[ 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}
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. ]