[ 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.
no subject
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.