( zoro gets the reaction he's looking for, at least β the way sanji clenches around his fingers, already impossibly tight, cursing and body practically shuddering against him as he cants his fingers just so β
and it's satisfying to have this brief moment of control over him, over this situation, despite the fact that it's this shitty cook who slunk into bed and whispered to him about his pussy, whose desperate hand gripped zoro's wrist to keep his fingers pressed inside. at the very least, it's enough to lull him into some false sense of security in this, even when his free hand is yanked upwards, palm atop his own guiding him to squeeze one of his tits β and he does, feels how much fuller they are in his hand (since last time, even), eager to feel that same milk beading from his nipple, rolling his thumb over him a few times before pinching the swollen bud.
the low groan sanji tries unsuccessfully to hide against zoro's mouth says almost as much as the way his hips shudder when he does it β almost as much as the wet sounds of their kiss, a trail of saliva between them lingering that zoro licks away, the lewd squelch of his cunt around his fingers as zoro draws them back as much as sanji allows with the way he clutches his wrist and fucks them that little bit back in. he shivers a little, too, when blunt nails drag against the base of his ears, snapping him out of his pussy-drunk haze.
the way you would've before. there are about a thousand ways zoro has thought about fucking sanji in this hellhole, none any more or less viable considering all of his god damn insistence that he's not ... whatever it is that he finds so fucking abhorrent. even after he let zoro fuck roughly into his mouth, after he ground his hips frantically against zoro's thigh until he came, after they kissed and kissed and kissed again, after saving each other's lives a frankly stupid amount of times. there isn't any before, there's just β now.
now, with sanji's fingers fisted in his collar, dragging him upwards, his teeth instinctively gritting together, a low sound rumbling in his chest β a warning or a declaration of his disdain or a combination of both. it'll probably be funny in hindsight to compare how easily, willingly, happily he submits to nami, turns his brain off and lets her use him, compared to how fucking aggravating it is to have sanji in his face, pretty blue gaze steely and sharp and serious, demanding shit from him. equally aggravating is the way he practically melts when his hand is tugged away and sanji grinds his bare cunt against zoro through the fabric of his pants, making him groan, head tipping back against the pillow when he's let go. )
You don't scare me, cook, ( zoro says, matter of fact. this charade of tiptoeing around the cook ever since they figured out what's β maybe happening to him has gone on for too long, even if the human side of him feels at war with the animalistic side of him with ferocious instincts to protect, protect, protect. he's strong-willed, though, toughened by his training.
with a grunt, he rolls on top of sanji, still between his thighs and pinning him down, cunt on display in the flicker of firelight dancing through their room. zoro hastily tugs his pants down over his ass just enough to get his cock out and into his hand, no time for preening or showing off or making him beg for it like he really fucking should because he's suddenly struck with a sharp wave of need, sinking into his tight heat so easily it makes him moan when he bottoms out. fuck. fuck. it's better than he even thought it would be β so good that he barely gives any time for either of them to adjust or even comprehend what they're actually doing, just starts fucking into him again and again, dizzy from how intoxicatingly good it feels, panting as his mouth ghosts over sanji's lips. )
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and it's satisfying to have this brief moment of control over him, over this situation, despite the fact that it's this shitty cook who slunk into bed and whispered to him about his pussy, whose desperate hand gripped zoro's wrist to keep his fingers pressed inside. at the very least, it's enough to lull him into some false sense of security in this, even when his free hand is yanked upwards, palm atop his own guiding him to squeeze one of his tits β and he does, feels how much fuller they are in his hand (since last time, even), eager to feel that same milk beading from his nipple, rolling his thumb over him a few times before pinching the swollen bud.
the low groan sanji tries unsuccessfully to hide against zoro's mouth says almost as much as the way his hips shudder when he does it β almost as much as the wet sounds of their kiss, a trail of saliva between them lingering that zoro licks away, the lewd squelch of his cunt around his fingers as zoro draws them back as much as sanji allows with the way he clutches his wrist and fucks them that little bit back in. he shivers a little, too, when blunt nails drag against the base of his ears, snapping him out of his pussy-drunk haze.
the way you would've before. there are about a thousand ways zoro has thought about fucking sanji in this hellhole, none any more or less viable considering all of his god damn insistence that he's not ... whatever it is that he finds so fucking abhorrent. even after he let zoro fuck roughly into his mouth, after he ground his hips frantically against zoro's thigh until he came, after they kissed and kissed and kissed again, after saving each other's lives a frankly stupid amount of times. there isn't any before, there's just β now.
now, with sanji's fingers fisted in his collar, dragging him upwards, his teeth instinctively gritting together, a low sound rumbling in his chest β a warning or a declaration of his disdain or a combination of both. it'll probably be funny in hindsight to compare how easily, willingly, happily he submits to nami, turns his brain off and lets her use him, compared to how fucking aggravating it is to have sanji in his face, pretty blue gaze steely and sharp and serious, demanding shit from him. equally aggravating is the way he practically melts when his hand is tugged away and sanji grinds his bare cunt against zoro through the fabric of his pants, making him groan, head tipping back against the pillow when he's let go. )
You don't scare me, cook, ( zoro says, matter of fact. this charade of tiptoeing around the cook ever since they figured out what's β maybe happening to him has gone on for too long, even if the human side of him feels at war with the animalistic side of him with ferocious instincts to protect, protect, protect. he's strong-willed, though, toughened by his training.
with a grunt, he rolls on top of sanji, still between his thighs and pinning him down, cunt on display in the flicker of firelight dancing through their room. zoro hastily tugs his pants down over his ass just enough to get his cock out and into his hand, no time for preening or showing off or making him beg for it like he really fucking should because he's suddenly struck with a sharp wave of need, sinking into his tight heat so easily it makes him moan when he bottoms out. fuck. fuck. it's better than he even thought it would be β so good that he barely gives any time for either of them to adjust or even comprehend what they're actually doing, just starts fucking into him again and again, dizzy from how intoxicatingly good it feels, panting as his mouth ghosts over sanji's lips. )