( i don't resent you, he says, and all zoro can do is let out a huff of a breath because β yeah fucking right. that's why sanji always inevitably pushes him away every time he lets zoro in more than he expects to, every time zoro thinks they might finally ...
but they don't. maybe he doesn't resent zoro as a person, but he definitely resents what zoro does to him, and that pisses zoro off because it all seems so simple, so easy. two people give a shit about each other. two people want each other. how could there be more to it than that? why fight it β just to fight?
that's what he would argue, anyway, if zoro felt like arguing about it. he half expects sanji to let it go entirely, considering the silence that follows, and maybe that's for the fucking best.
except then there's a warm hand at his hip, pressing against him to lay him on his back. it gets an annoyed grunt out of him as he looks up through the darkness at the ceiling, ears perking at the sound of sanji's voice cutting through the air, firm but tinged with a certain kind of restrained need around the edges that zoro's gotten far too familiar with - almost pavlovian in how it washes over him, makes the inherent need to touch, to taste, to take care and protect kick in, settle low in his gut. with a long, slow exhale, he makes up his mind.
instead of touching him right away, zoro turns towards sanji, slow, all feline grace as he leans over him and presses their mouths together. kissing him is familiar by now, even in its infrequency β the little bit of stubble that tickles his skin, the taste of clove cigarette smoke inhaled as his lips slide slowly against sanji's. it's always rushed and hasty and frantic between them, practically drowning in their desperation, but now ... he takes his time. lets himself follow the syrupy sweet way that nami kisses, luxuriating in it, savoring every second that he can.
his fingers finally reach to feel that soft, golden fur beneath his belly button β softer than zoro had even imagined the first time he saw it, that night when sanji had gotten on his knees for him β and it's a slow thing, too, exploratory. he breaks only to murmur, firmly: ) There's nothing that could make me stop wanting you, stupid.
( it feels important to say before his palm follows the trail of fur beneath the open fly of his pants, fingers dipping between his parted thighs to cup his cunt β fuck, yeah, he definitely has one β already hot and slick with arousal against his palm. it's dizzying, the easy way his two fingers slip inside of him, a hot breath exhaled against his mouth. )
no subject
but they don't. maybe he doesn't resent zoro as a person, but he definitely resents what zoro does to him, and that pisses zoro off because it all seems so simple, so easy. two people give a shit about each other. two people want each other. how could there be more to it than that? why fight it β just to fight?
that's what he would argue, anyway, if zoro felt like arguing about it. he half expects sanji to let it go entirely, considering the silence that follows, and maybe that's for the fucking best.
except then there's a warm hand at his hip, pressing against him to lay him on his back. it gets an annoyed grunt out of him as he looks up through the darkness at the ceiling, ears perking at the sound of sanji's voice cutting through the air, firm but tinged with a certain kind of restrained need around the edges that zoro's gotten far too familiar with - almost pavlovian in how it washes over him, makes the inherent need to touch, to taste, to take care and protect kick in, settle low in his gut. with a long, slow exhale, he makes up his mind.
instead of touching him right away, zoro turns towards sanji, slow, all feline grace as he leans over him and presses their mouths together. kissing him is familiar by now, even in its infrequency β the little bit of stubble that tickles his skin, the taste of clove cigarette smoke inhaled as his lips slide slowly against sanji's. it's always rushed and hasty and frantic between them, practically drowning in their desperation, but now ... he takes his time. lets himself follow the syrupy sweet way that nami kisses, luxuriating in it, savoring every second that he can.
his fingers finally reach to feel that soft, golden fur beneath his belly button β softer than zoro had even imagined the first time he saw it, that night when sanji had gotten on his knees for him β and it's a slow thing, too, exploratory. he breaks only to murmur, firmly: ) There's nothing that could make me stop wanting you, stupid.
( it feels important to say before his palm follows the trail of fur beneath the open fly of his pants, fingers dipping between his parted thighs to cup his cunt β fuck, yeah, he definitely has one β already hot and slick with arousal against his palm. it's dizzying, the easy way his two fingers slip inside of him, a hot breath exhaled against his mouth. )