[ 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. ]
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. ]