(One Piece) Commandment
Title: Commandment
Fandom: One Piece
Pairing: Zoro/Sanji
Rating: NC-17
Words: 2170
Timeline: Post-Alabasta
Notes: Spanking. For 50_smutlets, prompt "paddle".
Summary: For the good of the crew.
“I don’t like this,” Usopp frets, glancing at the priests and their hungry gazes. “Why are we doing this? We should just leave.”
“Not an option,” Nami informs him sharply, walking around their circle and collecting each piece of paper her nakama hands to her. “We need them to tell us where the Sacred Jewel of Sessuale is, and they’ll only trust us if we’re officially initiated into their cult.”
“But what kind of initiation is it? Why do they only need one volunteer?” Usopp insists, and he lowers his voice and motions for her to come closer. “I don’t like the way they’re staring at us. I bet it’s going to be something… Well, I don’t know, something…”
“Perverse?” Robin supplies helpfully, her smile bemused.
“Well, yes, exactly,” Usopp hisses, blushing.
“Can’t be helped,” Nami sighs, snatching Luffy’s piece of paper before he doodles over it any more.
“Yeah, she’s got her eye on that jewel, and throwing one of us to those vultures is a worthy sacrifice,” Zoro snorts.
“Don’t talk about Nami-san like that!” Sanji growls instantly. “That jewel should belong to Nami-san. If it’s as beautiful as the legend says it is, then it’s only natural it should be in her stunning and graceful hands.”
“Thank you, Sanji-kun,” Nami says distractedly, shuffling the seven pieces of paper. “We’re all agreed, right? No recounts, no do-overs. First vote decides the volunteer. End of story.”
Everybody nods, and Zoro looks for a moment like he’s a breath away from telling her not to cheat, but clearly decides it better to hold his tongue. Nami nods back, all business, and holds up the first sheet of paper.
“One vote for ‘the shitty marimo-head’,” she reads, and Zoro glares at Sanji, who glares right back. “And one vote for, no, wait, two, oh, hang on...” She pauses to shuffle through the rest, and Usopp chews on his fingernails, Chopper anxiously clutching at his hip.
“Well, I guess that’s decided then,” Nami mutters, before looking back up at them. “One vote for Zoro. Six votes for Sanji.”
There’s a long pause, where everybody seems to look everywhere but at Sanji.
“What the hell?” he explodes, and the priests mutter among themselves and grin. “You can’t all have voted for me?!”
Nami silently hands him the papers. Zoro smirks, and Robin just keeps smiling serenely. Luffy shrugs, nonplussed, Chopper suddenly seems very interested in his hat, and Usopp whistles off-key and stares at the darkened sky.
“But. But!” Sanji whines, barely seeming to notice the comforting hand Nami lays on his shoulder. He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose, and his free hand fishes into his pocket for his cigarettes. “Well, fuck.”
*
They’d offered him a blindfold, and Sanji had been tempted. Shut it all out, not be able to see the way his nakama stared at him, mixture of pity and curiosity in their eyes, sprinkle of guilt. But Sanji doesn’t shy away from anything in battle, and this is a kind of battle, although he’s not fighting them. Battle against his instincts, in a way, because every part of him is telling him to tear the stupid ropes off of his wrists, use his teeth if necessary. Run away, and don’t look back, and it’s a physical ache to ignore that part of him, the part he so heavily relies on to protect him.
At least he can be thankful for his wonderful Nami-san, and her sharp eye. She’d watched as they’d thrown the odd eight-sided dice, seen the way they landed, adding up to fifteen, and had immediately proclaimed the dice to be weighted. They’d made the mistake of arguing, at first, but Luffy, Zoro and Chopper in Heavy Point standing behind Nami had quickly seen them scurrying to find alternative dice.
Eight is better than fifteen, Sanji tells himself, although he still wishes it could have been two.
He lets them guide him onto the alter, pointedly doesn’t look at his nakama. Stripped to the waist, but at least they let him keep his trousers, and he doesn’t even want to know what the symbols they’d painted on his arms and chest mean.
Three priests stand with out-stretched arms, chanting to the heavens, and another stands beside Sanji and whispers quiet instructions in a deceptively kind voice. “Hold your wrists out in front of you. That’s it, now loop them over the Idol. Yes, like that. I’m going to flick this part here, see, and it will hold the ropes in place, so you won’t be able to move your wrists anymore. Now, step backwards. Yes, so you’re bending at the waist. Further than that. Good child.”
Sanji scowls, although the priest seems immune to his anger. Sighs deeply, stares at the stone floor. Manages to keep from cursing when the priest leans forward to pluck the cigarette from Sanji’s mouth, and then it’s just him and the chanting, and the stares of his nakama searing at his skin.
*
The ritual seems to take forever. Different coloured powders thrown onto the floor, onto the other priests, onto Sanji’s back. He feels himself shift from embarrassment to frustration to boredom, steals a glance at the others through the hair that hangs over his face. Robin seems fascinated, and Chopper is whispering to her, clearly asking questions. Nami has that intent look in her eyes, like fire and steel, and Usopp looks vaguely bored, Luffy snoring lightly against his shoulder. And Zoro is staring right back at Sanji, expression unreadable, and Sanji has to drop his eyes and feels the tension crawl back into his spine.
The chanting finishes quite suddenly, and Sanji bites his lip as the steady beat of the drum turns into something faster, more frantic. And then there’s someone walking towards him, coming up behind him, and he has to twist and see. Robed figure, hood pulled over his face, but he’s bigger than the other priests, much bigger, and that warrior instinct Sanji is trying so hard to ignore informs him that this guy is a fighter.
The paddle is held loosely in his left hand, and Sanji inhales sharply and braces himself.
The first slap hits him across the back of his thighs, just below his ass, and he grits his teeth against the noise that jumps in his throat. Rocks slightly, tries to relax his muscles, but he’s too tense to do so. Colour spreads across his face, and he ducks it lower, trying to find further shelter behind his hair.
The second blow comes too quickly, and he’s not expecting it. Sharp and sudden heat, the sting of it instantly giving way to a deeper burn. It forces a grunt from him, which turns into a growl, aimed more at himself than anything. Jerking forward onto his tiptoes, managing to regain his balance with the grip he has on the stone Idol, but he pushes back on to the heels of his feet at the same time as the third blow lands and the noise he makes sounds far too pained.
Tries to collect himself, but somehow it feels too late, can feel himself unravelling. Another blow, and he wishes the priests were counting in a language he understood. Feels a trembling in his thighs, instinctively looks to his nakama for support.
And Zoro’s still staring at him, and a fierce warmth rushes through Sanji as their eyes meet. Jolts him more forcefully than the next blow, and he can’t look away.
Heat and anger and possessiveness, and Sanji’s heart skips a beat.
Feels something snap, something shake loose, and he barely notices, let alone cares, as it begins to bubble within him. Flushed and open-mouthed, and lost in the look Zoro is giving him. Feels the tension between them more acutely than he feels the pain in his own muscles, and when the next blow lands directly across his ass, he groans and licks his lips. Watches as Zoro echoes the motion, tongue dragging slowly across moist flesh. Just the two of them, everything and everyone else melting away under the intensity of their fire, and Sanji bares his teeth and embraces the challenge and rocks back into the next blow, rides it, and pants around his growl. Sees the way Zoro’s hand grips at the hilt of Kitetsu, whitened knuckles, image flicking into his mind of it being Zoro behind him, Zoro’s arm raised, and Sanji pants and trembles and drops his gaze as the final blow rings in his ears.
*
The singing has long since faded, and the bellows of Luffy, Usopp and Chopper’s attempts to make up for not understanding the words of the tribal song by being the loudest are lost under the sound of his own heartbeat raging in his ears. Sanji’s fingers rake down Zoro’s back, digging into the flesh, drawing an answering shudder that rips through Zoro and travels between them, legs entangled, hips thrusting together. The bark of the tree is rough against his back, thin material of his shirt doing nothing to cushion the way it grates between his shoulder blades, yet Sanji clings to the sensation. Lets it pull him back, lets it keep him on the edge, lets it distract him from the pain of Zoro’s hands at his ass, squeezing and groping, desperately possessive. He whines at Zoro grips him, pulls him onto tiptoes, drives their groins together, and it throbs, the relentless abuse to the already bruising flesh of his ass, but he can’t seem to find the strength to break free.
The night air tastes like the ocean and like alcohol, and Zoro’s mouth is fierce against his own, merciless, and Sanji feels ravaged, feels taken, and can’t help but arch his neck into it. Zoro’s hands paw at him, bringing the dull ache into something sharper, twisting it into something exquisite, and Sanji doesn’t want to associate that distinct pain with sex and Zoro but already his mind is struggling to separate them.
They’re far enough from the clearing that nobody should be able to hear them, but Zoro’s mouth over his swallows any noise that escapes Sanji’s throat.
It’s near-brutal, like a punishment, the way Zoro’s hands grab at him, rough and angry and, Sanji suspects, purposeful in the way they aggravate every bruise. A reminder and a reprimand, and Sanji knows he doesn’t owe Zoro anything, there were six votes for him, Zoro had a hand in that choice. But he’s not stopping it, doing nothing to squirm away, and traces of earlier adrenaline surge through him, lace around the arousal coursing through his veins, and Sanji knows he’s trembling, clinging to Zoro and gasping. Each spike of pain from Zoro’s fingers twirls around the rhythm of Zoro’s hips grinding against him, and Sanji doesn’t quite know why he isn’t fighting it, knows tomorrow he’ll kick Zoro twice as hard. But Zoro has control, complete control, and Sanji’s wrists still burn faintly from the rope, and he can’t help himself, can’t stop the way he cries out in surprise as Zoro’s palm suddenly falls heavily and painfully across his ass, and Sanji falls over the edge, warmth rushing through him, embarrassment and lust colouring his cheeks, the sound still ringing in his ears as he spills his release.
*
The light of dawn barely colours faces pale from lack of sleep, but Nami has all the clues she needs to find her treasure and the anxious manner and steely look on her face that usually indicates a storm is coming, although she insists the weather promises to be fine.
The Straw Hats troop from the Temple, Luffy shouting enthusiastic goodbyes between each yawn. Nami leads the group with long strides, Robin beside her, quietly observing Nami’s agitated mood.
Sanji trails behind, too drained to find the strength to snap at Zoro for falling back and matching his pace, a huge scowl drawn across his features.
He knows he’ll feel better as soon as he’s able to help Nami-san find the precious jewel and wait for the rewards she’ll no doubt bestow upon him.
He keeps his shoulders carefully hunched, hands in his pockets and cigarette dangling between his lips, but he doesn’t need to look up to know exactly who stands at the final door. He can sense the size of the man, and the same aura from the previous night tickles at his senses; the man is a warrior, and a powerful one at that.
Not that something like that could ever stop Zoro picking a fight.
Whatever it is that Zoro sees and doesn’t like in the man’s face is gone by the time Sanji looks up in surprise at the telltale sound of a katana being drawn from its sheath. And then the air is filled with angry shouts, Luffy’s delighted whoops, and Nami screaming “Zoro, I told you last night to leave it!” Which Sanji doesn’t entirely know, or want to know, how to interpret.
Fandom: One Piece
Pairing: Zoro/Sanji
Rating: NC-17
Words: 2170
Timeline: Post-Alabasta
Notes: Spanking. For 50_smutlets, prompt "paddle".
Summary: For the good of the crew.
“I don’t like this,” Usopp frets, glancing at the priests and their hungry gazes. “Why are we doing this? We should just leave.”
“Not an option,” Nami informs him sharply, walking around their circle and collecting each piece of paper her nakama hands to her. “We need them to tell us where the Sacred Jewel of Sessuale is, and they’ll only trust us if we’re officially initiated into their cult.”
“But what kind of initiation is it? Why do they only need one volunteer?” Usopp insists, and he lowers his voice and motions for her to come closer. “I don’t like the way they’re staring at us. I bet it’s going to be something… Well, I don’t know, something…”
“Perverse?” Robin supplies helpfully, her smile bemused.
“Well, yes, exactly,” Usopp hisses, blushing.
“Can’t be helped,” Nami sighs, snatching Luffy’s piece of paper before he doodles over it any more.
“Yeah, she’s got her eye on that jewel, and throwing one of us to those vultures is a worthy sacrifice,” Zoro snorts.
“Don’t talk about Nami-san like that!” Sanji growls instantly. “That jewel should belong to Nami-san. If it’s as beautiful as the legend says it is, then it’s only natural it should be in her stunning and graceful hands.”
“Thank you, Sanji-kun,” Nami says distractedly, shuffling the seven pieces of paper. “We’re all agreed, right? No recounts, no do-overs. First vote decides the volunteer. End of story.”
Everybody nods, and Zoro looks for a moment like he’s a breath away from telling her not to cheat, but clearly decides it better to hold his tongue. Nami nods back, all business, and holds up the first sheet of paper.
“One vote for ‘the shitty marimo-head’,” she reads, and Zoro glares at Sanji, who glares right back. “And one vote for, no, wait, two, oh, hang on...” She pauses to shuffle through the rest, and Usopp chews on his fingernails, Chopper anxiously clutching at his hip.
“Well, I guess that’s decided then,” Nami mutters, before looking back up at them. “One vote for Zoro. Six votes for Sanji.”
There’s a long pause, where everybody seems to look everywhere but at Sanji.
“What the hell?” he explodes, and the priests mutter among themselves and grin. “You can’t all have voted for me?!”
Nami silently hands him the papers. Zoro smirks, and Robin just keeps smiling serenely. Luffy shrugs, nonplussed, Chopper suddenly seems very interested in his hat, and Usopp whistles off-key and stares at the darkened sky.
“But. But!” Sanji whines, barely seeming to notice the comforting hand Nami lays on his shoulder. He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose, and his free hand fishes into his pocket for his cigarettes. “Well, fuck.”
*
They’d offered him a blindfold, and Sanji had been tempted. Shut it all out, not be able to see the way his nakama stared at him, mixture of pity and curiosity in their eyes, sprinkle of guilt. But Sanji doesn’t shy away from anything in battle, and this is a kind of battle, although he’s not fighting them. Battle against his instincts, in a way, because every part of him is telling him to tear the stupid ropes off of his wrists, use his teeth if necessary. Run away, and don’t look back, and it’s a physical ache to ignore that part of him, the part he so heavily relies on to protect him.
At least he can be thankful for his wonderful Nami-san, and her sharp eye. She’d watched as they’d thrown the odd eight-sided dice, seen the way they landed, adding up to fifteen, and had immediately proclaimed the dice to be weighted. They’d made the mistake of arguing, at first, but Luffy, Zoro and Chopper in Heavy Point standing behind Nami had quickly seen them scurrying to find alternative dice.
Eight is better than fifteen, Sanji tells himself, although he still wishes it could have been two.
He lets them guide him onto the alter, pointedly doesn’t look at his nakama. Stripped to the waist, but at least they let him keep his trousers, and he doesn’t even want to know what the symbols they’d painted on his arms and chest mean.
Three priests stand with out-stretched arms, chanting to the heavens, and another stands beside Sanji and whispers quiet instructions in a deceptively kind voice. “Hold your wrists out in front of you. That’s it, now loop them over the Idol. Yes, like that. I’m going to flick this part here, see, and it will hold the ropes in place, so you won’t be able to move your wrists anymore. Now, step backwards. Yes, so you’re bending at the waist. Further than that. Good child.”
Sanji scowls, although the priest seems immune to his anger. Sighs deeply, stares at the stone floor. Manages to keep from cursing when the priest leans forward to pluck the cigarette from Sanji’s mouth, and then it’s just him and the chanting, and the stares of his nakama searing at his skin.
*
The ritual seems to take forever. Different coloured powders thrown onto the floor, onto the other priests, onto Sanji’s back. He feels himself shift from embarrassment to frustration to boredom, steals a glance at the others through the hair that hangs over his face. Robin seems fascinated, and Chopper is whispering to her, clearly asking questions. Nami has that intent look in her eyes, like fire and steel, and Usopp looks vaguely bored, Luffy snoring lightly against his shoulder. And Zoro is staring right back at Sanji, expression unreadable, and Sanji has to drop his eyes and feels the tension crawl back into his spine.
The chanting finishes quite suddenly, and Sanji bites his lip as the steady beat of the drum turns into something faster, more frantic. And then there’s someone walking towards him, coming up behind him, and he has to twist and see. Robed figure, hood pulled over his face, but he’s bigger than the other priests, much bigger, and that warrior instinct Sanji is trying so hard to ignore informs him that this guy is a fighter.
The paddle is held loosely in his left hand, and Sanji inhales sharply and braces himself.
The first slap hits him across the back of his thighs, just below his ass, and he grits his teeth against the noise that jumps in his throat. Rocks slightly, tries to relax his muscles, but he’s too tense to do so. Colour spreads across his face, and he ducks it lower, trying to find further shelter behind his hair.
The second blow comes too quickly, and he’s not expecting it. Sharp and sudden heat, the sting of it instantly giving way to a deeper burn. It forces a grunt from him, which turns into a growl, aimed more at himself than anything. Jerking forward onto his tiptoes, managing to regain his balance with the grip he has on the stone Idol, but he pushes back on to the heels of his feet at the same time as the third blow lands and the noise he makes sounds far too pained.
Tries to collect himself, but somehow it feels too late, can feel himself unravelling. Another blow, and he wishes the priests were counting in a language he understood. Feels a trembling in his thighs, instinctively looks to his nakama for support.
And Zoro’s still staring at him, and a fierce warmth rushes through Sanji as their eyes meet. Jolts him more forcefully than the next blow, and he can’t look away.
Heat and anger and possessiveness, and Sanji’s heart skips a beat.
Feels something snap, something shake loose, and he barely notices, let alone cares, as it begins to bubble within him. Flushed and open-mouthed, and lost in the look Zoro is giving him. Feels the tension between them more acutely than he feels the pain in his own muscles, and when the next blow lands directly across his ass, he groans and licks his lips. Watches as Zoro echoes the motion, tongue dragging slowly across moist flesh. Just the two of them, everything and everyone else melting away under the intensity of their fire, and Sanji bares his teeth and embraces the challenge and rocks back into the next blow, rides it, and pants around his growl. Sees the way Zoro’s hand grips at the hilt of Kitetsu, whitened knuckles, image flicking into his mind of it being Zoro behind him, Zoro’s arm raised, and Sanji pants and trembles and drops his gaze as the final blow rings in his ears.
*
The singing has long since faded, and the bellows of Luffy, Usopp and Chopper’s attempts to make up for not understanding the words of the tribal song by being the loudest are lost under the sound of his own heartbeat raging in his ears. Sanji’s fingers rake down Zoro’s back, digging into the flesh, drawing an answering shudder that rips through Zoro and travels between them, legs entangled, hips thrusting together. The bark of the tree is rough against his back, thin material of his shirt doing nothing to cushion the way it grates between his shoulder blades, yet Sanji clings to the sensation. Lets it pull him back, lets it keep him on the edge, lets it distract him from the pain of Zoro’s hands at his ass, squeezing and groping, desperately possessive. He whines at Zoro grips him, pulls him onto tiptoes, drives their groins together, and it throbs, the relentless abuse to the already bruising flesh of his ass, but he can’t seem to find the strength to break free.
The night air tastes like the ocean and like alcohol, and Zoro’s mouth is fierce against his own, merciless, and Sanji feels ravaged, feels taken, and can’t help but arch his neck into it. Zoro’s hands paw at him, bringing the dull ache into something sharper, twisting it into something exquisite, and Sanji doesn’t want to associate that distinct pain with sex and Zoro but already his mind is struggling to separate them.
They’re far enough from the clearing that nobody should be able to hear them, but Zoro’s mouth over his swallows any noise that escapes Sanji’s throat.
It’s near-brutal, like a punishment, the way Zoro’s hands grab at him, rough and angry and, Sanji suspects, purposeful in the way they aggravate every bruise. A reminder and a reprimand, and Sanji knows he doesn’t owe Zoro anything, there were six votes for him, Zoro had a hand in that choice. But he’s not stopping it, doing nothing to squirm away, and traces of earlier adrenaline surge through him, lace around the arousal coursing through his veins, and Sanji knows he’s trembling, clinging to Zoro and gasping. Each spike of pain from Zoro’s fingers twirls around the rhythm of Zoro’s hips grinding against him, and Sanji doesn’t quite know why he isn’t fighting it, knows tomorrow he’ll kick Zoro twice as hard. But Zoro has control, complete control, and Sanji’s wrists still burn faintly from the rope, and he can’t help himself, can’t stop the way he cries out in surprise as Zoro’s palm suddenly falls heavily and painfully across his ass, and Sanji falls over the edge, warmth rushing through him, embarrassment and lust colouring his cheeks, the sound still ringing in his ears as he spills his release.
*
The light of dawn barely colours faces pale from lack of sleep, but Nami has all the clues she needs to find her treasure and the anxious manner and steely look on her face that usually indicates a storm is coming, although she insists the weather promises to be fine.
The Straw Hats troop from the Temple, Luffy shouting enthusiastic goodbyes between each yawn. Nami leads the group with long strides, Robin beside her, quietly observing Nami’s agitated mood.
Sanji trails behind, too drained to find the strength to snap at Zoro for falling back and matching his pace, a huge scowl drawn across his features.
He knows he’ll feel better as soon as he’s able to help Nami-san find the precious jewel and wait for the rewards she’ll no doubt bestow upon him.
He keeps his shoulders carefully hunched, hands in his pockets and cigarette dangling between his lips, but he doesn’t need to look up to know exactly who stands at the final door. He can sense the size of the man, and the same aura from the previous night tickles at his senses; the man is a warrior, and a powerful one at that.
Not that something like that could ever stop Zoro picking a fight.
Whatever it is that Zoro sees and doesn’t like in the man’s face is gone by the time Sanji looks up in surprise at the telltale sound of a katana being drawn from its sheath. And then the air is filled with angry shouts, Luffy’s delighted whoops, and Nami screaming “Zoro, I told you last night to leave it!” Which Sanji doesn’t entirely know, or want to know, how to interpret.