Author's note :
Warning for smut, very light S/M and potential dub-con. Not my thing, and I don't even know where this came from. If you find it weird, it's perfectly normal. I find it weird too.
I know I'm supposed to be working on Unripe, but I'm taking a short break for now. Besides, I really wanna focus on it properly, and with the smothering load of homework coming my way – and I should be working on it right now, not writing smut – it's impossible for now. The good news is that I'll be on holidays in a little more than 3 weeks. The bad news is that I'll have to work my ass off, because exams are coming very, very soon, and I probably won't have much time to write. In the meantime, yay for commuting (that's when I can actually write, on an old, soon-to-be full notebook).
As usual, please tell me if there's any grammatical mistake or typo left. Many thanks to Aevium, who's been helping me a lot with my failing English. And if you have the time, tell her she rocks, because she doesn't hear it nearly as much as she deserves. Which is a LOT.
Did you ever try to change "smurf" to "smut"? Try going to the character list on Wikipedia, and read aloud. I promise hilarity will ensue. And yeah, I'm a dork. But you love me anyway.
These characters aren't mine, and the "gotta catch them all" rule doesn't apply here. Even though Zoro sometimes eerily reminds me of a lazy Bulbasaur, somehow.
Every once in a while, Sanji doesn't know what to make of his crew's resident green-haired-swordsman.
Some days, he thinks that it would take very little incentive, maybe a couple rude words, or even just a misplaced, slightly antagonistic glare, for him to snap and kick him to a better place. Sure, the man might be their captain's first man, as well as their nakama – even his, though on most days, he hates to admit even that much. But the man's also an ape, as well as an eyesore. His overall behavior is the exact opposite of polite. His manners are so boorish that Sanji sometimes wonders if he was raised on the proverbial farm. He barely knows what hygiene is, or diplomacy, for that matter. It's so bad that Sanji often wonders how he even learned to speak human language. And of course, his demeanor towards ladies is just plain rude, inappropriate, and ultimately, unacceptable.
And yet, there are other days when Sanji doesn't know anymore if he really hates the bastard or why, whereas he'd normally consider kicking him into oblivion or hell or another fucking galaxy. On these days, Sanji's urge is replaced by an almost overwhelming desire to push, and see him break.
At first, it was barely more than an itch, not so different from his usual short-tempered-induced bouts of rightful anger. Not so much that he'd start worrying. He didn't even notice it was there, in the beginning. Or maybe he simply didn't really understand what it was.
Until, some day, while being once more pinned to the ship's grassy floor by Zoro – which happened a little more than the opposite – not that he'd ever acknowledge that fact – after a particularly vicious fight between them, he found himself overwhelmed by that feeling. He was trapped under the asshole's heavily muscled body, the swordsman's knees blocking his legs, refusing him the necessary leverage to revert the situation, which he would usually try to do. As a fighter, there was very little that could aggravate him more than being unable to defend himself. As his hips were helplessly jerking against Zoro's iron grip, he was boiling inwardly with offended anger, almost choking under an intense frustration. His attempts to free himself from the other's smothering bear-hold were proving useless, and he was unwilling to use his precious hands for any violent purpose, which was probably why he ended up doing the only thing that came to his mind. Grabbing the guy's head by his short hair, he used whatever leverage he had to yank it to the side, and savagely bit his stupidly muscular neck, at the joint between the throat and shoulder.
In retrospect, he'd blame it on the fact he was restrained and unable to move away from the bastard. But he'd known soon enough that this reaction had been prompted by a twisted, somewhat sick desire, originated from deep within him. It wasn't merely revenge, no. It was more than just that, even though he couldn't really pinpoint it. He wanted to cause a reaction in the other. To dispel that impassive look from his face, and see his usual restraint shatter.
He craned his neck and planted his teeth into Zoro's surprisingly tender flesh. He bit him hard, and felt the swordsman jerk and tense above him. Encouraged by this relative success, he increased the pressure. At this, he felt a faint shudder run up Zoro's spine, quickly followed by a deep, yet muffled, and thus, faint groan. The salty flavor of blood invaded his mouth, distracting him long enough that it came as a surprise when, as he finally became aware of his surroundings again, he noticed the other wasn't restraining him anymore. Actually, he wasn't moving at all.
Removing his mouth from his aggressor's neck, and ultimately loosening his hold, he raised a wary eye towards his rival, and met his gaze. Zoro was looking at him through narrowed eyes, still slightly panting from their earlier brawl. A faint air of surprise and uneasiness was tinting his features, though he obviously did his best to hide it – mostly succeeding, as usual. Taking advantage of the other's momentary distraction, Sanji used the regained leverage to pounce with his hips, and overturned the guy, switching their positions on the floor.
"What's wrong with you, shit-head? Don't feel like fighting anymore?"
No answer. Sanji scowled.
"What brought this sudden change of heart, marimo? You finally realized what kind of pansy you are, huh?"
Zoro glared, but didn't respond. Sanji's smirk widened.
"Don't tell me you liked that, heh? Fucking masochist."
They were silent for a while, until Zoro swallowed with almost visible difficulty, cleared his throat, and finally started speaking.
"That hurt, shit-cook," he slowly said, uttering each word in a low voice, as if fighting a dull and uncooperative tongue.
"Yeah, my bad, asshole," Sanji replied playfully.
His eyes went to Zoro's neck, where the shape of his teeth seemed engraved into his skin. A little blood was trickling down his clavicle into his shirt. He snorted at that sight. He didn't feel guilty in the least. He didn't even bite him that hard to begin with, and the guy was virtually unbreakable. Besides, he deserved every bit of pain Sanji could inflict to him, that jerk. And even then, he could barely believe that his small outburst could have hurt him. Zoro shouldn't be unfazed by such a small bruise, being used to suffering much, much worse. It was barely a scratch, and it was his fault for leaving such an unguarded opening to be taken advantage of.
Which he took great care of smugly reminding the other. But the man brushed off the witty retort with a non-committal answer, shoved him away, and left the deck, obviously not interested in fighting anymore. Leaving him sitting on the floor, more than a little surprised at such a lack of retaliation. By such a meek surrendering. Irritated at the thought that because of the stupid marimo, he missed on a good fight, an opportunity to draw aside from the ship's usual routine. Then again, that second feeling didn't really came as a surprise : he was basically always irritated by Zoro, for some reason.
Which left him merely wondering what the hell had just happened, and why he'd bitten him in the first place.
He had no answer, to both questions.
He reflected on the swordsman's reaction, afterward, but didn't seem to find a satisfactory conclusion to these unwanted musings. Unless he directly asked the bastard again – which he certainly had no intention of doing – he'd have to live without knowing whether he had merely reacted to the pain, or if he had really enjoyed it, that sick fuck. If the dumbass answered to begin with, which Sanji doubted greatly, since he didn't when he asked, the first time. He probably didn't even know what this was about.
It still left him profoundly bewildered, and he started questioning Zoro's motives, as well as his own.
What unsettled him the most, since that fight, was his own reaction, after finally witnessing first-hand what it looked like, when the swordsman lost a little of his usual impassive composure. Because, from that moment on, all Sanji seemed to want was to see it again. Or, more specifically, to cause it again.
It wasn't even the first time he happened to reveal cracks in the other. More often than not, Zoro's seemingly unshakeable demeanor would come undone after one of Sanji's witty remarks. Remarks on his peculiar hair. On his manners. On the way he treated women, or his ugly mug, or on the weather, really. He seemed to find everything that came out of the cook's mouth offensive, probably just as much as Sanji found the simple view of him unbearable. But that was merely psychological warfare at work. What the biting had triggered was a purely physical reaction, in a man who took great pride in his control over his own body, even under the greatest of pains.
Being able to provoke the guy in such a way made Sanji feel empowered – and a little smug. All he wanted afterward was to do it again.
Of course, he realized this compulsion was very strange, if not just plain creepy. Every time he thought about it, trying to devise a way to achieve what he had in mind, his thoughts soon wandered in the realm of things he just wouldn't let himself do.
Because, honestly, it wasn't like he'd be able to achieve that by innocent, harmless means. Zoro was very resilient to pain, as Sanji came to know through their perpetual bickering, and subsequent fighting. He didn't seem to be easily swayed by tremendously good food either, that bastard, so that was out as well. So, if pain and food, two things that Sanji knew expertly how to inflict – or bestow – upon people, were definitely not going to work, what was left? The answer baffled and unnerved him at the same time.
Because, let's face it, it was impossible. Impossible for him to have such thoughts. He was a ladies man. He devoted his life to the worship beautiful women.
There was no way he would engage in risky activities with a man, and especially not with that asshole.
And anyway, he didn't see himself peeping on the marimo jerking off – if he ever even did, which Sanji doubted, since the guy didn't seem to know about anything long and hard aside of swords. No more that he could imagine offering his help him with that. If the guy ever accepted his help – with anything of the sort – to begin with, which Sanji also doubted. The mere thought made him shudder, anyway. In disgust or disguised anticipation and excitement, he didn't know.
But the urge didn't subside, and soon, the itch turned into full-fledged hunger.
He should have known, really, known from the start. He should have known that such things weren't logical, that he couldn't control them. Known that urges, or lust, or love, or longing, or whatever it really was – such things were like the sea. Powerful and wild, and overwhelming like tides. Men had no way to overcome them, leaving them no choice other than submitting, and doing their best to survive.
So, he longed. He longed, and kept the feeling to himself. Because he knew that, if he ever found the courage to act on his urges, there was no way Zoro would comply with them.
Every once in a while, more often than he'd like to admit, the cook found his gaze wandering in the swordsman's general direction, as he wondered how it would feel to have him lose it under his hands. It gave rise to unwanted feelings, deep within him, that he didn't even want to start acknowledging.
He took to watching the guy while he trained, waiting for the smallest sign of lost restraint during physical effort, to no avail. He started making dishes he knew the other liked, for he always asked for seconds, or even thirds, when these were served, though he never showed any appreciation other than that, that bastard. He watched him sleep, and though Zoro did let his guard down when he did so, his painfully stupid, relaxed face was as far as could be from the more expressive, slightly bothered, almost wincing one Sanji had witnessed when he bit him.
But life went on, and this whole silly thing never prevented the usual disturbances to cross their path, as they inevitably did.
It was during one of these that it happened. He now knows he should have seen it coming, but it's a fact that he didn't. Because, if he had, he's quite certain he wouldn't have let it happen at all.
They were, once again, battling against some random pirate crew, that seemed to think that their smaller ship was an easy target. Or maybe, they found the women on board to their liking, and intended to snatch them away, those bastards. He was surrounded by a bunch of them, leering at him with grim eyes. He quickly threw kicks left and right, rapidly overcoming the annoying hindrance, only to quietly light up a cigarette, and resume practicing his latest, self-admitted slightly creepy hobby : marimo watching.
The guy was surrounded himself, but Sanji wasn't worried about him – he was more than capable enough, and certainly didn't need any help. No, what actually fascinated him this time was the way his posture and the look on his face didn't let through any emotion, as he dived forwards and sliced through his adversaries. How effective and to the point his movements were as he dealt blow after blow, leaving a bloody mess of bodies in his wake. The guy was an oaf, but when he was fighting, he almost became graceful. It was as if everything besides his swords and him disappeared. As if he was merging with them, becoming a strangely elegant human weapon of massive destruction.
Sanji would never admit it, but he liked that. He like that aura of raw, dangerous power that he exuded when Zoro fought.
Lost in his thoughts, he watched the guy slice through the last of the pirates surrounding him, and stand upright, relaxed, as if he'd barely broken a sweat. He looked around, probably for any remaining pirates to battle. And then, his gaze fell on Sanji, who was so out of it that he didn't even think of averting his eyes. When he saw him staring, Zoro automatically glared, and, after a while, started frowning. Sanji saw him open his mouth and shout something, but it was lost in the surrounding battle sounds.
It was when Zoro started running towards his position, eyes intent on him – no, on something, or someone behind him – that he started suspecting something was wrong. Adrenaline suddenly rushing through his body, he turned around briskly, raising a leg and using the momentum to launch in a deadly move, targeting the person he could now feel was there. But it was too late to entirely evade the blow intended for him. He still tried to dodge, and the blow that was aimed at his neck landed on his upper right arm, leaving a deep gash there, right before his shoe collided with his opponent's head, sending him flying over the railing.
Slightly panting under the combined fight exhaustion and adrenaline, he looked as his arm. It was bloodied, and it hurt, but he could still move his fingers, which meant it'd be ok. No nerves or tendons were severed, and he'd sill be able to use it, when it'd be healed.
Still, his right arm.
"What's wrong with you, shit-cook?"
He didn't know if it was the fight's excitement, or something else, but chills run through his body when he heard this voice so close. He raised his head, only to face a very irritated swordsman. He nonchalantly – as much as he could – reached inside his breast pocket for a cigarette, and slowly lit up, before answering.
"None of your concern, dumbass."
"Don't fuck with me. You didn't see that guy coming, and I know you're better than that. So, what's up with you?"
Sanji didn't answer. He didn't know what to say. How could he explain the damn marimo what was really going on? That he'd spent the best of his time watching him, lately, to the point he got distracted during fights? How could he tell him what kind of thoughts were sneaking into his mind, then? That his mere presence, so close, as he grabbed his arm none-too-gently to check the injury, making him wince because it fucking hurt, was extremely unsettling to him? Because it gave rise to urges that gave him the chills, for all kinds of reasons?
He couldn't. But he opened his mouth nevertheless.
"Why do you wanna know?"
Zoro's eyes raised from the bruise he was currently looking at, and set on his face. They stood like this for what felt like a long time to Sanji, staring intently on each other. Zoro's frown deepened, his eyes filled with irritation and concern. And it was almost eerie, because Sanji could swear there was also something else there, something that he couldn't name yet. Or wouldn't. But it was definitely there, and he had a hard time deciding whether to acknowledge it or not.
"Don't fuck with me." Zoro finally said, averting his eyes.
It wasn't a demand. As wrong as it seemed, this sounded like a plea.
Sanji refrained another shudder, taking in the other's intense gaze, before he looked away, bewildered at the sudden turn of his thoughts. What was wrong, indeed? He wondered. Because, as they stood there, in the middle of the bloodied deck of their ship, surrounded by enemies as well as their own crew, fighting, he considered actually doing something about his stupid urges. Of all time, he had to chose that moment, which aggravated himself all the more, because it was his own fault for letting himself do so at such a weird time. But it was a fact that he did contemplate assaulting the guy here and now, if the other only let him. Why was he even considering acting on his misplaced, uncontrollable urges? Was it the excitement of the fight? He felt strangely light headed. Exhilarated, even. But he also knew that, if he didn't do it now, he wouldn't do it at all. It was now or never.
Sanji's eyes broke away from Zoro, and surveyed their surroundings. The fight was still going, but the opposite crew's members seemed a lot scarcer now. He looked at the others, and they were doing fine. Chopper and Nami were battling in tandem, Usopp was shooting from the crow's nest, and Luffy was breaking havoc in the enemy lines. The others were doing just fine on their own.
They'd be fine either way.
Discarding the last of his doubts, he grabbed Zoro's shirt with his good hand, and pulled him behind as he started heading for the galley.
"Come with me."
He didn't know if it was because of the tone he used here, leaving room for no protestation, and because Zoro thought he'd tell him what he wanted to know, or some other reason, if he complied without a word. But after a tiny moment of resistance, he followed, and Sanji decided it didn't matter.
Once there, he went for the pantry, dragging the swordsman behind him. When they were both inside, locked the door, and turned back towards Zoro, who was standing there like the idiot he was, frowning as usual and waiting without saying a word. Though when Sanji didn't seem to move, he crossed his arms and glared.
"So? Spill, already, and don't make me waste my time."
He faced the other guy, and realized he had no idea what to do. It frustrated him tremendously, and he suddenly felt so irritated, at himself and at the stupid guy standing feet from him. In a raging bout of anger he wouldn't fully understand, later, he grabbed the other's collar, and pulled, slamming him violently against the closed door. And from then on, he was lost again.
Zoro was frowning deeply, but was seemingly unfazed by the sudden outburst. Not much, anyway.
"What the hell, shit-cook?" He spit through clenched teeth, looking more and more annoyed by the minute.
Seeing this familiar stern look on his face fueled Sanji's irritation all the more, and prompted him to drag the heavier man closer to him, so their foreheads almost touched.
"You annoy me so much, shitty swordsman." He muttered, before slamming Zoro against the door again.
If Zoro still kept his composure, there was now tension in his jaw, in his whole body, actually, as if he was restraining himself from pushing Sanji off. His eyes were dangerously darkening.
"The feeling is mutual, asshole."
Sanji snorted, and grinned around his cigarette. Being so close to the swordsman wasn't unusual, but it was different, this time. He wasn't overcome by the usual rightful anger, though he was clearly very irritated. And if they were still fighting, sort of, they were also alone in here.
"You really hate me, don't you?"
Sanji snickered, though he felt all but smug. His mind was like a twirling fest of emotions. Deep inside, under all the aggravation and confusion, he could even feel a tiny pinch of unusual, unsettling desperation, as he waited for the guy's answer.
The other's eyes narrowed a bit, and, surprisingly, took a long time to answer.
"I hate the stupid shit you pull on me all the time, yeah." He said. "Now, what are we doing here?" Zoro finally asked.
Sanji's heart sank as he stared at Zoro, not knowing how to answer that. His heartbeat was frantic now, and his tongue felt like it was made of lead. His fist tightened around Zoro's collar, and his right arm pulsated with a dull pain when, without thinking, he pounced again, this time with his hips, pressing the other against the wooden door. At this unexpected move, Zoro grunted and tensed. He'd been glaring back, but now, his irritation seemed to falter. He intently looked at Sanji through slightly narrowed eyes, and was that a faint surprise on his face? When the swordsman wet his lips absentmindedly, in a way that had Sanji's blood freeze and boil at the same time, he repressed a violent shudder. The cook knew he couldn't afford to look at the other's face anymore. His well-bitten, thin lips were so enticing he didn't trust himself to hold back from latching at them. And if he knew it was one of the things he had in mind when he dragged Zoro here, he still didn't know how he would react to such an unexpected move. He didn't know, why now, of all times, he was hesitating like that. He wasn't afraid, definitely not. But he apprehended Zoro's reaction.
It was all so confusing.
His eyes fell on the other's shoulder, and it was there, the mark from his earlier biting. It had been a few days, already, but the trace he'd left on the other's body was still there, still faintly red, steadily healing. The thought that this bruise would be gone soon had his heart sink. He wanted to leave something of his on Zoro's body, something that would remain there. Something that Zoro would be able to look at, later, that would remind him of Sanji. Even if he didn't want to.
Maybe that was why he bit him, that first time, even though he didn't realize what had possessed him when he did.
That thought strengthened his resolve. He felt Zoro's eyes still on him, but it didn't matter anymore. He had decided that he would go on with this, even if his attentions were unwanted.
He lowered his head and carefully brushed his lips over the bruise, drawing a sharp inhale from the other, who startled faintly and tensed against him, just like the first time. Taking advantage of his momentary surprise, he parted his lips and grazed his tongue against the sensitive, healing skin, tasting the tangy flavor of Zoro's sweat.
And then he bit. Softly at first, eliciting a small gasp from the guy. Then harder. And then some.
He felt Zoro become almost rigid against him, letting out a contrastingly faint sigh that almost sounded like a groan. He was obviously trying not to show any reaction, as usual, that asshole. Fortunately, he wasn't entirely succeeding – though mostly – which said a great deal about how this was affecting him. For that reason alone, Sanji didn't relent, wondering why the swordsman was reacting like this to such a little pain. After a few seconds, he released his hold and slightly drew back, wondering why Zoro was letting him do this to begin with. Blood was oozing out of the broken skin, and he licked it, gently drawing his tongue over the bruise, until it looked mostly clean. Blood seeped again.
He licked his lips, and they tasted salty.
He raised his head. Zoro was staring at him, a hard frown on his face, but to Sanji, his eyes seemed a little out of focus. He was quietly breathing through parted lips, but it felt slightly more labored than usual. Again, he wet them absentmindedly, and Sanji felt something warming within himself. He'd never seen Zoro truly hazy or worked up, but this, as the swordsman was somewhat undone compared to his usual stoic demeanor, might be the closest he'd ever get to it.
It made Sanji feel like he never had for a woman.
This... is what I've been looking for?
"What –" Zoro started, after swallowing quietly, in a scarcely strained tone compared to his usual gruff baritone – but he never finished.
The small hints of Zoro's loss of composure weren't nearly enough for Sanji, but he couldn't let the occasion pass – or couldn't restrain himself, he didn't really know. As soon as these enticing lips parted, Sanji had to seal the guy's annoying trap in a searing, forceful kiss. He was far from gentle, invading Zoro's obviously unprepared – and thus, unresponsive – mouth with strength, setting the pace, and even going as far as biting his unexpectedly tender lower lip so hard he soon tasted blood.
Why isn't he pushing me away?
When he drew back, he looked at the other's face intently. His eyes were closed, and he was panting a little more noticeably, though it wasn't much. A deep frown was twisting his brow, but unlike his usual stern expression – though it was still hard to tell – this one seemed to be hinting at the slightest loss of composure. He was obviously trying to reign it all within with what seemed like almost desperate strength to Sanji, which had him secretly exult inwardly.
He pressed his hips against Zoro's, drawing a short yet sharp inhale from him. The man was definitely hard, Sanji could feel it through the layers of clothes, and – and so was he. It was scary and exhilarating at the same time, to realize that the feeling was mostly mutual. As far as he could tell, anyway. And yet, he felt strangely detached. Like all this was happening to someone else, and he was merely watching from the side.
The swordsman opened his dark eyes in thin crescents, and glared at the cook hard.
"What the hell are you doing?"
Sanji's right hand released the guy's collar and went down to cup his stupidly hard prick. Zoro's breathing hitched for a tiny moment, and Sanji smirked.
"Something we've apparently both been wanting, shit-head."
And he squeezed a bit, though this time, he took great care of not hurting him.
He was rewarded by a groan, which the swordsman tried to muffle – once again without complete success, much to Sanji's satisfaction. Encouraged by this badly restrained reaction, Sanji started to fondle through the thick fabric of Zoro's pants. The other inhaled briskly, and the cook could feel him tensing again.
He sneaked his hand, past the annoyingly old-fashioned haramaki, into the other's pants and underwear, and curled his hand around Zoro's cock. He found himself surprised at the fact it wasn't that big, though its size was more than respectable. But Zoro was a big man, all muscles and frowns and dark glares, and he expected... He didn't know what he expected. Or if he expected anything at all. Nevertheless, he couldn't help but feel slightly smug at the thought that he was, most likely and for once, the bigger one in that area.
He started administering slow strokes, while his mouth went down to the bruise again, lavishing it with small licks and bites. He tried being a little more gentle, this time. He really did.
Zoro's eyes were closed, and he didn't bother protesting, no more than he tried to stop Sanji. He didn't try to break free either when the latter, in a sudden, irresistible impulse, temporarily released his hold on him and got on his knees, only to jerk his clothes down. Sanji didn't want to think – whether Zoro wanted this, didn't but decided to get it over with, or just took it as another challenge thrown at him, the result was the same : he wasn't stopping Sanji, however reluctant to show how affected he was by his ministrations. He was going along whatever unexpected whim had taken over the cook – over them both, from the look of things. How it happened, Sanji couldn't even start to understand. All he knew was that he felt elated and wild, having such a physically strong man, with an equally strong resolve, surrender to him like this.
He put his lips around Zoro's erection, eyes intent on his face, taking in every single detail, every small reaction, however faint. The increasing tension in his well-defined jaw. The short breaths he was letting out every once in a while, trying to suppress them – mostly succeeding, but not entirely. The tiny bead of sweat rolling on his temple as he scrunched his eyes further. He reveled in them all, small things so tremendously thrilling to him, and he was now so hard he thought that he might come in his pants if things went on like that.
He started sliding his lips up and down Zoro's cock in regular motions, a hand around the base and the other sneaking around Zoro's thigh, caressing the rough skin there. Not that it harsh against his fingertips. But it was certainly not smooth, a myriad of short hair dotting the outer side. The inside, however, was devoid of these. It was surprisingly soft, not very different from a girl's thigh, as he soon discovered, slowly caressing the apparently sensitive skin, which had the guy shudder tensely. He used this arm – his good arm – to pin the swordsman's lower body to the door, digging his fingers into the dip of flesh between his thigh and hip, preventing him from trusting into his mouth. Asserting that he was the one in charge, that he wouldn't have it any other way. Not that he thought that Zoro, reluctant but seemingly willing as he was, despite his restraint, would try opting out now.
As if Sanji would let him.
It wasn't like he could really do that, either way. They were long past the point of no return.
Slowly quickening his motions until he found a rhythm that had the other's breath become shorter, he found himself unable to tear his eyes from Zoro's face, so expressive to him, after months and months of dull indifference. True, he didn't let much out, even now, but it was still a lot more than what Sanji was used to. He absentmindedly wondered if this was the first time anyone ever went down on him, or if he was just so sensitive – or frustrated – that it would turn him into a willing pile of goo as soon as someone would touch him. Or if, for some reason he didn't even want to think about, Zoro had been wanting this – and thinking about it prior to this moment – as much as Sanji had.
Zoro suddenly circled one of his big hands around the arm – the bruised one – he was using to stroke him. Sanji's heart sank when he thought he'd finally try to stop him, but his hold around his much more delicate wrist was eerily gentle, though not weak. His fingers were tense and warm against his skin, and his hand trembled faintly. All he did, in the end, was run his thumb once, in a slow downwards motion, against the inside of Sanji's forearm, which made him shudder. The gesture was almost tender.
He batted that offensive hand away, and resumed working on the guy's erection. After that, seemingly getting the hint, Zoro didn't try to touch him again.
It wasn't long before Zoro's breathing became labored. He raised an arm toward his mouth and bit into his forearm, most likely to muffle any sound he'd make. He seemed real close. But Sanji wouldn't have any of it. Releasing his hold around Zoro's prick, he grabbed his arm, and motioned it out of the way. He kept his hand there, not trusting the other to comply to his unstated whim, while his other hand went to grab the man's right buttock. He used this newly gained support to pull his hips closer, swallowing him until he almost choked.
Biting his already bruised lower lip so hard it probably started bleeding again, and letting out a deep, badly muffled groan, Zoro came.
His cock twitched between Sanji's lips, who soon felt the other guy's taste invade his mouth, flavor exploding on his tongue, salty and bitter, in short, quick gushes. When Zoro started softening, startling ever so slightly because of increased sensitivity, he finally released him, swallowing thickly. He licked his lips for a few stray drops, and, closing his eyes, rolled his tongue in his mouth, analyzing the new, foreign flavor. He rested his forehead against Zoro's thigh, noting for the first time that he was shaking. They both were. Down in his pants, he could feel his own cock, still hard as a rock. He'd have to take care of this, later.
This was really, really bad.
Zoro let himself slide to the floor, his own legs apparently unable to hold his weight anymore, so, Sanji, his eyes setting on the man's face again, leaned back to let him do so. Once sitting there, the swordsman rested his head against the wooden planks in his back, eyes closed, breath slowly settling down. After a while, he let out a faint groan, opened his eyes, and glared at the cook, who felt his heart jump.
He expected the swordsman to be angry. To berate him. To accuse him of being a faggot – which would be all kinds of hypocritical, since Zoro himself obviously enjoyed what had just happened. But Zoro didn't do any of these. He just glared, for the longest time, a deep frown adorning his face. Then, he looked down at his arm, which Sanji, as he realized with a start when he looked as well, still had his own hand around. He tried to remove it, but the other didn't let him, grabbing his arm when he tried to withdraw from him. Sanji looked up at him. He was still intently staring.
"What gives –" He started, but the swordsman cut him abruptly.
"That's my line, shit-cook."
Zoro's voice didn't hold any apparent anger or disgust. As far as Sanji could tell, he'd recovered his usual impassive composure, for the most part. But the guy proved him wrong when his eyes softened just so, before he started slowly shaking his head.
"What in hell..." He muttered softly.
It was an assessment, not a question, and yet, Sanji felt compelled to answer.
"I..." He started, but stopped as soon as he did.
Zoro looked at him, and if he didn't look questioning, Sanji knew without a doubt that he wanted an explanation. Yet, he had none to give him. And when the other's eyes fell on his crotch, where his pants were stretched by an unattended erection, he suddenly felt very exposed.
He couldn't stay here.
He briskly jumped to his feet, and went to unlock the door.
He didn't turn back, and stood still, waiting for the inevitable questioning that was bound to come soon.
"You..." The swordsman started, but never finished.
His back tense, he slowly turned towards Zoro, who was scratching the back of his head, facing the wall.
"Never mind." He muttered.
Sanji paused, trying to find a logic in this afternoon's events. He didn't. Reaching for his cigarettes, he drew one from inside his vest and lit up. His fingers were still shaking.
He unlocked the door, and was about to leave, when some nagging feeling started tugging insistently at the back of his mind. But he didn't know where it came from, nor what it meant. Things just seemed to escape him, today. He shook his head.
"You're welcome, shit-head."
And he left, not even bothering to close the door behind himself.