( 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.
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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. )
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. ]
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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.