[ the stupid questions are relentless. though he supposes if zoro came back looking not like himself — which he's not sure how that would even look like since zoro is the steadiest person he knows, comforting like a familiar, sort of picturesque boulder — sanji would also have questions. he'd be pissed in a roundabout way. or maybe a straightforward way. he's not really sure which one, since he does both in equal measures. but zoro comes back looking like shit every day and doesn't bother hiding it. he likes the fight, enjoys the way it heats his blood and gives him purpose or some shit.
sanji can't explain that to him learning to fight was a necessity. it was that or to keep being afraid to die, keep jumping at ghosts, keep his broken bones and black eyes until one day his body stopped bouncing back. he doesn't like doing it. there's a difference between what he and zoro do in their off time, just letting off steam, and fighting to survive his family.
he's not sure if zoro understands that. he's definitely sure he doesn't want to explain it to him. he's more than happy to let zoro assume his family is dead. ]
Didn't get their name or number, but next time I'll ask them out.
[ the rest of his huffy quips are quickly swallowed down into an unwilling whimper, his chest rising sharply as he's driven back against the wall. his hips shudder as if his cock can't decide whether it wants to get away or push into zoro's touch. it hurts in a way that he ends up being unable to pull away from.
spill. fuck, if only. ]
I can’t. [ zoro is still talking about a name but sanji has moved on to bigger problems, like the state of his cock, his pulse rocketing wildly beneath zoro’s tongue. he barely feels the pressure on the bruises at his throat, all sensation diverted directly to his dick. ] I’ve been trying.
[ there’s some unspoken rule that whatever happens in the shower stays in the shower, so sanji being a pathetic mess shouldn’t have consequences right now. he hopes. his fingers dig into the muscle of zoro’s bicep, his cheeks hot. ]
I’ve gotta cook. [ a protest between gasps, as if he doesn’t have time for this despite the way he rocks into zoro’s hand, pearly precome just barely, stubbornly eking from his tip. his eyes squeeze shut, a moan tangled in his throat. ] Homework.
no subject
sanji can't explain that to him learning to fight was a necessity. it was that or to keep being afraid to die, keep jumping at ghosts, keep his broken bones and black eyes until one day his body stopped bouncing back. he doesn't like doing it. there's a difference between what he and zoro do in their off time, just letting off steam, and fighting to survive his family.
he's not sure if zoro understands that. he's definitely sure he doesn't want to explain it to him. he's more than happy to let zoro assume his family is dead. ]
Didn't get their name or number, but next time I'll ask them out.
[ the rest of his huffy quips are quickly swallowed down into an unwilling whimper, his chest rising sharply as he's driven back against the wall. his hips shudder as if his cock can't decide whether it wants to get away or push into zoro's touch. it hurts in a way that he ends up being unable to pull away from.
spill. fuck, if only. ]
I can’t. [ zoro is still talking about a name but sanji has moved on to bigger problems, like the state of his cock, his pulse rocketing wildly beneath zoro’s tongue. he barely feels the pressure on the bruises at his throat, all sensation diverted directly to his dick. ] I’ve been trying.
[ there’s some unspoken rule that whatever happens in the shower stays in the shower, so sanji being a pathetic mess shouldn’t have consequences right now. he hopes. his fingers dig into the muscle of zoro’s bicep, his cheeks hot. ]
I’ve gotta cook. [ a protest between gasps, as if he doesn’t have time for this despite the way he rocks into zoro’s hand, pearly precome just barely, stubbornly eking from his tip. his eyes squeeze shut, a moan tangled in his throat. ] Homework.