[ it doesn't help that he'd been half hard from the moment he stepped back onto this ship, made only worse with sanji's sudden promises in his messages that by the time he stepped into the room to follow through, zoro's cock had been plenty stiff and heavy even without the aid of his own hands to get him there. add the overwhelming heat of sanji's hungry mouth to the mix, and it's inevitable that he'd end up coming as quickly as he does.
it spills easily and for a flash of a second, he wonders if he should've warned sanji a bit better to give him more of an opportunity to pull himself off. but the orgasm rides even higher when that tight wrap remains, easing out a low moan just from the realization that sanji is swallowing his come, hips twitching with a helpless jolt as he spurts every drop that leaves him directly into a warm throat.
his breath falls heavy when there's nothing left, drained of all he has, save for desire to still keep sanji close somehow, immediately frustrated with him that a blowjob doesn't satisfy the craving want for the man still kneeling before him. because sanji's still there, still applying the support of a pressed tongue, still holding him like he matters, despite zoro not filling in any of the qualifications of what he's presumed sanji actually wants.
somehow, he could still stand despite the quiver in his thighs, maintaining some semblance of steadiness when that sweet mouth inevitably withdraws from him.
he doesn't respond to the advice. instead, he just casts down his glance as sanji looks away, wishing so badly to see into the blue of those eyes right now, desperate to figure out what's on his mind through all of this. what he can see is that sanji hasn't been immune to any of it, and his own softening cock still manages to throb from ache in catching the evidence of arousal bulging there in his trousers.
sanji's hands move. zoro doesn't. for a lasting moment, he just stares, hating that he's being made to think. it's not typically what he does in situations like these. he doesn't even in situations not like this.
so he isn't thinking when he redirects his fingers forward, sliding a trailing light touch along sanji's cheek until his palm cradles lightly beneath his chin. his thumb strokes along tender pink lips, feeling the smear of come and spit, that wet sensation making him shudder, before he gives a gentle nudge to coax sanji to peer back up to him. ]
Lay back. [ he finally mutters, though it doesn't carry the typical bite of a demand, his voice still deep but quieter like he's simply relaying a request, his eyes still dark but lacking its usual danger. ]
[ somehow, the softness that zoro exhibits alarms him worse than everything else that's come before. he almost flinches at the gentle touch of his fingers, his panting breath easy to mask as desire. zoro's hands are as calloused as any warrior's, and yet careful now, so careful as they handle him as if he's worth something. there's no overt threat of danger but sanji looks out for it all the same; after all, he's never had a man's hands on him for any other reason.
he balks at the request — no no no — because whatever zoro plans to do to him he can take it upright like a fucking man, but then he catches his thoughts and clamps them down. his eyes stare up at zoro, a wintry night sky, unblinking. this should be over now, the scales balanced, except sanji fucked up when he didn't leave right after. well, if it's just transactional, then maybe zoro just wants to pay him back. how romantic.
anything more than that — he can't think of it. he can't even imagine having a thought in the next hour.
slowly, his hand still on his open belt buckle, he eases back, something wary in his gaze. he doesn't put his back on the ground, instead bracing himself on one elbow, painfully aware of how exposed he is, his legs wide open. at least zoro's swords are several feet away on the bed, and sanji's feet are attached to his body.
his lips, still slick and wet with come, burn hot where zoro's thumb slid across. he feels dizzy with how badly his cock aches to be touched, but he doesn't ask for it. he doesn't dare say anything, afraid of what might come out. the truth, maybe. that can't happen. he might say something unforgivably revealing — or unforgivably cruel, all because his heart thuds with desperate anticipation and erratic fear. ]
[ he knows it's a lot to ask him to trust him with that request, mostly because zoro's never once done sanji any favors since he first boarded this ship. except even this, the intentions surfacing in his mind, don't entirely count as a favor either, knowing they come with their own brand of selfishness, the parts of himself that crave to see, to feel, to taste, the honest possibilities of sanji wanting him. zoro's desires tend to fairly limited — alcohol, food, sleep, swords, fights, becoming the greatest swordsman — so it hasn't exactly been easy to navigate where sanji fits into all of it. which is why pushing makes it easier, enough insults and badgering comments meant to keep the distance intact.
but sanji's wormed his way past those barriers by fighting back, whether he meant to cross the accidental line or not, and now — now, the blond is on the floor with an aching hard cock and zoro stupidly wants to give him everything.
when his legs remember how to function, he takes a step to the side so that he can rest the bottle of beer still in hand on the nearest crate, before lowering himself down to the ground on his own knees of front of sanji. keeping his eyes on him, he reaches forward with both of his hands, brushing sanji's aside at his belt buckle as zoro finishes where he'd left off, guiding the zipper the rest of the way down before snagging his fingers into the hems of it all to begin tugging it down. sanji'll have to cooperate in lifting his hips but zoro doesn't stop even when the fullness of sanji's cock springs free and erect (fuck, he looks good when he's hard), dragging his pants down along his thighs, past his knees, until he can leave them in a bundle at his ankles.
he shuffles forward, leaning forward between parted legs, getting a closer inspection of that stiff length, visibly soaked over the crown. chances are, he might not last too long through this, which means zoro'll have to put plenty into that limited time. he can do that.
lips hovering all the swollen head, zoro conjures a wad of spit from his mouth, letting it drip down over an already messy tip, saliva and precome becoming a joint shiny mixture before zoro brings in his palm to drag both slowly down the fullness of sanji's cock, encouraging every slippery inch. instead of taking him full into mouth as sanji had done, he dips downward, parted lips pressing the flat of his tongue to his base, rubbing a massage from wet muscle that works its way down, stroking licks brushing over a sac, as his hand continues to pump steadily. ]
[ he's cognizant of every single motion in the room. the grind of his zipper. the metal clank of his belt as zoro tugs his trousers down. the way he traps his fucking ankles so he can't easily kick him off. he wants to do something about that, but then warm breath cascades over his heated cock, making his thighs quiver. it becomes hard to think and even harder to keep his eyes open, but he does, still propped up and sharply watching zoro's movements like a man obsessed, his brows pinched and his chest rapid with breath.
spit. oh. he might have thought to do that. where he expects zoro to devour his cock, he has a different technique altogether, one that has his balls tightening and molten heat pooling deep in his belly. fuck. fuck. zoro is ten times better than he is, a thought that rankles even as he commits his motions to memory, both for educational purposes and for when he's alone.
it's too good. his back hits the floor despite his best efforts, his gaze suddenly pointed at the ceiling before he squeezes his eyes shut altogether, quietly desperate moans interspersed with his ragged breaths. his hands twitch, digging into the hard floor. could he — zoro had touched him, so why not? his fingers reach for mossy hair, surprised at the softness, trailing down to his nape and back up in a gentle stroke. he touches his earrings, a quiet tinkle in the air, one fingertip toying with his jewelry. there's something so unbearably tender about it that sanji feels a rush of heat spring to his eyes, horrified by his reaction. but he hasn't had — anything like this in so long. hasn't allowed it. anything tenderhearted or warm, any small kindness earned him a broken bone or a black eye.
his pleasure mounts. he won't last long at all, not with the way zoro's working him over. his hips cant upward, the heat of his desire compounding with the sudden swell of grief in his chest, his lips parting with a broken gasp. zoro's name.
he shudders, spilling hot and wet, sliding his wrist over his face to cover the tears leaking from his eyes and wetting his cheeks. his thighs clamp tight around zoro, tremors wracking his body as his cock softens, his desperate panting loud in the quiet room. ]
[ zoro's mouth moves with ease, something only partially attributed to the fact that he has the experience of past encounters to fall back on, because what ultimately maintains a steady motivation is his intentions in making sanji come so intensely that it'll be entirely unforgettable from the cook's mind. and maybe, just maybe, he's trying to memorize every bit of this too, mostly convinced that it's something never meant to happen again after all of this, that this is the only time he'll ever get to press his lips to sanji's body.
he can taste heat and sweat and precome, the pleasant burn of skin beneath his lips, where he drags up parted kisses along the base of a firm cock, paired with filthy licks of his tongue to collect every hint of his taste. his fingers never stop moving, never intent on teasing this out; maybe another time, he thinks, before remembering the exclusivity of this experience, instead deciding it'll be something to pair with a dream or a lone encounter where the only thing he'll jerk himself off to ever again is this memory of sanji's cock pressed beneath his lips — that along with the one of having his own stuffed full inside sanji's perfect mouth.
his strokes twist and squeeze, rubbing his palm over a slick-coated tip to urge more of that leaking substance, though his touch nearly staggers when sanji applies one of his own, surprising zoro with the presence of fingers through his hair. it makes his breath hitch when he hears the gentle clink of touched earrings, the metal sounding softly, his own heart throbbing hot in his chest to earn that unexpected touch in turn.
fuck, don't do that, he thinks, not because he doesn't want it, but because he does, and it only makes the ache for him burn hotter and hotter, ache for something that won't be his after tonight.
his mouth returns low, lips parted to catch the taut skin of his balls, sucking wet and tight, as he feels the shift of moving hips, hinting what's to come. his tongue laps, encouraging the chase of that climax, sensing the way that sanji might need it more than he realize just by the state of his urgent moans, nothing but that sound of the heaviness of breath reaching his ears — nothing until the soft gasp of his own name melts his body to nothing.
come spills all over his fingers in hot ribbons, urging him to pump even faster, for his mouth to grip tighter, squeezing, sucking, come, come, come. zoro doesn't let him go until the thighs pressed around him signal him to ease off, prying away his lips as his fingers slow to lazier strokes. catching his breath, he lifts his head, just enough to be able to see the stretched length of sanji's body, face hidden away by his arm.
regret? shame? the uncertainty of it leaves zoro uncomfortable, not fitted to say the first word after this, not usually caught up in the aftermath of being with someone who isn't just picked up as temporary relief. so he doesn't say anything at all, ducking his head again where he sighs warm breath over soft skin, closing his eyes and tucking his nose softly against an inner thigh, at least until he's made to leave. ]
[ it takes what feels like hours to catch his breath. every time he thinks something stranger can't happen, it does, now with this tenuous bubble of airy lightness that's trapped them both. the floor is hard against his back, and he doesn't mind it. zoro's breath fans out against his thigh, his cheek pillowed there. sanji's lashes are wet, his bottom lip trembling like it did when he was a child. he has a feeling zoro would let him stay right here until morning. he has a feeling that if he leaves now, he'll never come back.
his body still hums with languid pleasure. this might be the best orgasm he's ever had in his life, and he can't believe it came from zoro of all people. through his parted fingers, he peeks downward at the sight of the swordsman tangled up in his legs, his lips a gentle whisper against his skin. he doesn't know what he's supposed to do next or how he's supposed to act now that he has this intimate knowledge of zoro's body gnawing at his brain. whatever comes next, he knows it's going to hurt.
he swallows back the thickness clogging his throat, dragging his wrist over his eyes, his tears smearing into all the other wetness across his face. everything in his life has always hurt; why should this be any different? his fingers curl around zoro's ear, gold slipping between them, coaxing him up towards him. sanji's heart starts again with its hammering at the sight of him, his slick, bruised lips, the barely noticeable flush across his perfectly tanned skin, the sharp cut of his high cheekbone that sanji rests his thumb against now.
he hopes the invitation is still open. more than that, he hopes he can actually do this.
he draws zoro down, his breath stuttering, his damp lashes sweeping shut, and tilts his own mouth upwards. he's unprepared for the shock when their mouths press together, his foundation losing stability, the tremor returning to his lips. his dark brows knit together, his hand fisting in zoro's shirt as if he'll break apart without something solid to hold onto. ]
going from 0 to 100 in mixed emotions in exactly the brand of these two
[ 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. ]
[ he never wanted to let himself believe that zoro could be anything but a hulking idiot of a man, the same as all the rest — primed for violence and never for thought. he could never be anything like the impossible ideal sanji has been chasing for years now, some made up fantasy free of all the hurt he's endured, something that will fill the cracks in the bones that never quite settled right. something that will magically make him whole and wanted and free.
suddenly it's close. sanji feels swept up in some stupid dream, falling into the kiss like he believes in impossible things again. zoro makes him feel like he isn't a battered piece of shit that should have died twice over now. he realizes that the alarm bells are quieter now, that his fear is less from the threat of pain than the promise of an ending.
because this does have to end. he doesn't know how to prolong it. doesn't know how to be the sort of man that just — changes. his tongue presses at zoro's parted lips, curling in for the briefest of tastes as if he can't get close enough, arching into him when zoro cradles his skull. no one's ever held him so close, so tenderly. he winds his legs around zoro's, a strategic shift of his hips rolling them onto their sides so they're facing each other, still chasing zoro's mouth for the dregs of this kiss before the hand fisted in his shirt pushes him back, keeping their mouths inches apart. sanji's breath comes at a rapid pace, his face flushed and cracked open. he looks anguished, like after everything, all roads still lead back to him simmering in his own pain.
he wants to kiss him again, wants to trace the fullness of his lips and taste what makes him uniquely him. he wants to explore the other parts of him, the cut of his jaw and the slope of his throat down to the jagged scar across his chest. if this ever comes again, he doesn't think it could ever be like this.
he releases zoro's rumpled shirt, untangling himself. wordlessly, he pulls his trousers back up to his hips, zipping himself back in, then reaches into his pocket. with a loud flick of metal, he lights a cigarette, balancing his wrist on his raised knee. somehow he feels more exposed like this despite being dressed again. he scrubs at his eyes again. ]
Tell me when I should go.
[ in a spectacularly shitty move, he'll put that onus on zoro. sanji's the one that came to invade his space, after all. ]
[ zoro would stay just like this, getting caught up in filling out the answers to some previously inexplicable questions that had badgered him night after night, like the reason for his own lasting glances in the cook's direction amongst a crowd or why frustration made its habit of bubbling up a lot more quickly when flirtatious anecdotes would slip from the blond's mouth to whatever fairly attractive woman stepped into the room. it's still incredibly stupid, in his opinion, and he could still conjure up a thousand more insults to label sanji, but at the very least, the hunger of this kiss comes with some acknowledgement that he'd kill to keep tasting this mouth.
predictably, sanji seems to come with his own reservations, and when zoro's rolled on his side and nudged away moments later, he can't say that he feels too surprised about the abrupt ending of whatever mishap they'd fallen into tonight.
but even as sanji withdraws himself from their warm entanglement, redressing himself, zoro doesn't do much to move, his eyes carefully observing each of sanji's movements, as if every shift of a limb, every subtle expression, could all come together to spell out what might be going on in the cook's head. figuring people out never typically comes from conversation for zoro, since half of the time, they don't say what they mean (he knows a thing or two about that) and words can prove a lot more complicated than not. action is where it all makes sense, just like every step and reflex of a fight speaks more to zoro's language more than any extended vocal explanation could.
the problem is in how sanji tends to change by the second, moods moving from cheerful to annoyed, from contemplative to anxious, from tangled embraces to withdrawn smoking. the man tends to be a counter to all of zoro's usual methods in understanding the world, which only complicates why the hell he's constantly so drawn to him in the first place.
still keeping his eyes locked on him, he watches the smoke wisp out of swollen lips, knowing he'll never be able to look at them again without thinking of them tucked tightly around his cock, painted with his come, and hungrily chasing after his mouth.
finally tucking up his pants back up over his hips, still resting on his side, he finally speaks up, ]
If you don't want to, then don't.
[ he doesn't ask him to stay; he doesn't really think it's in his place to, not when so much of the question lies in what sanji wants. even amidst all the bickering fights, all the taunting namecalling and snappy retorts, zoro thinks he's made it fairly clear what his position is regarding wanting sanji. for him, it doesn't need to be complicated or spelled out in ways that don't matter. sanji either stays, or he doesn't. the rest can be figured out later. ]
[ of course he'd throw the burden back onto him. as if it's as simple as zoro makes it sound. as if sanji isn't going to walk out of here and be the same person he's always been, only this time he'll know that every carefully careless word will cut into zoro like a boning knife. how the fuck is he supposed to help that? a frustrated puff of smoke escapes into the air, the tension back in his brows. if he becomes the type of man that just hurts other people, he's no better than his brothers.
he can't help but think that for the first time ever, zoro was different. he was kind to him today. and now that he knows there's something else lurking beneath the shitty swordsman attitude, he can't forget it.
they're not that different.
shit, he's tired. he should have just stayed at the funky bar. ]
Fine.
[ it's an answer that says absolutely nothing. sanji stays on the floor for several more minutes to finish his cigarette, smoke curling from his mouth. there's no one else on the ship. it's not like anyone would know if he came or went from his room.
when he stands, he pulls his belt off his hips and drops it to the floor. undoing the first few buttons of his shirt, he steps over zoro and ambles to the bed, climbing onto the mattress and curling up onto his side, tucking his knuckles to his chin. it's a bad idea and he knows it. he'll probably wake from a nightmare in the middle of the night and then he might actually piss the swordsman off when he can't control what he says.
but for now, he's not ready to go. not yet. ]
Crew's not coming back until lunch. I can skip breakfast prep.
[ no, the 'fine' really doesn't say much at all and for the silent minutes that follow, zoro almost wonders if he's going to get anything more than that. not that he gives any hint of impatience, remaining right where he is as the only remaining sound in the air is the quieter exhales of breath, only a faint bit louder whenever sanji blows out another small cloud of smoke. if sanji wants to stay right here on the floor too, doing nothing but laying here, that's just as fine. zoro can sleep practically anywhere anyway.
when he does finally stand, zoro presumes that'll be his exit, brow raising just slightly with curiosity when a belt gets removed, footsteps moving in the direction opposite of the door. he peers back over his shoulder, watching sanji settle into his bed before huffing a breath quietly to himself. ]
Okay.
[ there's nothing further to question, no reason to ask what it all means, because he doesn't have to. he's spent enough nights with confusing questions floating over his head, so what's one more? this time at least comes with company.
he stands up on his feet, shuffling over to the bed, climbing in beside the cook to take up his half and resting on his back, one arm raising up to tuck his hand behind his head as the other rests simply over his chest. his eyes glance up to the ceiling but it's impossible not to feel the taken up space at his side. funny how quickly his confidence shifts. handjobs and blowjobs are easy; sleeping beside another person feels more unknown. it's nothing like sleeping around other people, since that's enough of a common occurrence to happen without a thought.
having sanji this close, he can almost feel the strange squeeze within his chest again. ]
I can sleep until lunch.
[ so sanji can stay here with him as long as he wants. as long as he needs. zoro won't go anywhere. ]
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it spills easily and for a flash of a second, he wonders if he should've warned sanji a bit better to give him more of an opportunity to pull himself off. but the orgasm rides even higher when that tight wrap remains, easing out a low moan just from the realization that sanji is swallowing his come, hips twitching with a helpless jolt as he spurts every drop that leaves him directly into a warm throat.
his breath falls heavy when there's nothing left, drained of all he has, save for desire to still keep sanji close somehow, immediately frustrated with him that a blowjob doesn't satisfy the craving want for the man still kneeling before him. because sanji's still there, still applying the support of a pressed tongue, still holding him like he matters, despite zoro not filling in any of the qualifications of what he's presumed sanji actually wants.
somehow, he could still stand despite the quiver in his thighs, maintaining some semblance of steadiness when that sweet mouth inevitably withdraws from him.
he doesn't respond to the advice. instead, he just casts down his glance as sanji looks away, wishing so badly to see into the blue of those eyes right now, desperate to figure out what's on his mind through all of this. what he can see is that sanji hasn't been immune to any of it, and his own softening cock still manages to throb from ache in catching the evidence of arousal bulging there in his trousers.
sanji's hands move. zoro doesn't. for a lasting moment, he just stares, hating that he's being made to think. it's not typically what he does in situations like these. he doesn't even in situations not like this.
so he isn't thinking when he redirects his fingers forward, sliding a trailing light touch along sanji's cheek until his palm cradles lightly beneath his chin. his thumb strokes along tender pink lips, feeling the smear of come and spit, that wet sensation making him shudder, before he gives a gentle nudge to coax sanji to peer back up to him. ]
Lay back. [ he finally mutters, though it doesn't carry the typical bite of a demand, his voice still deep but quieter like he's simply relaying a request, his eyes still dark but lacking its usual danger. ]
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he balks at the request — no no no — because whatever zoro plans to do to him he can take it upright like a fucking man, but then he catches his thoughts and clamps them down. his eyes stare up at zoro, a wintry night sky, unblinking. this should be over now, the scales balanced, except sanji fucked up when he didn't leave right after. well, if it's just transactional, then maybe zoro just wants to pay him back. how romantic.
anything more than that — he can't think of it. he can't even imagine having a thought in the next hour.
slowly, his hand still on his open belt buckle, he eases back, something wary in his gaze. he doesn't put his back on the ground, instead bracing himself on one elbow, painfully aware of how exposed he is, his legs wide open. at least zoro's swords are several feet away on the bed, and sanji's feet are attached to his body.
his lips, still slick and wet with come, burn hot where zoro's thumb slid across. he feels dizzy with how badly his cock aches to be touched, but he doesn't ask for it. he doesn't dare say anything, afraid of what might come out. the truth, maybe. that can't happen. he might say something unforgivably revealing — or unforgivably cruel, all because his heart thuds with desperate anticipation and erratic fear. ]
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but sanji's wormed his way past those barriers by fighting back, whether he meant to cross the accidental line or not, and now — now, the blond is on the floor with an aching hard cock and zoro stupidly wants to give him everything.
when his legs remember how to function, he takes a step to the side so that he can rest the bottle of beer still in hand on the nearest crate, before lowering himself down to the ground on his own knees of front of sanji. keeping his eyes on him, he reaches forward with both of his hands, brushing sanji's aside at his belt buckle as zoro finishes where he'd left off, guiding the zipper the rest of the way down before snagging his fingers into the hems of it all to begin tugging it down. sanji'll have to cooperate in lifting his hips but zoro doesn't stop even when the fullness of sanji's cock springs free and erect (fuck, he looks good when he's hard), dragging his pants down along his thighs, past his knees, until he can leave them in a bundle at his ankles.
he shuffles forward, leaning forward between parted legs, getting a closer inspection of that stiff length, visibly soaked over the crown. chances are, he might not last too long through this, which means zoro'll have to put plenty into that limited time. he can do that.
lips hovering all the swollen head, zoro conjures a wad of spit from his mouth, letting it drip down over an already messy tip, saliva and precome becoming a joint shiny mixture before zoro brings in his palm to drag both slowly down the fullness of sanji's cock, encouraging every slippery inch. instead of taking him full into mouth as sanji had done, he dips downward, parted lips pressing the flat of his tongue to his base, rubbing a massage from wet muscle that works its way down, stroking licks brushing over a sac, as his hand continues to pump steadily. ]
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spit. oh. he might have thought to do that. where he expects zoro to devour his cock, he has a different technique altogether, one that has his balls tightening and molten heat pooling deep in his belly. fuck. fuck. zoro is ten times better than he is, a thought that rankles even as he commits his motions to memory, both for educational purposes and for when he's alone.
it's too good. his back hits the floor despite his best efforts, his gaze suddenly pointed at the ceiling before he squeezes his eyes shut altogether, quietly desperate moans interspersed with his ragged breaths. his hands twitch, digging into the hard floor. could he — zoro had touched him, so why not? his fingers reach for mossy hair, surprised at the softness, trailing down to his nape and back up in a gentle stroke. he touches his earrings, a quiet tinkle in the air, one fingertip toying with his jewelry. there's something so unbearably tender about it that sanji feels a rush of heat spring to his eyes, horrified by his reaction. but he hasn't had — anything like this in so long. hasn't allowed it. anything tenderhearted or warm, any small kindness earned him a broken bone or a black eye.
his pleasure mounts. he won't last long at all, not with the way zoro's working him over. his hips cant upward, the heat of his desire compounding with the sudden swell of grief in his chest, his lips parting with a broken gasp. zoro's name.
he shudders, spilling hot and wet, sliding his wrist over his face to cover the tears leaking from his eyes and wetting his cheeks. his thighs clamp tight around zoro, tremors wracking his body as his cock softens, his desperate panting loud in the quiet room. ]
huffs, this thread is so much, sobs i love it
he can taste heat and sweat and precome, the pleasant burn of skin beneath his lips, where he drags up parted kisses along the base of a firm cock, paired with filthy licks of his tongue to collect every hint of his taste. his fingers never stop moving, never intent on teasing this out; maybe another time, he thinks, before remembering the exclusivity of this experience, instead deciding it'll be something to pair with a dream or a lone encounter where the only thing he'll jerk himself off to ever again is this memory of sanji's cock pressed beneath his lips — that along with the one of having his own stuffed full inside sanji's perfect mouth.
his strokes twist and squeeze, rubbing his palm over a slick-coated tip to urge more of that leaking substance, though his touch nearly staggers when sanji applies one of his own, surprising zoro with the presence of fingers through his hair. it makes his breath hitch when he hears the gentle clink of touched earrings, the metal sounding softly, his own heart throbbing hot in his chest to earn that unexpected touch in turn.
fuck, don't do that, he thinks, not because he doesn't want it, but because he does, and it only makes the ache for him burn hotter and hotter, ache for something that won't be his after tonight.
his mouth returns low, lips parted to catch the taut skin of his balls, sucking wet and tight, as he feels the shift of moving hips, hinting what's to come. his tongue laps, encouraging the chase of that climax, sensing the way that sanji might need it more than he realize just by the state of his urgent moans, nothing but that sound of the heaviness of breath reaching his ears — nothing until the soft gasp of his own name melts his body to nothing.
come spills all over his fingers in hot ribbons, urging him to pump even faster, for his mouth to grip tighter, squeezing, sucking, come, come, come. zoro doesn't let him go until the thighs pressed around him signal him to ease off, prying away his lips as his fingers slow to lazier strokes. catching his breath, he lifts his head, just enough to be able to see the stretched length of sanji's body, face hidden away by his arm.
regret? shame? the uncertainty of it leaves zoro uncomfortable, not fitted to say the first word after this, not usually caught up in the aftermath of being with someone who isn't just picked up as temporary relief. so he doesn't say anything at all, ducking his head again where he sighs warm breath over soft skin, closing his eyes and tucking his nose softly against an inner thigh, at least until he's made to leave. ]
the emotional rollercoaster has ended me
his body still hums with languid pleasure. this might be the best orgasm he's ever had in his life, and he can't believe it came from zoro of all people. through his parted fingers, he peeks downward at the sight of the swordsman tangled up in his legs, his lips a gentle whisper against his skin. he doesn't know what he's supposed to do next or how he's supposed to act now that he has this intimate knowledge of zoro's body gnawing at his brain. whatever comes next, he knows it's going to hurt.
he swallows back the thickness clogging his throat, dragging his wrist over his eyes, his tears smearing into all the other wetness across his face. everything in his life has always hurt; why should this be any different? his fingers curl around zoro's ear, gold slipping between them, coaxing him up towards him. sanji's heart starts again with its hammering at the sight of him, his slick, bruised lips, the barely noticeable flush across his perfectly tanned skin, the sharp cut of his high cheekbone that sanji rests his thumb against now.
he hopes the invitation is still open. more than that, he hopes he can actually do this.
he draws zoro down, his breath stuttering, his damp lashes sweeping shut, and tilts his own mouth upwards. he's unprepared for the shock when their mouths press together, his foundation losing stability, the tremor returning to his lips. his dark brows knit together, his hand fisting in zoro's shirt as if he'll break apart without something solid to hold onto. ]
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. ]
they have no chill
suddenly it's close. sanji feels swept up in some stupid dream, falling into the kiss like he believes in impossible things again. zoro makes him feel like he isn't a battered piece of shit that should have died twice over now. he realizes that the alarm bells are quieter now, that his fear is less from the threat of pain than the promise of an ending.
because this does have to end. he doesn't know how to prolong it. doesn't know how to be the sort of man that just — changes. his tongue presses at zoro's parted lips, curling in for the briefest of tastes as if he can't get close enough, arching into him when zoro cradles his skull. no one's ever held him so close, so tenderly. he winds his legs around zoro's, a strategic shift of his hips rolling them onto their sides so they're facing each other, still chasing zoro's mouth for the dregs of this kiss before the hand fisted in his shirt pushes him back, keeping their mouths inches apart. sanji's breath comes at a rapid pace, his face flushed and cracked open. he looks anguished, like after everything, all roads still lead back to him simmering in his own pain.
he wants to kiss him again, wants to trace the fullness of his lips and taste what makes him uniquely him. he wants to explore the other parts of him, the cut of his jaw and the slope of his throat down to the jagged scar across his chest. if this ever comes again, he doesn't think it could ever be like this.
he releases zoro's rumpled shirt, untangling himself. wordlessly, he pulls his trousers back up to his hips, zipping himself back in, then reaches into his pocket. with a loud flick of metal, he lights a cigarette, balancing his wrist on his raised knee. somehow he feels more exposed like this despite being dressed again. he scrubs at his eyes again. ]
Tell me when I should go.
[ in a spectacularly shitty move, he'll put that onus on zoro. sanji's the one that came to invade his space, after all. ]
😮💨
predictably, sanji seems to come with his own reservations, and when zoro's rolled on his side and nudged away moments later, he can't say that he feels too surprised about the abrupt ending of whatever mishap they'd fallen into tonight.
but even as sanji withdraws himself from their warm entanglement, redressing himself, zoro doesn't do much to move, his eyes carefully observing each of sanji's movements, as if every shift of a limb, every subtle expression, could all come together to spell out what might be going on in the cook's head. figuring people out never typically comes from conversation for zoro, since half of the time, they don't say what they mean (he knows a thing or two about that) and words can prove a lot more complicated than not. action is where it all makes sense, just like every step and reflex of a fight speaks more to zoro's language more than any extended vocal explanation could.
the problem is in how sanji tends to change by the second, moods moving from cheerful to annoyed, from contemplative to anxious, from tangled embraces to withdrawn smoking. the man tends to be a counter to all of zoro's usual methods in understanding the world, which only complicates why the hell he's constantly so drawn to him in the first place.
still keeping his eyes locked on him, he watches the smoke wisp out of swollen lips, knowing he'll never be able to look at them again without thinking of them tucked tightly around his cock, painted with his come, and hungrily chasing after his mouth.
finally tucking up his pants back up over his hips, still resting on his side, he finally speaks up, ]
If you don't want to, then don't.
[ he doesn't ask him to stay; he doesn't really think it's in his place to, not when so much of the question lies in what sanji wants. even amidst all the bickering fights, all the taunting namecalling and snappy retorts, zoro thinks he's made it fairly clear what his position is regarding wanting sanji. for him, it doesn't need to be complicated or spelled out in ways that don't matter. sanji either stays, or he doesn't. the rest can be figured out later. ]
no subject
he can't help but think that for the first time ever, zoro was different. he was kind to him today. and now that he knows there's something else lurking beneath the shitty swordsman attitude, he can't forget it.
they're not that different.
shit, he's tired. he should have just stayed at the funky bar. ]
Fine.
[ it's an answer that says absolutely nothing. sanji stays on the floor for several more minutes to finish his cigarette, smoke curling from his mouth. there's no one else on the ship. it's not like anyone would know if he came or went from his room.
when he stands, he pulls his belt off his hips and drops it to the floor. undoing the first few buttons of his shirt, he steps over zoro and ambles to the bed, climbing onto the mattress and curling up onto his side, tucking his knuckles to his chin. it's a bad idea and he knows it. he'll probably wake from a nightmare in the middle of the night and then he might actually piss the swordsman off when he can't control what he says.
but for now, he's not ready to go. not yet. ]
Crew's not coming back until lunch. I can skip breakfast prep.
no subject
when he does finally stand, zoro presumes that'll be his exit, brow raising just slightly with curiosity when a belt gets removed, footsteps moving in the direction opposite of the door. he peers back over his shoulder, watching sanji settle into his bed before huffing a breath quietly to himself. ]
Okay.
[ there's nothing further to question, no reason to ask what it all means, because he doesn't have to. he's spent enough nights with confusing questions floating over his head, so what's one more? this time at least comes with company.
he stands up on his feet, shuffling over to the bed, climbing in beside the cook to take up his half and resting on his back, one arm raising up to tuck his hand behind his head as the other rests simply over his chest. his eyes glance up to the ceiling but it's impossible not to feel the taken up space at his side. funny how quickly his confidence shifts. handjobs and blowjobs are easy; sleeping beside another person feels more unknown. it's nothing like sleeping around other people, since that's enough of a common occurrence to happen without a thought.
having sanji this close, he can almost feel the strange squeeze within his chest again. ]
I can sleep until lunch.
[ so sanji can stay here with him as long as he wants. as long as he needs. zoro won't go anywhere. ]