( 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. )
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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. )