[ he slams the notebook shut before he gets the urge to begin scribbling without thought, tossing it aside and cinching his apron around his waist to bang pots and pans around as he starts cleaning up. zoro doesn't know a goddamn thing. zoro's acting like this doesn't change everything, when it does. how can it not? how can the addition of something as monumental as a cunt between his legs not have any effect on him?
he knows the language of men; he knows how conditional it can be.
somewhere between giving the counters a good scrub and putting the dishes away, his energy flags. he has just enough time to make it to the bedroom, his back aching and his nipples sore, only to find zoro sprawled on the bed taking one of his stupid naps. the worst thing about sanji suddenly needing more bed rest is that he runs into zoro's sleeping schedule far too often when previously it had been the easiest thing in the world to avoid.
he sets down the plate of leftover cake on the nightstand, stripping off his belt and tie, and loosening the buttons of his shirt. he can't tell if zoro is actually asleep or not, and he has half a mind to kick him out of the bed entirely, but sanji eventually just slips in beside him, shifting around to try and find a comfortable position that clearly doesn't exist. his eyelids droop with a long sigh, staring at the line of zoro's shoulders through his lashes. ]
Hey.
[ it's just a rumble of a sound, a hushed whisper. nothing else. ]
( zoro waits and waits and waits for another dumb bullshit response scribbled across the page, fingers practically itching to fight, but an answer never comes — which honestly pisses him off even worse. the desire to throw his notebook into the fucking river is strong, but he just barely resists, claws poking even deeper holes through the cover before he eventually just shoves it into the pocket of his leather jacket.
he should find somewhere else to go, at least for a few days. maybe he can stay with bee and shanks on his boat. maybe he can sleep on the bank of the river with koby floating by. maybe he really should make this shitty fucking cook learn what it's like to live without —
no. zoro can't do that. despite all of the anger that's flooded through him, made his face hot despite the cool air outside, it's the way his chest tightens when he thinks about leaving that hurts the worst. he made a promise to him, to nami, that he would protect them here. the inexplicably heightened protectiveness over sanji since — since he started changing is just another thing that makes his pulse spike, heart thudding in his chest. what if something happened to him when zoro was away? how would nami ever forgive him? how would he ever forgive himself?
he doesn't say anything when he storms back into their cottage, even if his body language — gaze straight forward, pointedly not glancing towards the kitchen, body hunched over, tail thrashing from side to side as he books it towards their bedroom and wordlessly pulls the door closed probably a little too hard — probably says enough. zoro's jacket ends up shrugged off onto the floor somewhere, shoes kicked off lazily, propping his sword up against the wall beside the bed as he lays down with a long huff of a sigh, trying to relax into the mattress.
sleep will help. sleep will keep his thoughts from racing, ricocheting from anger to worry to unbridled longing and hurt and back again.
sleep doesn't come, though — just, eventually, a tired, worn out cook that shambles into their room and climbs into bed beside him. zoro doesn't react, doesn't move, happy to be facing away from sanji, keeping his eyes closed even if he can't see. it's quiet for long enough that he thinks that maybe he's safe, maybe sanji fell asleep. until — hey. )
Mm? ( it's barely anything — barely a question, really, with how flatly it hums from him. his ears betray him, though, twitching against the pillow, like they're waiting eagerly to drink up his response even when part of zoro absolutely dreads it. )
[ he shouldn't have anything to say to him. he should close his eyes and close his mouth and go right to sleep. zoro deserves to be ignored after their last conversation, though he can't remember why because right now all he feels is the uncertain pulse of his own heart, afraid of being a freak and a failure, of being so different that he's become impossible to love — again, though maybe it's never changed from when he was a stupid little kid.
zoro doesn't move except for the twitch of his ears. it makes sanji want to touch them, to run his fingers along their tufted edges, to rub gently at the base of them and see if that makes zoro purr. he likes when nami touches his velveteen ears. it makes him flush just thinking about it, though it isn't hard to do that these days when everything, every brush of fabric and every thought that flies into his head, makes him horny.
he feels the absence of his cock here with zoro in a way he hadn't with nami. maybe it's a male thing, or a zoro thing, or a general cock thing, all of which he doesn't want to think about. but his brand new cunt is throbbing between his legs, and he realizes belatedly that trying to nap with zoro in the bed couldn't have been a worse idea. ]
Did you — [ he swallows, his throat suddenly drier than burnt toast. ] Did you still —
[ his fingers subconsciously rub at the little trail of silken fur leading into his trousers, his cheeks reddening with an annoyed flush as his brows draw together. ]
( zoro suddenly, very desperately, wishes that he actually was asleep. it would mean that he wouldn't have to actively choose whether or not to ignore the dumb bullshit that comes out of sanji's mouth. as it is, without sweet dreams and soft snores to block him out, he's left trying to parse whether the cook is just being an asshole again and making fun of him, or if he actually, maybe ...
he swallows hard, blinking into the darkness, suddenly a hell of a lot less tired than he was. in the quiet of their room, every anxious little squirm against the sheets sounds amplified tenfold, each exhale, even the soft sound of fingers against fur. it's enough to make the hair on the back of his neck stand up, far, far too aware of the warm body beside him, nearly close enough to touch.
maybe zoro gives himself away a little when he stretches out a leg, shifting a little on his side, still facing away because he thinks if he catches a glimpse of sanji, his resolve will utterly crumble. (and it already has, just by virtue of him being here, his threats obviously empty.)
finally, he speaks, voice low, like he's worried about being overheard: ) Not if you're going to use it as another reason to resent me. I can't —
( maybe zoro is worried about being overheard, considering this is probably the first time he's said something ... vulnerable out loud, not scribbled in the confines of their notebooks. it feels too much like being pinned down, soft belly exposed and unprotected. for now, the fact that he's able to peer into the darkness instead of mismatched sky blue and bright grey eyes is his only shield. ) I won't do that again.
[ they've shared this bed too many times to count, with nami, without nami, and still sanji can't help the passage of overwhelming alarm that crawls through him, not from fear that he'll be hurt — he's past that now, and it's hard to imagine zoro hurting anyone with those stupid ears on his head — but from his own misgivings that he shouldn't be here at all. whatever is happening to him, he should go it alone. his crew needed a cook when luffy asked him to join, not the thing he's becoming now.
it was easier with nami. maybe because it feels so natural to be smitten with her, as easy as breathing. he's known since first laying eyes on her that he could love her, and does. his fears with nami are so different from this. he's afraid of her disappearing one day, of leaving again and not having the words to stop her. not being enough to make her stay. with zoro? he's just afraid. afraid to touch, afraid to even look sometimes. he's afraid of what might happen if he really, truly gives in to this.
he lies still for a long moment, focused on the tense lines of zoro's muscled frame. if he says nothing else, does nothing else, zoro will let this lie. zoro won't force him into anything. nothing will happen.
sanji snakes a hand out and snags zoro's hip, shoving downward to force zoro onto his back, so at least he's not facing away from him anymore. ]
You have to see it. [ sanji's fly is already open, his pants low on his lean hips. ] You have to touch it, so you can know if you want this anymore.
( i don't resent you, he says, and all zoro can do is let out a huff of a breath because — 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 — 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 — 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 — softer than zoro had even imagined the first time he saw it, that night when sanji had gotten on his knees for him — 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 — fuck, yeah, he definitely has one — 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. )
[ panic claws at him, hooks deep in his flesh, but it just makes him hold on like he's braving a storm on the merry. zoro is solid and calm and sweet, kissing deep into his mouth as if he's trying to reach the heart of him. it pulls the breath out of sanji, makes his fingers curl tightly around zoro's bicep, and he has the sudden flash of kissing nami, of her tangerine-sweet lips, and then it melts back into zoro's full, plush heat, like he's surrounded on all sides by devotion and warmth and want.
he can't say anything to zoro's words as they brand something deep inside of him, something hurt and fragile and unwanted. maybe he survived every wretched moment just for this, just to feel zoro's strong arms and scorching mouth and the cascade of his breath sending shivers across his skin. sanji arches into his hand, drawn to him like salt in the ocean, his body already painfully alive at the mere thought of zoro's touch. the real thing has him flushed and panting, still wrapping his mind around the new, unfamiliar kind of arousal that overtakes him.
zoro's fingers breach him, and it's so much better than all the ways he's stuffed his own into his cunt, and maybe nami is onto something with him, or more likely she's taught him a thing or two about pleasure. sanji kicks his pants off and clenches down against him, his hips rolling into zoro's hand. ]
It's not different now?
[ he doesn't usually talk this much — or at all — when he's getting his carnal obsession with zoro out of his system, but he suddenly has to know. what if he wakes up tomorrow and something else has changed? already there's the idea of a presence inside of him, something he doesn't want to name or think about, but it isn't lost on him how possessive and instinctual zoro has been acting, like he just knows sanji is going to have — ]
Didn't you want me because I — [ he shudders, closing his eyes as he fists zoro's collar and shoves, swinging himself up to straddle his hips. he almost loses the fullness of zoro's fingers, so he catches his wrist in a hard grip, urging him to stay wedged inside of him. what would it feel like if it were zoro's cock? the thought threatens to drive him to madness. ] Because I'm a man?
( the thing is — that it really doesn't feel all that different to be with sanji like this. it's still the same mouth, soft and hungry with less and less restraint as he lets zoro kiss him, the same stubble on his chin that zoro, after all is said and done and they go back to pretending like nothing happened between them, can still feel prickling at his skin. he still clutches zoro like his life depends on it, like he can't decide if he wants to hold him tighter or shove him away.
he's wet and he's tight and there's a part of zoro that can't help but think about his fingers coated with lube, stretching sanji's hole, having him clenching around him like he does now, cock twitching at the thought of just — being inside of him. he exhales sharply, flexing his wrist so his fingers can sink just a little bit deeper, heel of his palm pressing up against his clit as he grinds against him, feeling that hypersoft fur against his skin.
— okay, all the talking is different, something zoro has to actively concentrate on instead of falling into their usual haze of frenzied lust, lips otherwise occupied. each word barely makes sense, more difficult still when sanji rolls him onto his back and straddles him, fingers grabbing hold of his wrist, vicelike.
the question baffles him, would maybe make zoro laugh if they were sharing some shitty homemade wine in the kitchen and not in bed with zoro's fingers buried in sanji's new cunt, overwhelmed by the thought of sanji sinking down onto his cock. instead: ) It's not — ( he starts, fingers crooking habitually inside of him, wanting to feel him tremble around him again. ) I don't give a shit about — all of that. I haven't ever.
( which feels obvious to zoro, at least from the way he lived back in their world, maybe, busy fighting instead of fucking. but it feels obvious here, too, from the first night he and nami and sanji's foreheads touched, his fingers tightening around both of their hands as they healed him through their blood ritual. he thought he had an idea of what it felt like to want someone before, but now it feels all-encompassing, nami's fingers carding through his hair, sanji's fingers fisting into his shirt, desire and desperation all-encompassing. )
[ all at once sanji is ferociously jealous of the way zoro thinks, because he wants this too, he wants to want zoro the same way it's easy to want nami, without all the mistrust and fear and anger, and he wants — to not give a shit. how does zoro do it? he's never asked. never asked who taught him about men and women and the proper way to treat each one. but maybe that's just it — maybe no one taught it to him the way it was beaten into sanji's very dna, and no amount of sweating or bleeding or crying will make it come out.
his jaw tightens around a curse, his breath whisking out hard between his teeth as zoro's fingers move almost cruelly, stroking against all the new things inside of him that make him clench and shudder. if zoro didn't want this — want him — then he wouldn't be here. his fingers wouldn't be jammed inside his cunt, keeping him on the brink of orgasm. this wouldn't be happening at all.
sanji bends at the waist, dipping down close enough to feel the heat of zoro's breath skimming across his skin. his shirt hangs open, his nipples rosy and pert and aching, and he takes zoro’s hand and presses it to his chest, his cunt flooding with fresh heat the moment zoro’s fingers pinch him just so. he crushes his mouth against zoro’s sinfully soft lips, a tenderly frustrated groan tipping past the part of his lips. ]
I want it. [ his fingers curl into zoro’s hair, scratching at the soft, sensitive base of his twitching ears. ] The way you would’ve — before.
[ he sinks his sharp teeth into zoro’s bottom lip, then licks at his bruised flesh, his hips moving rhythmically on zoro’s fingers, not a single movement errant or wasted. sanji already knows how to treat nami when it comes to this — queenly, tenderly, so romantically that sometimes she can’t even meet his eyes. if he finds out zoro isn’t treating nami with the same servile attitude, he’ll hang the shitty swordsman from the fucking roof. but he isn’t nami. his cunt doesn’t need the same… tender, loving affection.
he breaks the kiss, fisting a hand in zoro’s collar and lifting him several inches from the bed, nose to nose with him as his eyes flash with the promise of violence. ]
If you don’t give a shit, then don’t treat me any differently. [ he shoves zoro back onto the mattress, towering over him again as he swats zoro’s hand away so he can grind his wet cunt down onto the front of zoro’s bulging erection. ] Fuck me the way you wanted to before. Don’t be a coward.
( zoro gets the reaction he's looking for, at least — the way sanji clenches around his fingers, already impossibly tight, cursing and body practically shuddering against him as he cants his fingers just so —
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 — 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 — 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 — 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 — 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 — 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 — 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. )
[ he claimed, rather boldly, that he was the same, but fuck if everything doesn't feel different — heightened to a ridiculous degree, so that the pinch of his nipple sends a searing ache straight to his pelvis like a goddamn arrow. normally, he'd fight being forcibly manhandled by zoro like this, but he's paralyzed by pleasure, rolling onto his back with zoro's substantial weight bearing down upon him, his legs spread wide, his cunt glistening and pink and throbbing for attention. he wants to be filled like a chocolate éclair, claimed with zoro’s come in the inherent way he belongs to nami, and that’s how he knows he’s lost whatever was left of his mind after changing and changing and changing, and the thought alarms him into squirming. his fingers clutch his chest, circling his wet nipple, and shit, he could come just like this, from the friction of his own fingertips and the suggestion of zoro's cock, because he can't actually —
he can't. this can't. sanji's heart leaps abruptly into his mouth at the sudden press of hardness at his cunt, stark realization washing over him, that he's — they — they’re about to — ]
Fuck.
[ his fingers dig into zoro's arms as he sinks inside of him in one fluid motion. he's so much bigger than the fingers sanji has stuffed inside himself, reaching so much deeper that he suddenly feels full to bursting. zoro gives him no time at all to adjust, snapping his hips into him as sanji writhes helplessly, only vaguely aware that he's dripping milk from his tits and slick from his cunt, because now zoro's lips are more important than anything, teasing him with their proximity. sanji cranes his neck and captures them in a bruising kiss, his legs hooking around zoro's waist to trap him. ]
Fuck. [ softer now, his cheeks flaring with color, hips rising off the bed to meet zoro’s relentless movements. it’s so different from having sex with a woman, so different from anything, because zoro isn’t like anyone he’s ever met. his feelings for zoro aren’t like anything he understands. he has no comparison. he doesn’t even want to think about them. ] Fuck me. I need you. I need you all the time. I hate it, I hate you —
[ the words spill out of him from a place he can’t control, his breath coming fast, his pleasure so hot and agonizing that tears prickle the corners of his eyes. he slides a hand between them to stroke at his swollen clit, and all it takes is a few nudges before he’s clenching around zoro’s cock, shivering as an orgasm ripples through him. his breaths turn into desperate moans as his cunt abruptly grows ten times more sensitive, zoro’s thrusts arching his back off the bed as tears spill from his eyes. ]
You shitty little shit — [ he breaks off into a string of violent curses that end in whimpering gasps, another orgasm building fast, this one racing through him like fire. his eyes squeeze shut, his thighs clamping around zoro’s hips as he shudders. ] I love — I love you —
( zoro doesn't know how to stop himself now that he's flung them into uncharted waters with no navigator to guide them — he can't tell if he's sinking or swimming as he thrusts into sanji like it's the only thing he knows to do. he can't tell if it's his own deeply human desires, or —
whether his changeling instincts are kicking in, making him even more desperate than he already was, fingers curling tightly into the pillow next to sanji's head, nails piercing through the fabric, palming over one of his leaking tits, groaning as he fucks so hard into him that the sound of skin against skin keeps making his ears twitch on top of his head. the word breed flashes through his mind, making zoro gasp, overwhelmed by the softness of his belly, the fullness of his tits, how easily his cunt is taking him again and again and thinking about filling him with his cum until he has nothing left ...
sanji's mouth brings him back to reality, kisses deep and languid and messy, zoro missing his lips entirely sometimes and not really giving a shit. his taste, his gasped curses, the way his hips roll to meet zoro's — they're all things that have flickered in the back of his mind even back in arlong park or coco village or on the merry if it meant getting the shitty cook to shut the hell up — and he knows that it's not just because of what's happened to both of them here, how they've changed.
it feels so fucking good, with thighs wrapped around his waist, basically begging to keep zoro inside of him as he fucks deeper, those hot, slick walls tightening around him as sanji's orgasm rapidly approaches, each whimpered curse, plea, gasped insistence that he hates him spurning him on even further. it makes him flush, maybe from anger or from pure fucking desire — because this shithead doesn't hate him, sanji needs him, and zoro needs sanji just as badly. the sudden clench of his cunt around him, hips shuddering as he comes, has zoro moaning, hips speeding up as he chases his own orgasm, so close, so close —
i love you.
zoro's mouth hangs open uselessly as he pants, a few more insistent thrusts through sanji's second orgasm before he's coming hard inside of him, filling him up for so long he thinks that maybe he's passed out, maybe he's imagined the whole thing, every single word — but when he blinks his eyes open slowly and the ringing in his ears starts to fade, all he sees is the cook, blonde hair mussed, tear tracks down his cheeks, looking debauched and exhausted and fucking beautiful.
he loves him? )
Don't go, ( comes zoro's abrupt plea, eyes widening, suddenly seized by the thought of being told to go fuck himself, that he didn't mean it, that he didn't mean any of this, to stay the fuck away from him. his heart pounds in his chest, hyperaware of the fact that he's still inside of him even as his cock's softening, like his hips can't fathom the thought of letting even a drop of his cum out. desperately, a hand reaches out to cup his cheek, pad of his thumb ghosting over his lower lip before he leans in to kiss him, a slow, lingering thing before he murmurs so quietly against his mouth that it borders on a whisper: ) I — Sanji, please. Please stay. You know that I — you have to know.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
asshole
no subject
he knows the language of men; he knows how conditional it can be.
somewhere between giving the counters a good scrub and putting the dishes away, his energy flags. he has just enough time to make it to the bedroom, his back aching and his nipples sore, only to find zoro sprawled on the bed taking one of his stupid naps. the worst thing about sanji suddenly needing more bed rest is that he runs into zoro's sleeping schedule far too often when previously it had been the easiest thing in the world to avoid.
he sets down the plate of leftover cake on the nightstand, stripping off his belt and tie, and loosening the buttons of his shirt. he can't tell if zoro is actually asleep or not, and he has half a mind to kick him out of the bed entirely, but sanji eventually just slips in beside him, shifting around to try and find a comfortable position that clearly doesn't exist. his eyelids droop with a long sigh, staring at the line of zoro's shoulders through his lashes. ]
Hey.
[ it's just a rumble of a sound, a hushed whisper. nothing else. ]
no subject
he should find somewhere else to go, at least for a few days. maybe he can stay with bee and shanks on his boat. maybe he can sleep on the bank of the river with koby floating by. maybe he really should make this shitty fucking cook learn what it's like to live without —
no. zoro can't do that. despite all of the anger that's flooded through him, made his face hot despite the cool air outside, it's the way his chest tightens when he thinks about leaving that hurts the worst. he made a promise to him, to nami, that he would protect them here. the inexplicably heightened protectiveness over sanji since — since he started changing is just another thing that makes his pulse spike, heart thudding in his chest. what if something happened to him when zoro was away? how would nami ever forgive him? how would he ever forgive himself?
he doesn't say anything when he storms back into their cottage, even if his body language — gaze straight forward, pointedly not glancing towards the kitchen, body hunched over, tail thrashing from side to side as he books it towards their bedroom and wordlessly pulls the door closed probably a little too hard — probably says enough. zoro's jacket ends up shrugged off onto the floor somewhere, shoes kicked off lazily, propping his sword up against the wall beside the bed as he lays down with a long huff of a sigh, trying to relax into the mattress.
sleep will help. sleep will keep his thoughts from racing, ricocheting from anger to worry to unbridled longing and hurt and back again.
sleep doesn't come, though — just, eventually, a tired, worn out cook that shambles into their room and climbs into bed beside him. zoro doesn't react, doesn't move, happy to be facing away from sanji, keeping his eyes closed even if he can't see. it's quiet for long enough that he thinks that maybe he's safe, maybe sanji fell asleep. until — hey. )
Mm? ( it's barely anything — barely a question, really, with how flatly it hums from him. his ears betray him, though, twitching against the pillow, like they're waiting eagerly to drink up his response even when part of zoro absolutely dreads it. )
no subject
zoro doesn't move except for the twitch of his ears. it makes sanji want to touch them, to run his fingers along their tufted edges, to rub gently at the base of them and see if that makes zoro purr. he likes when nami touches his velveteen ears. it makes him flush just thinking about it, though it isn't hard to do that these days when everything, every brush of fabric and every thought that flies into his head, makes him horny.
he feels the absence of his cock here with zoro in a way he hadn't with nami. maybe it's a male thing, or a zoro thing, or a general cock thing, all of which he doesn't want to think about. but his brand new cunt is throbbing between his legs, and he realizes belatedly that trying to nap with zoro in the bed couldn't have been a worse idea. ]
Did you — [ he swallows, his throat suddenly drier than burnt toast. ] Did you still —
[ his fingers subconsciously rub at the little trail of silken fur leading into his trousers, his cheeks reddening with an annoyed flush as his brows draw together. ]
Do you want to — ?
no subject
he swallows hard, blinking into the darkness, suddenly a hell of a lot less tired than he was. in the quiet of their room, every anxious little squirm against the sheets sounds amplified tenfold, each exhale, even the soft sound of fingers against fur. it's enough to make the hair on the back of his neck stand up, far, far too aware of the warm body beside him, nearly close enough to touch.
maybe zoro gives himself away a little when he stretches out a leg, shifting a little on his side, still facing away because he thinks if he catches a glimpse of sanji, his resolve will utterly crumble. (and it already has, just by virtue of him being here, his threats obviously empty.)
finally, he speaks, voice low, like he's worried about being overheard: ) Not if you're going to use it as another reason to resent me. I can't —
( maybe zoro is worried about being overheard, considering this is probably the first time he's said something ... vulnerable out loud, not scribbled in the confines of their notebooks. it feels too much like being pinned down, soft belly exposed and unprotected. for now, the fact that he's able to peer into the darkness instead of mismatched sky blue and bright grey eyes is his only shield. ) I won't do that again.
no subject
[ they've shared this bed too many times to count, with nami, without nami, and still sanji can't help the passage of overwhelming alarm that crawls through him, not from fear that he'll be hurt — he's past that now, and it's hard to imagine zoro hurting anyone with those stupid ears on his head — but from his own misgivings that he shouldn't be here at all. whatever is happening to him, he should go it alone. his crew needed a cook when luffy asked him to join, not the thing he's becoming now.
it was easier with nami. maybe because it feels so natural to be smitten with her, as easy as breathing. he's known since first laying eyes on her that he could love her, and does. his fears with nami are so different from this. he's afraid of her disappearing one day, of leaving again and not having the words to stop her. not being enough to make her stay. with zoro? he's just afraid. afraid to touch, afraid to even look sometimes. he's afraid of what might happen if he really, truly gives in to this.
he lies still for a long moment, focused on the tense lines of zoro's muscled frame. if he says nothing else, does nothing else, zoro will let this lie. zoro won't force him into anything. nothing will happen.
sanji snakes a hand out and snags zoro's hip, shoving downward to force zoro onto his back, so at least he's not facing away from him anymore. ]
You have to see it. [ sanji's fly is already open, his pants low on his lean hips. ] You have to touch it, so you can know if you want this anymore.
[ if you want me. ]
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 — 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 — 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 — softer than zoro had even imagined the first time he saw it, that night when sanji had gotten on his knees for him — 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 — fuck, yeah, he definitely has one — 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
he can't say anything to zoro's words as they brand something deep inside of him, something hurt and fragile and unwanted. maybe he survived every wretched moment just for this, just to feel zoro's strong arms and scorching mouth and the cascade of his breath sending shivers across his skin. sanji arches into his hand, drawn to him like salt in the ocean, his body already painfully alive at the mere thought of zoro's touch. the real thing has him flushed and panting, still wrapping his mind around the new, unfamiliar kind of arousal that overtakes him.
zoro's fingers breach him, and it's so much better than all the ways he's stuffed his own into his cunt, and maybe nami is onto something with him, or more likely she's taught him a thing or two about pleasure. sanji kicks his pants off and clenches down against him, his hips rolling into zoro's hand. ]
It's not different now?
[ he doesn't usually talk this much — or at all — when he's getting his carnal obsession with zoro out of his system, but he suddenly has to know. what if he wakes up tomorrow and something else has changed? already there's the idea of a presence inside of him, something he doesn't want to name or think about, but it isn't lost on him how possessive and instinctual zoro has been acting, like he just knows sanji is going to have — ]
Didn't you want me because I — [ he shudders, closing his eyes as he fists zoro's collar and shoves, swinging himself up to straddle his hips. he almost loses the fullness of zoro's fingers, so he catches his wrist in a hard grip, urging him to stay wedged inside of him. what would it feel like if it were zoro's cock? the thought threatens to drive him to madness. ] Because I'm a man?
no subject
he's wet and he's tight and there's a part of zoro that can't help but think about his fingers coated with lube, stretching sanji's hole, having him clenching around him like he does now, cock twitching at the thought of just — being inside of him. he exhales sharply, flexing his wrist so his fingers can sink just a little bit deeper, heel of his palm pressing up against his clit as he grinds against him, feeling that hypersoft fur against his skin.
— okay, all the talking is different, something zoro has to actively concentrate on instead of falling into their usual haze of frenzied lust, lips otherwise occupied. each word barely makes sense, more difficult still when sanji rolls him onto his back and straddles him, fingers grabbing hold of his wrist, vicelike.
the question baffles him, would maybe make zoro laugh if they were sharing some shitty homemade wine in the kitchen and not in bed with zoro's fingers buried in sanji's new cunt, overwhelmed by the thought of sanji sinking down onto his cock. instead: ) It's not — ( he starts, fingers crooking habitually inside of him, wanting to feel him tremble around him again. ) I don't give a shit about — all of that. I haven't ever.
( which feels obvious to zoro, at least from the way he lived back in their world, maybe, busy fighting instead of fucking. but it feels obvious here, too, from the first night he and nami and sanji's foreheads touched, his fingers tightening around both of their hands as they healed him through their blood ritual. he thought he had an idea of what it felt like to want someone before, but now it feels all-encompassing, nami's fingers carding through his hair, sanji's fingers fisting into his shirt, desire and desperation all-encompassing. )
no subject
his jaw tightens around a curse, his breath whisking out hard between his teeth as zoro's fingers move almost cruelly, stroking against all the new things inside of him that make him clench and shudder. if zoro didn't want this — want him — then he wouldn't be here. his fingers wouldn't be jammed inside his cunt, keeping him on the brink of orgasm. this wouldn't be happening at all.
sanji bends at the waist, dipping down close enough to feel the heat of zoro's breath skimming across his skin. his shirt hangs open, his nipples rosy and pert and aching, and he takes zoro’s hand and presses it to his chest, his cunt flooding with fresh heat the moment zoro’s fingers pinch him just so. he crushes his mouth against zoro’s sinfully soft lips, a tenderly frustrated groan tipping past the part of his lips. ]
I want it. [ his fingers curl into zoro’s hair, scratching at the soft, sensitive base of his twitching ears. ] The way you would’ve — before.
[ he sinks his sharp teeth into zoro’s bottom lip, then licks at his bruised flesh, his hips moving rhythmically on zoro’s fingers, not a single movement errant or wasted. sanji already knows how to treat nami when it comes to this — queenly, tenderly, so romantically that sometimes she can’t even meet his eyes. if he finds out zoro isn’t treating nami with the same servile attitude, he’ll hang the shitty swordsman from the fucking roof. but he isn’t nami. his cunt doesn’t need the same… tender, loving affection.
he breaks the kiss, fisting a hand in zoro’s collar and lifting him several inches from the bed, nose to nose with him as his eyes flash with the promise of violence. ]
If you don’t give a shit, then don’t treat me any differently. [ he shoves zoro back onto the mattress, towering over him again as he swats zoro’s hand away so he can grind his wet cunt down onto the front of zoro’s bulging erection. ] Fuck me the way you wanted to before. Don’t be a coward.
no subject
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 — 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 — 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 — 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 — 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 — 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 — 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. )
no subject
he can't. this can't. sanji's heart leaps abruptly into his mouth at the sudden press of hardness at his cunt, stark realization washing over him, that he's — they — they’re about to — ]
Fuck.
[ his fingers dig into zoro's arms as he sinks inside of him in one fluid motion. he's so much bigger than the fingers sanji has stuffed inside himself, reaching so much deeper that he suddenly feels full to bursting. zoro gives him no time at all to adjust, snapping his hips into him as sanji writhes helplessly, only vaguely aware that he's dripping milk from his tits and slick from his cunt, because now zoro's lips are more important than anything, teasing him with their proximity. sanji cranes his neck and captures them in a bruising kiss, his legs hooking around zoro's waist to trap him. ]
Fuck. [ softer now, his cheeks flaring with color, hips rising off the bed to meet zoro’s relentless movements. it’s so different from having sex with a woman, so different from anything, because zoro isn’t like anyone he’s ever met. his feelings for zoro aren’t like anything he understands. he has no comparison. he doesn’t even want to think about them. ] Fuck me. I need you. I need you all the time. I hate it, I hate you —
[ the words spill out of him from a place he can’t control, his breath coming fast, his pleasure so hot and agonizing that tears prickle the corners of his eyes. he slides a hand between them to stroke at his swollen clit, and all it takes is a few nudges before he’s clenching around zoro’s cock, shivering as an orgasm ripples through him. his breaths turn into desperate moans as his cunt abruptly grows ten times more sensitive, zoro’s thrusts arching his back off the bed as tears spill from his eyes. ]
You shitty little shit — [ he breaks off into a string of violent curses that end in whimpering gasps, another orgasm building fast, this one racing through him like fire. his eyes squeeze shut, his thighs clamping around zoro’s hips as he shudders. ] I love — I love you —
no subject
whether his changeling instincts are kicking in, making him even more desperate than he already was, fingers curling tightly into the pillow next to sanji's head, nails piercing through the fabric, palming over one of his leaking tits, groaning as he fucks so hard into him that the sound of skin against skin keeps making his ears twitch on top of his head. the word breed flashes through his mind, making zoro gasp, overwhelmed by the softness of his belly, the fullness of his tits, how easily his cunt is taking him again and again and thinking about filling him with his cum until he has nothing left ...
sanji's mouth brings him back to reality, kisses deep and languid and messy, zoro missing his lips entirely sometimes and not really giving a shit. his taste, his gasped curses, the way his hips roll to meet zoro's — they're all things that have flickered in the back of his mind even back in arlong park or coco village or on the merry if it meant getting the shitty cook to shut the hell up — and he knows that it's not just because of what's happened to both of them here, how they've changed.
it feels so fucking good, with thighs wrapped around his waist, basically begging to keep zoro inside of him as he fucks deeper, those hot, slick walls tightening around him as sanji's orgasm rapidly approaches, each whimpered curse, plea, gasped insistence that he hates him spurning him on even further. it makes him flush, maybe from anger or from pure fucking desire — because this shithead doesn't hate him, sanji needs him, and zoro needs sanji just as badly. the sudden clench of his cunt around him, hips shuddering as he comes, has zoro moaning, hips speeding up as he chases his own orgasm, so close, so close —
i love you.
zoro's mouth hangs open uselessly as he pants, a few more insistent thrusts through sanji's second orgasm before he's coming hard inside of him, filling him up for so long he thinks that maybe he's passed out, maybe he's imagined the whole thing, every single word — but when he blinks his eyes open slowly and the ringing in his ears starts to fade, all he sees is the cook, blonde hair mussed, tear tracks down his cheeks, looking debauched and exhausted and fucking beautiful.
he loves him? )
Don't go, ( comes zoro's abrupt plea, eyes widening, suddenly seized by the thought of being told to go fuck himself, that he didn't mean it, that he didn't mean any of this, to stay the fuck away from him. his heart pounds in his chest, hyperaware of the fact that he's still inside of him even as his cock's softening, like his hips can't fathom the thought of letting even a drop of his cum out. desperately, a hand reaches out to cup his cheek, pad of his thumb ghosting over his lower lip before he leans in to kiss him, a slow, lingering thing before he murmurs so quietly against his mouth that it borders on a whisper: ) I — Sanji, please. Please stay. You know that I — you have to know.