now he's the rabbit caught in the stew, because there might be the smallest kernel of truth in that statement. that he wouldn't really know his way around another guy's dick. unless that dick was his. because that's the only dick these talented hands have touched.
not for lack of interest. for some ungodly reason sanji attracts more men than beautiful women, despite all his efforts otherwise. every once in a while someone might catch his eye. usually someone big and burly and disgusting that he immediately resents but his nether regions do not. but he's never acted on the impulse, because there's always someone prettier and softer and kinder around the corner that he would rather gravitate towards even if it means a profound lack of attention in the end. it's all acutely fucked up and he should probably find the balls to confront judge himself for doing this to him, but they are, of course, nowhere to be found.
anyway, how different could another guy's dick be from his own? zoro can't be that special. ]
i wouldn't waste words romancing it if it's as stupid as you are.
i'd go slow. tease you. make you beg for it. i think someone like you needs that.
( it doesn't sit right, lying to sanji. in fact — it makes zoro itch under his collar the entire ride down arlong's club, jaw clenched until it cramps, staring annoyed out the rear window in the paid cab. he didn't mean to lie. in theory, it was simple to call arlong and take back his promised work, snorting unapologetically at the threat of losing his spot in the fighting arena, as if zoro gave a shit. bringing nami into it? low fucking blow. he doesn't know all the ins and outs of their partnership, but it seems pretty blatant that arlong has a collar around her neck, and keeps her on a short leash. so, zoro agrees. zoro makes his way to the exact place he promised he wouldn't be. zoro feels sick to his stomach with irritation and disloyalty.
still, arlong greets him warmly enough, in that tense, chest puffing way of his. zoro takes a spot behind his sprawling couch and eyes the club as a whole, packed as it is with people in skimpy clothes, dancing to music so loud it feels like it thumps inside of his chest with every bass beat. it seems like a classy place, as far as these things go. at least arlong sits like a king in his vip nook, private enough from the general going ons of the club, but still on a platform as if to announce from on high that he's more important than everyone else. zoro hates the guy. he already hated the guy, but bringing nami into it makes him little more than a bug to squash. how best to do it? zoro doesn't know. he'll wait until he has a semi-private moment with him, and then he'll be dead.
fantasizing about that moment is the only thing getting him through tonight. it's also the reason why zoro doesn't notice when someone is lead into arlong's booth, until the man himself knocks for zoro's attention, and says zoro, get in here. )
I'm working.
( lighten up. come inside for a second.
sighing, zoro does as he's bid to, tucking his swords under the table as he slides into the booth. it's an oversized bit of furniture and stuffed with a few other big wigs, the table at the center big enough as a stage — and used as one, a stripper pole sticking out of the middle like a post sign reading no turning back. it's occupied. someone dances with a lithe, lean, almost delicate body, moves precise but fluid, like every luxurious movement, every tantalizing flash of a wrist or stroke of a belly is as calculated as a dance. he knows that kind of meticulousness. there's a hazy, lustful fog in the club as a whole, but through the flashing lights and smoke, he sees a pair of intense blue eyes staring back at him, focused, beautiful, seething.
ah. so that's why he didn't want zoro to come. great.
he's pretty, right? arlong asks. zoro maintains his quiet solitude across the table from him, glaring. his mind is playing catch up with this curve ball thrown in the mix. if sanji is here, then arlong is —
he does more than dance. zoro's gaze shoots up. arlong's eyes are already locked on sanji, a grin curving up his mouth. take your shirt off. )
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tfln overflow — ZORO.
[ shit.
now he's the rabbit caught in the stew, because there might be the smallest kernel of truth in that statement. that he wouldn't really know his way around another guy's dick. unless that dick was his. because that's the only dick these talented hands have touched.
not for lack of interest. for some ungodly reason sanji attracts more men than beautiful women, despite all his efforts otherwise. every once in a while someone might catch his eye. usually someone big and burly and disgusting that he immediately resents but his nether regions do not. but he's never acted on the impulse, because there's always someone prettier and softer and kinder around the corner that he would rather gravitate towards even if it means a profound lack of attention in the end. it's all acutely fucked up and he should probably find the balls to confront judge himself for doing this to him, but they are, of course, nowhere to be found.
anyway, how different could another guy's dick be from his own? zoro can't be that special. ]
i wouldn't waste words romancing it if it's as stupid as you are.
i'd go slow. tease you. make you beg for it.
i think someone like you needs that.
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huffs, this thread is so much, sobs i love it
the emotional rollercoaster has ended me
going from 0 to 100 in mixed emotions in exactly the brand of these two
they have no chill
😮💨
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cw: nsfw, dubcon, probably more to follow
still, arlong greets him warmly enough, in that tense, chest puffing way of his. zoro takes a spot behind his sprawling couch and eyes the club as a whole, packed as it is with people in skimpy clothes, dancing to music so loud it feels like it thumps inside of his chest with every bass beat. it seems like a classy place, as far as these things go. at least arlong sits like a king in his vip nook, private enough from the general going ons of the club, but still on a platform as if to announce from on high that he's more important than everyone else. zoro hates the guy. he already hated the guy, but bringing nami into it makes him little more than a bug to squash. how best to do it? zoro doesn't know. he'll wait until he has a semi-private moment with him, and then he'll be dead.
fantasizing about that moment is the only thing getting him through tonight. it's also the reason why zoro doesn't notice when someone is lead into arlong's booth, until the man himself knocks for zoro's attention, and says zoro, get in here. )
I'm working.
( lighten up. come inside for a second.
sighing, zoro does as he's bid to, tucking his swords under the table as he slides into the booth. it's an oversized bit of furniture and stuffed with a few other big wigs, the table at the center big enough as a stage — and used as one, a stripper pole sticking out of the middle like a post sign reading no turning back. it's occupied. someone dances with a lithe, lean, almost delicate body, moves precise but fluid, like every luxurious movement, every tantalizing flash of a wrist or stroke of a belly is as calculated as a dance. he knows that kind of meticulousness. there's a hazy, lustful fog in the club as a whole, but through the flashing lights and smoke, he sees a pair of intense blue eyes staring back at him, focused, beautiful, seething.
ah. so that's why he didn't want zoro to come. great.
he's pretty, right? arlong asks. zoro maintains his quiet solitude across the table from him, glaring. his mind is playing catch up with this curve ball thrown in the mix. if sanji is here, then arlong is —
he does more than dance. zoro's gaze shoots up. arlong's eyes are already locked on sanji, a grin curving up his mouth. take your shirt off. )
cradles this in my hands
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cw mentions of abuse
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