One Piece - Sanji/Zoro - #36 Enthralled
Title: Relearning And Reunions
Fandom: One Piece
Characters: Sanji/Zoro
Prompt: #36 Enthralled
Word Count: 434
Rating: NC-17
Notes: Post-timeskip
They probably don’t have time for this. But fuck it, Zoro’s been waiting two whole years, so the New World is just going to have to wait.
He’s not sure if it’s nostalgia or too much pent-up tension, too long without somebody else’s hands on him, but it’s somehow even better. Of course, it was always amazing before, worth putting up with the cook’s moodswings and the constant fighting and that grating voice, all of which Zoro’s never disliked nearly as much as he’d have Sanji believe.
But now it’s so good it feels like he can’t even breathe. Sanji’s fingers are like iron against his sides, holding him still, like Zoro has plans to be anywhere other than right here, filtered light of the aquarium painting the back of his eyelids blue.
Makes him wonder if Sanji’s been practicing, if there’s been anybody else for the cook in those two years. Not that it matters, it’s not like this is a relationship or anything, except just the thought pisses Zoro off a little. Can't be jealousy, so probably just bitterness because there’s not been anybody else for him in all that time, or at least that’s what he’s going to keep telling himself.
Himself only. Not the cook. Sanji doesn’t need to know that Zoro’s been basically celibate since they last saw each other.
But it’s worth it now, and his back arches, head bowing down until his forehead touches the seat. Sanji’s thumbs dig into the meat of his ass, holding him open, tongue licking, twisting, rippling, so damn deep. And Sanji’s talking, because the bastard never could shut up, and Zoro has no idea what he’s saying but the vibration of it buzzes right down inside him and makes his fingers scrabble against the cushions.
And there’s that scruff on his chin, thick patch of hair compared to the thin stubble Zoro remembers. He’s made a point of mocking the cook for the new goatee, because it wouldn’t be them if they weren’t trying to wind each other up at every opportunity. But holy shit, the sensation of it now, bristling scrape against the skin of his cleft, has no right to be as hot as it is. Feeling the rasp of it every time Sanji moves his chin, which is pretty much constantly, sharp contrast to the slippery motions of his tongue.
Zoro wants this to last, but there’s pretty much no way that’s going to happen. So he settles for groaning deep, teeth digging into the back of his hand, and fucks himself back against Sanji’s eager mouth.
Fandom: One Piece
Characters: Sanji/Zoro
Prompt: #36 Enthralled
Word Count: 434
Rating: NC-17
Notes: Post-timeskip
They probably don’t have time for this. But fuck it, Zoro’s been waiting two whole years, so the New World is just going to have to wait.
He’s not sure if it’s nostalgia or too much pent-up tension, too long without somebody else’s hands on him, but it’s somehow even better. Of course, it was always amazing before, worth putting up with the cook’s moodswings and the constant fighting and that grating voice, all of which Zoro’s never disliked nearly as much as he’d have Sanji believe.
But now it’s so good it feels like he can’t even breathe. Sanji’s fingers are like iron against his sides, holding him still, like Zoro has plans to be anywhere other than right here, filtered light of the aquarium painting the back of his eyelids blue.
Makes him wonder if Sanji’s been practicing, if there’s been anybody else for the cook in those two years. Not that it matters, it’s not like this is a relationship or anything, except just the thought pisses Zoro off a little. Can't be jealousy, so probably just bitterness because there’s not been anybody else for him in all that time, or at least that’s what he’s going to keep telling himself.
Himself only. Not the cook. Sanji doesn’t need to know that Zoro’s been basically celibate since they last saw each other.
But it’s worth it now, and his back arches, head bowing down until his forehead touches the seat. Sanji’s thumbs dig into the meat of his ass, holding him open, tongue licking, twisting, rippling, so damn deep. And Sanji’s talking, because the bastard never could shut up, and Zoro has no idea what he’s saying but the vibration of it buzzes right down inside him and makes his fingers scrabble against the cushions.
And there’s that scruff on his chin, thick patch of hair compared to the thin stubble Zoro remembers. He’s made a point of mocking the cook for the new goatee, because it wouldn’t be them if they weren’t trying to wind each other up at every opportunity. But holy shit, the sensation of it now, bristling scrape against the skin of his cleft, has no right to be as hot as it is. Feeling the rasp of it every time Sanji moves his chin, which is pretty much constantly, sharp contrast to the slippery motions of his tongue.
Zoro wants this to last, but there’s pretty much no way that’s going to happen. So he settles for groaning deep, teeth digging into the back of his hand, and fucks himself back against Sanji’s eager mouth.