[ 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. ]
no subject
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. ]