[ 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. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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. ]