows without thinking, because it has to go somewhere, though a little dribble of spit and come trickles from the corner of his mouth as he clamps his lips around zoro’s softening cock, his tongue cushioning his crown.
he holds him there, gently, trying to prolong the moment. there’s a tenuous barrier, film-like, between this and the outside world that hasn’t yet been punctured. he can still breathe. a part of him can still pretend that none of this ever happened at all except in a dream.
he eases zoro’s cock from his mouth, a slow, deliberate drag of his lips. the taste is still strong on his tongue. the memory of it isn’t going away anytime soon. ]
You still have time to go back to Funky Bar.
[ sanji doesn’t get up. his knees slide open slowly, blond hair falling into his eyes as he looks down, pressing the heel of his palm to his neglected erection. a choked off sob rises in his throat, a shudder moving through him.
he’s already too close to take his time with this, or to be ashamed that he’s about to blow his load in his pants, a damp spot growing in the front of his trousers. he fumbles with his belt and zipper, his fingers shaking, his breath quietly uneven. ]
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it spills easily and for a flash of a second, he wonders if he should've warned sanji a bit better to give him more of an opportunity to pull himself off. but the orgasm rides even higher when that tight wrap remains, easing out a low moan just from the realization that sanji is swallowing his come, hips twitching with a helpless jolt as he spurts every drop that leaves him directly into a warm throat.
his breath falls heavy when there's nothing left, drained of all he has, save for desire to still keep sanji close somehow, immediately frustrated with him that a blowjob doesn't satisfy the craving want for the man still kneeling before him. because sanji's still there, still applying the support of a pressed tongue, still holding him like he matters, despite zoro not filling in any of the qualifications of what he's presumed sanji actually wants.
somehow, he could still stand despite the quiver in his thighs, maintaining some semblance of steadiness when that sweet mouth inevitably withdraws from him.
he doesn't respond to the advice. instead, he just casts down his glance as sanji looks away, wishing so badly to see into the blue of those eyes right now, desperate to figure out what's on his mind through all of this. what he can see is that sanji hasn't been immune to any of it, and his own softening cock still manages to throb from ache in catching the evidence of arousal bulging there in his trousers.
sanji's hands move. zoro doesn't. for a lasting moment, he just stares, hating that he's being made to think. it's not typically what he does in situations like these. he doesn't even in situations not like this.
so he isn't thinking when he redirects his fingers forward, sliding a trailing light touch along sanji's cheek until his palm cradles lightly beneath his chin. his thumb strokes along tender pink lips, feeling the smear of come and spit, that wet sensation making him shudder, before he gives a gentle nudge to coax sanji to peer back up to him. ]
Lay back. [ he finally mutters, though it doesn't carry the typical bite of a demand, his voice still deep but quieter like he's simply relaying a request, his eyes still dark but lacking its usual danger. ]
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he balks at the request — no no no — because whatever zoro plans to do to him he can take it upright like a fucking man, but then he catches his thoughts and clamps them down. his eyes stare up at zoro, a wintry night sky, unblinking. this should be over now, the scales balanced, except sanji fucked up when he didn't leave right after. well, if it's just transactional, then maybe zoro just wants to pay him back. how romantic.
anything more than that — he can't think of it. he can't even imagine having a thought in the next hour.
slowly, his hand still on his open belt buckle, he eases back, something wary in his gaze. he doesn't put his back on the ground, instead bracing himself on one elbow, painfully aware of how exposed he is, his legs wide open. at least zoro's swords are several feet away on the bed, and sanji's feet are attached to his body.
his lips, still slick and wet with come, burn hot where zoro's thumb slid across. he feels dizzy with how badly his cock aches to be touched, but he doesn't ask for it. he doesn't dare say anything, afraid of what might come out. the truth, maybe. that can't happen. he might say something unforgivably revealing — or unforgivably cruel, all because his heart thuds with desperate anticipation and erratic fear. ]
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but sanji's wormed his way past those barriers by fighting back, whether he meant to cross the accidental line or not, and now — now, the blond is on the floor with an aching hard cock and zoro stupidly wants to give him everything.
when his legs remember how to function, he takes a step to the side so that he can rest the bottle of beer still in hand on the nearest crate, before lowering himself down to the ground on his own knees of front of sanji. keeping his eyes on him, he reaches forward with both of his hands, brushing sanji's aside at his belt buckle as zoro finishes where he'd left off, guiding the zipper the rest of the way down before snagging his fingers into the hems of it all to begin tugging it down. sanji'll have to cooperate in lifting his hips but zoro doesn't stop even when the fullness of sanji's cock springs free and erect (fuck, he looks good when he's hard), dragging his pants down along his thighs, past his knees, until he can leave them in a bundle at his ankles.
he shuffles forward, leaning forward between parted legs, getting a closer inspection of that stiff length, visibly soaked over the crown. chances are, he might not last too long through this, which means zoro'll have to put plenty into that limited time. he can do that.
lips hovering all the swollen head, zoro conjures a wad of spit from his mouth, letting it drip down over an already messy tip, saliva and precome becoming a joint shiny mixture before zoro brings in his palm to drag both slowly down the fullness of sanji's cock, encouraging every slippery inch. instead of taking him full into mouth as sanji had done, he dips downward, parted lips pressing the flat of his tongue to his base, rubbing a massage from wet muscle that works its way down, stroking licks brushing over a sac, as his hand continues to pump steadily. ]
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spit. oh. he might have thought to do that. where he expects zoro to devour his cock, he has a different technique altogether, one that has his balls tightening and molten heat pooling deep in his belly. fuck. fuck. zoro is ten times better than he is, a thought that rankles even as he commits his motions to memory, both for educational purposes and for when he's alone.
it's too good. his back hits the floor despite his best efforts, his gaze suddenly pointed at the ceiling before he squeezes his eyes shut altogether, quietly desperate moans interspersed with his ragged breaths. his hands twitch, digging into the hard floor. could he — zoro had touched him, so why not? his fingers reach for mossy hair, surprised at the softness, trailing down to his nape and back up in a gentle stroke. he touches his earrings, a quiet tinkle in the air, one fingertip toying with his jewelry. there's something so unbearably tender about it that sanji feels a rush of heat spring to his eyes, horrified by his reaction. but he hasn't had — anything like this in so long. hasn't allowed it. anything tenderhearted or warm, any small kindness earned him a broken bone or a black eye.
his pleasure mounts. he won't last long at all, not with the way zoro's working him over. his hips cant upward, the heat of his desire compounding with the sudden swell of grief in his chest, his lips parting with a broken gasp. zoro's name.
he shudders, spilling hot and wet, sliding his wrist over his face to cover the tears leaking from his eyes and wetting his cheeks. his thighs clamp tight around zoro, tremors wracking his body as his cock softens, his desperate panting loud in the quiet room. ]
huffs, this thread is so much, sobs i love it
he can taste heat and sweat and precome, the pleasant burn of skin beneath his lips, where he drags up parted kisses along the base of a firm cock, paired with filthy licks of his tongue to collect every hint of his taste. his fingers never stop moving, never intent on teasing this out; maybe another time, he thinks, before remembering the exclusivity of this experience, instead deciding it'll be something to pair with a dream or a lone encounter where the only thing he'll jerk himself off to ever again is this memory of sanji's cock pressed beneath his lips — that along with the one of having his own stuffed full inside sanji's perfect mouth.
his strokes twist and squeeze, rubbing his palm over a slick-coated tip to urge more of that leaking substance, though his touch nearly staggers when sanji applies one of his own, surprising zoro with the presence of fingers through his hair. it makes his breath hitch when he hears the gentle clink of touched earrings, the metal sounding softly, his own heart throbbing hot in his chest to earn that unexpected touch in turn.
fuck, don't do that, he thinks, not because he doesn't want it, but because he does, and it only makes the ache for him burn hotter and hotter, ache for something that won't be his after tonight.
his mouth returns low, lips parted to catch the taut skin of his balls, sucking wet and tight, as he feels the shift of moving hips, hinting what's to come. his tongue laps, encouraging the chase of that climax, sensing the way that sanji might need it more than he realize just by the state of his urgent moans, nothing but that sound of the heaviness of breath reaching his ears — nothing until the soft gasp of his own name melts his body to nothing.
come spills all over his fingers in hot ribbons, urging him to pump even faster, for his mouth to grip tighter, squeezing, sucking, come, come, come. zoro doesn't let him go until the thighs pressed around him signal him to ease off, prying away his lips as his fingers slow to lazier strokes. catching his breath, he lifts his head, just enough to be able to see the stretched length of sanji's body, face hidden away by his arm.
regret? shame? the uncertainty of it leaves zoro uncomfortable, not fitted to say the first word after this, not usually caught up in the aftermath of being with someone who isn't just picked up as temporary relief. so he doesn't say anything at all, ducking his head again where he sighs warm breath over soft skin, closing his eyes and tucking his nose softly against an inner thigh, at least until he's made to leave. ]
the emotional rollercoaster has ended me
his body still hums with languid pleasure. this might be the best orgasm he's ever had in his life, and he can't believe it came from zoro of all people. through his parted fingers, he peeks downward at the sight of the swordsman tangled up in his legs, his lips a gentle whisper against his skin. he doesn't know what he's supposed to do next or how he's supposed to act now that he has this intimate knowledge of zoro's body gnawing at his brain. whatever comes next, he knows it's going to hurt.
he swallows back the thickness clogging his throat, dragging his wrist over his eyes, his tears smearing into all the other wetness across his face. everything in his life has always hurt; why should this be any different? his fingers curl around zoro's ear, gold slipping between them, coaxing him up towards him. sanji's heart starts again with its hammering at the sight of him, his slick, bruised lips, the barely noticeable flush across his perfectly tanned skin, the sharp cut of his high cheekbone that sanji rests his thumb against now.
he hopes the invitation is still open. more than that, he hopes he can actually do this.
he draws zoro down, his breath stuttering, his damp lashes sweeping shut, and tilts his own mouth upwards. he's unprepared for the shock when their mouths press together, his foundation losing stability, the tremor returning to his lips. his dark brows knit together, his hand fisting in zoro's shirt as if he'll break apart without something solid to hold onto. ]
going from 0 to 100 in mixed emotions in exactly the brand of these two
and where does that tie in with sanji? sanji, who raves about a woman's perfection, all sweet curves and sensitive souls, up against the rugged, scarred muscle of zoro, all sharp lines and gnawing teeth. where sanji seeks angelic, zoro can only live up to being the demon branded into his reputation.
the zoro present here is without his swords, without the hunt, aware that in the aftermath of pleasure, he's bound to be discarded now that he's supplied his use. he hides his face in sanji's skin to let himself live in this dream for a little longer, one where the sound of his name on those lips while coming work as a balm to his own tired loneliness.
but the gentle touch of slim fingers coaxes him forward, his head raises up as he follows sanji's guidance to crawl up over his body. it's how he's first able to see the smeared dampness around those eyes, half-hidden beneath the fall of his bangs. something in zoro's chest squeezes, like a pang of an uncertain ache, eyes unblinking as he sees the silent question in sanji's upward gaze, in the soft parting of still-wet lips, a return to the invitation that zoro was convinced had been rejected for good.
and yet, sanji's lips find his own, soft and needy, to which zoro gives everything that's being asked, met with a firm but rare tenderness. as fingers reach out to him to hold on, zoro cradles his own around sanji's head, tucked against his hair almost protectively, a sudden fiery resolve summoned by the presence of those smudged tears.
where does it all tie in with sanji? he'd asked himself earlier, but the question hardly matters now. because if this is the need being asked of him, then it's what he'll give, lips parting with a swirl of both softness and fervor, his free arm resting to the floor to keep himself hovered over him. they're a tangle of limbs and clothes, sanji's pants still down to his ankles as his own remain nudged down at his thighs, but it all still feels right somehow, cleaning come and spit and sex between their mouths, seeking out the taste of sanji's natural heat. ]
they have no chill
suddenly it's close. sanji feels swept up in some stupid dream, falling into the kiss like he believes in impossible things again. zoro makes him feel like he isn't a battered piece of shit that should have died twice over now. he realizes that the alarm bells are quieter now, that his fear is less from the threat of pain than the promise of an ending.
because this does have to end. he doesn't know how to prolong it. doesn't know how to be the sort of man that just — changes. his tongue presses at zoro's parted lips, curling in for the briefest of tastes as if he can't get close enough, arching into him when zoro cradles his skull. no one's ever held him so close, so tenderly. he winds his legs around zoro's, a strategic shift of his hips rolling them onto their sides so they're facing each other, still chasing zoro's mouth for the dregs of this kiss before the hand fisted in his shirt pushes him back, keeping their mouths inches apart. sanji's breath comes at a rapid pace, his face flushed and cracked open. he looks anguished, like after everything, all roads still lead back to him simmering in his own pain.
he wants to kiss him again, wants to trace the fullness of his lips and taste what makes him uniquely him. he wants to explore the other parts of him, the cut of his jaw and the slope of his throat down to the jagged scar across his chest. if this ever comes again, he doesn't think it could ever be like this.
he releases zoro's rumpled shirt, untangling himself. wordlessly, he pulls his trousers back up to his hips, zipping himself back in, then reaches into his pocket. with a loud flick of metal, he lights a cigarette, balancing his wrist on his raised knee. somehow he feels more exposed like this despite being dressed again. he scrubs at his eyes again. ]
Tell me when I should go.
[ in a spectacularly shitty move, he'll put that onus on zoro. sanji's the one that came to invade his space, after all. ]
😮💨
predictably, sanji seems to come with his own reservations, and when zoro's rolled on his side and nudged away moments later, he can't say that he feels too surprised about the abrupt ending of whatever mishap they'd fallen into tonight.
but even as sanji withdraws himself from their warm entanglement, redressing himself, zoro doesn't do much to move, his eyes carefully observing each of sanji's movements, as if every shift of a limb, every subtle expression, could all come together to spell out what might be going on in the cook's head. figuring people out never typically comes from conversation for zoro, since half of the time, they don't say what they mean (he knows a thing or two about that) and words can prove a lot more complicated than not. action is where it all makes sense, just like every step and reflex of a fight speaks more to zoro's language more than any extended vocal explanation could.
the problem is in how sanji tends to change by the second, moods moving from cheerful to annoyed, from contemplative to anxious, from tangled embraces to withdrawn smoking. the man tends to be a counter to all of zoro's usual methods in understanding the world, which only complicates why the hell he's constantly so drawn to him in the first place.
still keeping his eyes locked on him, he watches the smoke wisp out of swollen lips, knowing he'll never be able to look at them again without thinking of them tucked tightly around his cock, painted with his come, and hungrily chasing after his mouth.
finally tucking up his pants back up over his hips, still resting on his side, he finally speaks up, ]
If you don't want to, then don't.
[ he doesn't ask him to stay; he doesn't really think it's in his place to, not when so much of the question lies in what sanji wants. even amidst all the bickering fights, all the taunting namecalling and snappy retorts, zoro thinks he's made it fairly clear what his position is regarding wanting sanji. for him, it doesn't need to be complicated or spelled out in ways that don't matter. sanji either stays, or he doesn't. the rest can be figured out later. ]
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he can't help but think that for the first time ever, zoro was different. he was kind to him today. and now that he knows there's something else lurking beneath the shitty swordsman attitude, he can't forget it.
they're not that different.
shit, he's tired. he should have just stayed at the funky bar. ]
Fine.
[ it's an answer that says absolutely nothing. sanji stays on the floor for several more minutes to finish his cigarette, smoke curling from his mouth. there's no one else on the ship. it's not like anyone would know if he came or went from his room.
when he stands, he pulls his belt off his hips and drops it to the floor. undoing the first few buttons of his shirt, he steps over zoro and ambles to the bed, climbing onto the mattress and curling up onto his side, tucking his knuckles to his chin. it's a bad idea and he knows it. he'll probably wake from a nightmare in the middle of the night and then he might actually piss the swordsman off when he can't control what he says.
but for now, he's not ready to go. not yet. ]
Crew's not coming back until lunch. I can skip breakfast prep.
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when he does finally stand, zoro presumes that'll be his exit, brow raising just slightly with curiosity when a belt gets removed, footsteps moving in the direction opposite of the door. he peers back over his shoulder, watching sanji settle into his bed before huffing a breath quietly to himself. ]
Okay.
[ there's nothing further to question, no reason to ask what it all means, because he doesn't have to. he's spent enough nights with confusing questions floating over his head, so what's one more? this time at least comes with company.
he stands up on his feet, shuffling over to the bed, climbing in beside the cook to take up his half and resting on his back, one arm raising up to tuck his hand behind his head as the other rests simply over his chest. his eyes glance up to the ceiling but it's impossible not to feel the taken up space at his side. funny how quickly his confidence shifts. handjobs and blowjobs are easy; sleeping beside another person feels more unknown. it's nothing like sleeping around other people, since that's enough of a common occurrence to happen without a thought.
having sanji this close, he can almost feel the strange squeeze within his chest again. ]
I can sleep until lunch.
[ so sanji can stay here with him as long as he wants. as long as he needs. zoro won't go anywhere. ]
cw: nsfw, dubcon, probably more to follow
still, arlong greets him warmly enough, in that tense, chest puffing way of his. zoro takes a spot behind his sprawling couch and eyes the club as a whole, packed as it is with people in skimpy clothes, dancing to music so loud it feels like it thumps inside of his chest with every bass beat. it seems like a classy place, as far as these things go. at least arlong sits like a king in his vip nook, private enough from the general going ons of the club, but still on a platform as if to announce from on high that he's more important than everyone else. zoro hates the guy. he already hated the guy, but bringing nami into it makes him little more than a bug to squash. how best to do it? zoro doesn't know. he'll wait until he has a semi-private moment with him, and then he'll be dead.
fantasizing about that moment is the only thing getting him through tonight. it's also the reason why zoro doesn't notice when someone is lead into arlong's booth, until the man himself knocks for zoro's attention, and says zoro, get in here. )
I'm working.
( lighten up. come inside for a second.
sighing, zoro does as he's bid to, tucking his swords under the table as he slides into the booth. it's an oversized bit of furniture and stuffed with a few other big wigs, the table at the center big enough as a stage — and used as one, a stripper pole sticking out of the middle like a post sign reading no turning back. it's occupied. someone dances with a lithe, lean, almost delicate body, moves precise but fluid, like every luxurious movement, every tantalizing flash of a wrist or stroke of a belly is as calculated as a dance. he knows that kind of meticulousness. there's a hazy, lustful fog in the club as a whole, but through the flashing lights and smoke, he sees a pair of intense blue eyes staring back at him, focused, beautiful, seething.
ah. so that's why he didn't want zoro to come. great.
he's pretty, right? arlong asks. zoro maintains his quiet solitude across the table from him, glaring. his mind is playing catch up with this curve ball thrown in the mix. if sanji is here, then arlong is —
he does more than dance. zoro's gaze shoots up. arlong's eyes are already locked on sanji, a grin curving up his mouth. take your shirt off. )
cradles this in my hands
zoro, probably.
his jacket was shed a while back, peeled off by arlong's greedy hands while he occupied his lap, and he feels the now-warm metal of the pole through his lace shirt with every twist, careful to keep it at his back. gratitude might have filled him at the allowance to remove his shirt, if he was capable of feeling such a thing after seeing zoro in the room. as it is, all he feels is a simmering rage mingled with a numb sort of fear. he wasn't scared before, just annoyed that the end of this was too far for him to look forward to, but now his instincts kick wildly like an animal in a trap. something doesn't feel right.
he makes a show of untucking his shirt and flicking each button open from collar to hem. soft fabric slips down his shoulders, revealing his lean, muscled body — and his reddened nipples, silver glinting from each one, freshly pierced. so fresh it's been just an hour since arlong brought someone in to get it done for him, sanji stretched out on a lavish bed with some flunky's hand in his trousers while the needle went through. after seeing zoro, though, he doesn't know how he's supposed to get hard again.
jesus fuck. zoro. he's probably got it all figured out now, everything sanji has worked so hard to hide from him. that arlong is the guy that sanji lets put bruises all over him. arlong is the one sanji doesn't fight back. arlong is the one paying all his bills, and sanji doesn't mind rolling over and spending a week in pain if it means eating up all his money. because this isn't worse than what he's already been through. arlong doesn't break his bones. he can still walk after. arlong doesn't lock him in a cage or starve him or make him wish he was dead. arlong just wants to use him for a night or two, and sanji doesn't have a problem being used.
zoro could never understand that. zoro would want arlong's head. fuck. zoro will want arlong's head.
fuck.
sanji looks up with an unchanged expression, his face wiped blank to his usual — bored, dissolute. arlong says something, and sanji pretends not to have a viscerally negative reaction to the order. no, he doesn't think the new muscle is hot. no, he doesn't want to go grind his ass on his cock. and no, he doesn't want to serve him a fucking drink.
sanji lights a cigarette before he picks up the glass that's magically appeared, an expensive scotch with a globe of ice in it, stepping evenly across the table to crouch before zoro's seat. he takes a sip of the drink before dangling it before zoro's nose, his cigarette balanced between two fingers of the same hand. ]
Here.
[ then he slides in his lap, just like arlong wanted. he cards his fingers up the back of zoro's hair, painfully intimate, bringing his mouth close to his ear where arlong can't see. ]
I won't fucking forgive you for this.
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ordinarily zoro isn't one to turn down a drink, so it goes to show how much disdain he has for arlong that the doesn't even sip. he just looks over sanji's shoulder at him hatefully. )
This is what you're paying me for. A lap dance and a drink?
( he moves to shove sanji off and bodily shoulder his way out of the booth, but arlong stops him. not at first, with his polite requests — it's when he offers bringing nami over here too that zoro seizes, nostrils flaring, and then settles back in his seat, thoroughly had. every time he lets arlong get away with the nami card it makes a weakness in zoro more and more obvious — at least for now, zoro doesn't have any reason to assume he knows about the connection between him and sanji. so, sanji is safe. sanji is safe? hardly. zoro has no clue how he's going to get an unwilling sanji out of here. hell, he doesn't even know how he's getting himself out of here, and he's beyond willing.
not interested in men? arlong asks. don't worry. sanji's pretty like a girl. you wouldn't know the difference with his mouth on your cock.
it does, after a delayed moment, click into place for zoro. sanji's caginess about him coming tonight with the weak excuse of plants, the bruises that always outline his body whenever he's gone for the night, the reason why he was so angry zoro was asking around about him. arlong, here and at the center of it all, offering sanji's mouth to a presumed stranger like it's his right to do so. maybe, in some way, it is — money is the real heart and song of this dance. is this what sanji is doing to afford all his fancy clothes and all his expensive things, his tuition at school, everything? prostituting himself?
various other conversations go on around the table, about money and deals. business things. arlong gives a gesture to everyone sitting, reading zoro's thoughts. we all have a little fun. his finger points towards himself, seriously. only i get to fuck him, though. no offense. )
Is that so.
( because he fucks sanji semi-regularly, and he's one shitty comment away from lunging himself at him, damn the consequences. )
no subject
he swings his leg back over zoro's hip, seating himself in his lap once more, dipping his first two fingers into the scotch and shoving them into zoro's mouth. ]
Don't fucking talk. [ muttered softly, as he presses down on his tongue. ] Arlong doesn't know about us.
[ he needs it to stay that way. this has now become a goddamn fucking mess, and sanji can already see his money drying up after tonight. but if he can get both of them out of here relatively unscathed, he'll deal with that later. if arlong has his fingers around nami's throat, it's over anyway.
his breath grows unsteady as he pulls his fingers out and presses their foreheads together, stroking saliva down zoro's cheek. for a moment it's just the two of them, sanji's fear a living, palpable thing. ]
Don't make this into a fight. [ he palms zoro's cock through his jeans. it feels stupid even asking, as if zoro can comprehend anything that isn't a fight. he surges in to kiss him, his spine arching, his sore nipples brushing against zoro's clothes. sanji's teeth hook into zoro's plump bottom lip until he tastes the salt of blood. ] Give him what he wants, and we both get paid. We both walk away. You're the one that wanted to come here.
[ he has zoro's fly open now, his hand moving in strong, even strokes. it's like trying to tame a fucking lion. ]
Finish your drink. [ he's calm now, his fear wrestled down and locked away in a flimsy box. ] Arlong takes offense if you waste his liquor.
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he's beautiful, that isn't new. he smells like his rich money cologne and triple digit shampoo and conditioner, that makes his hair look soft and grabable. it's great. he's perfect. except he put the cologne on for arlong, and washed his hair so arlong could put his meaty fingers through it, and dressed up in things arlong bought so arlong could unwrap his own present. zoro's teeth bite down at sanji's fingers when he pulls them back — he doesn't have to say anything, to show how pissed he is.
with zoro on strict good boy behavior, arlong gets swept up in a conversation with someone else, not loud enough for him to hear. it means he can direct his attention on sanji, taking him all in. he's talking a lot of shit. zoro can feel the spiral sinking in him and easily as he can feel the fight rising in himself. clicking his tongue, he tosses the scotch back and enjoys the burn that comes from shotting a sipping drink. he grunts slightly as sanji grips his cock, but stays stubbornly soft for the moment, too tense to get hard.
don't fucking talk. he doesn't need to. one hand grips sanji's waist and the other moves up, meanly flicking his fresh piercing to see how it hurts him, to inflict some measure of pain himself. fucking arlong. fucking sanji. ) Fucking liar.
( it was never about my plants or i'm okay or i'm better with you. it's always all been about sanji covering sanji's stupid ass decisions. )
cw mentions of abuse
the sudden burst of heat when zoro flicks his piercing pinks his cheeks and makes his fingers tighten around zoro's cock. he's grateful for the pain, lifting his panicked, watery gaze to focus on the steel in zoro's expression. it would be so easy for zoro to just erase sanji from his life. his name isn't on the lease. he gives zoro his rent in cash. he's just — some stupid stray that zoro took in to save money, and sanji's fucked it all up now. whatever's glinting in zoro's deep brown eyes can't be anything but hatred and disgust now.
arlong's expecting at least some action between them, or he'll find someone else to put sanji to good use on, but all he can feel are the shadows curling in, the cold dread sealing up like ice around his heart. he can't move, his fingers suddenly slack, zoro's cock resting against his clammy palm. the amount of air in his lungs feels too small, his chest hitching, his eyes going as glassy as a winter sky.
a sound comes from his throat, a quiet little whimper as he tips slightly, as if he might just slide in a heap to the floor, his shoulders quivering. from beneath the canary bangs veiling his eyes, a tear slides down his cheek, unable to will himself to do anything but wait for the inevitable blow to land. where this time? his jaw if he's lucky; he usually doesn't break anything there. his eye if he's not, or his nose if he's really fucked. maybe his brothers will just drag him across the floor by the hair again, or they'll decide to all go at him at once and he won't be able to stand for a week. in whatever case, he's gone. he's done for. he won't survive much more of this. ]
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except, there's no real mask right now. he's right there, small and broken, wet eyes distant. zoro wants to bundle him up and carry him out like that night at the fight club, like a baby soothed by rocking. he wants to forget he ever saw arlong's stupid face and take sanji back to the apartment, where they can fuck the stink of this club out from each other. but — he doesn't. it would be hell for all three of them, and zoro isn't willing to risk the people he considers most important. thinking, his thumbs smooth up and down sanji's pointed hipbones, chin tilting up to attempt to meet sanji's eyes. when it doesn't work, he leans in, lapping the tip of his tongue against sanji's spilled tear, sucking the salt up as he arches forward, kissing the corner of his eye. )
Sanji.
( not chef or dumbass or waiter or asshole. not even liar, even if he is all those things — the fact that he's sanji is important most of all. carefully, a hand slides up the curve of his back, until he's pressed tight enough to sanji to grip his shoulder and pull him down, free hand covering sanji's on his cock, giving himself a firm squeeze around his palm. )
I need you. Don't leave now. ( he grinds his dick into his hand, mouth pressed to his ear, shutting his eyes so he can pretend like they're at home, like sanji's fingers are greasy from salty fries, like the real housewives of salt lake city is playing in the background while zoro comes all over his delicate fingers, blushing at sanji's mean, prideful laughter. ) Let's do this, so we can go home together. I haven't even put a stupid baby in you yet. We've got a lot left to do. ( tilting his head, he presses a kiss to the corner of sanji's mouth. his dick thickens out in sanji's hand, hard because he's pretty with tears clinging to his lashes, because the thought of getting sanji pregnant no matter how stupid it is, always gets him hard. the actual pregnancy? sure. his tits getting big and full? yeah. the babies and the life and the happiness that would come after? definitely. ) Don't leave me.