( this kind of feels like a test β a test of zoro's willpower, or something, to see if he'll cave, if he'll react. he wishes he had the wado here, resting beside the bathtub within arm's reach, so he could slice this shithead's dick off. he wishes this shithead would just sink into the water with him, sit between his thighs and lean back against him so that maybe he could wrap his arms around his middle the way they used to sometimes sleep.
it's a test that zoro's really trying not to fail, even if it means lounging there beneath the bubbles with his eyes closed and his mouth quirking downwards with displeasure, like if he keeps his mouth shut, the cook will actually leave him the fuck alone. it's a stupid thought, considering how good sanji's been at leaving him the fuck alone over the past few weeks β why bother now? his frown only deepens.
apparently, it's futile, because before he knows it, the cook's sticking his feet in the water next to him and setting down his stupid little basket of fancy bottles of whatever-the-hell that zoro finally turns his head to eyeball. what ever happened to a good old fashioned bar of soap rubbed over his skin and on top of his head? stupid. ) Hey, wβ
( zoro's too busy mentally complaining to resist the veritable baptism he's given by sanji's hand, emerging from the depths of the water with a huff of a breath and green hair wet and flattened on top of his head. it stuns him into silence, radiating the quiet fury of the pissy cat that he once was until β there are hands in his hair, massaging shampoo that smells a little too good through the strands and over his scalp.
now, instead of a test, it feels kind of like a set-up. had nami said something to him? zoro hasn't really said anything to nami about what happened; he's just refused to bring the cook up first in conversation, occasionally refused to sleep in his own bedroom because the distance between them felt too big and yet not remotely big enough and nami's still his lifeline, even without their connection.
he wants to be mad, but it's hard to be when sanji's hands feel so annoyingly good as he washes zoro's hair for him, make the part of his throat that might've rumbled with contentment in another life feel hollow. the tension slowly eases out of his shoulders, and finally ... he tips his head back, looking up at the cook in his silly little headband with pathetically tired eyes and just asking: ) Why?
no subject
it's a test that zoro's really trying not to fail, even if it means lounging there beneath the bubbles with his eyes closed and his mouth quirking downwards with displeasure, like if he keeps his mouth shut, the cook will actually leave him the fuck alone. it's a stupid thought, considering how good sanji's been at leaving him the fuck alone over the past few weeks β why bother now? his frown only deepens.
apparently, it's futile, because before he knows it, the cook's sticking his feet in the water next to him and setting down his stupid little basket of fancy bottles of whatever-the-hell that zoro finally turns his head to eyeball. what ever happened to a good old fashioned bar of soap rubbed over his skin and on top of his head? stupid. ) Hey, wβ
( zoro's too busy mentally complaining to resist the veritable baptism he's given by sanji's hand, emerging from the depths of the water with a huff of a breath and green hair wet and flattened on top of his head. it stuns him into silence, radiating the quiet fury of the pissy cat that he once was until β there are hands in his hair, massaging shampoo that smells a little too good through the strands and over his scalp.
now, instead of a test, it feels kind of like a set-up. had nami said something to him? zoro hasn't really said anything to nami about what happened; he's just refused to bring the cook up first in conversation, occasionally refused to sleep in his own bedroom because the distance between them felt too big and yet not remotely big enough and nami's still his lifeline, even without their connection.
he wants to be mad, but it's hard to be when sanji's hands feel so annoyingly good as he washes zoro's hair for him, make the part of his throat that might've rumbled with contentment in another life feel hollow. the tension slowly eases out of his shoulders, and finally ... he tips his head back, looking up at the cook in his silly little headband with pathetically tired eyes and just asking: ) Why?