[ 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}
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.
no subject
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.
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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.