Salmon Pink (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
salmon_pink) wrote2007-06-14 07:18 pm
salmon_pink) wrote2007-06-14 07:18 pm
(One Piece) Offence Mechanism
Title: Offence Mechanism
Fandom: One Piece
Pairing: Zoro/Sanji
Rating: NC-17
Words: 4122
Notes: For the Sex Pollen challenge at![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
sanji_is_a_slut.
Summary: The fight's just warming up when they're interrupted. By a plant. Which can't bode well.
Sanji can’t remember what they’re fighting about, not that it’s important. He knows that Zoro called him some choice names, and he may have insulted Nami at some point, so whatever the reason, it’s a good one. Zoro probably started it too, shitty bastard that he is.
The sole of Sanji’s foot blocks the katana’s path, and it pisses him off even more that Zoro is trying to hit him with the back of the blade.
It’s that usual rush of energy, adrenaline and exertion, swords and legs and harsh words, the only form of communication that rings true between them. Just another fight, because Zoro had been lost and Sanji was the one to find him and, well, maybe Sanji had started it after all because he remembers taunting about lack of direction. But Zoro escalated it, no doubt, probably tried for the first blow, because that’s the kind of asshole he is.
It’s a heady rhythm, something his body recognises and reacts to, sometimes before his brain can catch up to it, but it works for them, it’s practically natural for them.
Except Zoro’s eyes flying wide, his mouth dropping open, isn’t natural, not at all.
Sanji’s body reacts before his mind can, too lost in the sensation of the battle, and he spins round, leg raised, to see just what could have caused that kind of expression on Zoro’s face.
“Get back,” Zoro shouts, suddenly beside him, and Sanji’s pretty sure Zoro’s talking to him, but he’s too busy staring.
He’s never seen a plant with teeth before, petals gaping like a dripping mouth, and it’s the size of Chopper in Heavy Point, and Sanji hopes that Nami and Robin are safely on the Merry and that Usopp hasn’t gotten himself eaten or anything. And Sanji hopes he doesn’t get himself eaten.
And then Zoro’s hand is grabbing his arm, shoving him roughly backwards, sword slicing through the air with a sharp hiss that sends a shiver down Sanji’s spine, and the plant screams.
Then everything is a fog of yellow and gold, and Sanji yelps and tries to cover his face, and he hears Zoro cough and retch, and his first thought is blood and gore, except it’s a powder and he just managed to inhale a lungful.
Everything spins and lurches for a moment, and Sanji rubs at his eyes and feels cold and sick.
When the air clears, he’s kneeling, although he doesn’t remember falling, can’t remember the feeling of his knees slamming against the ground. Zoro’s sprawled on his back, staring up at the sky, breathing heavily. The plant is a quivering mess of stalk and sap.
Sanji wants to stand up, but his legs don’t quite want to, so he settles for growling and brushing the yellow powder off his suit. It doesn’t stick to the fabric or his skin, for which he’s thankful, but it tastes like aniseed and nicotine, which might be a combination he’d like under normal circumstances, but he’s not entirely convinced it isn’t poisonous.
Zoro lurches stiffly onto his elbows and shakes his head. Yellow and gold powder flies everywhere.
“You always just stand there when something tries to eat you?” he grumbles, scrubbing a hand through his short hair.
Sanji grits his teeth, and wills his legs to behave as he pulls himself to his feet.
“Fuck you!” he practically shouts, and the sound echoes in his own ears. “I would have killed it, you just saw it first!”
“Whatever,” Zoro snorts, much slower to get to his own feet, and Sanji refuses to be worried that Zoro took most of the blast, that there’s far more powder covering him than there is covering Sanji.
“Asshole,” he snarls back, unbalanced, sounding the other side of desperate. “Why does everything have to be a fucking competition with you?”
Zoro shoots him a glare before turning to prod at the plant’s remains with his now-sheathed katana. “Hypocrite,” he murmurs.
“Big word for an idiot like you,” Sanji snaps back, and the insult, his voice, everything sounds wrong. “Don’t strain yourself!”
Zoro spins around again, and his hands shove against Sanji’s chest, and Sanji has a moment to wonder why Zoro didn’t just draw his sword on him. And then he has a moment to panic when he finds himself shoving back without thought.
Zoro blinks at him, eyes flickering from the hands pressed against his chest, Sanji’s hands, hands that shouldn’t be used for fighting, to the expression on Sanji’s face, and Zoro looks confused and slightly panicked and maybe a little concerned. And it’s that last emotion that has Sanji growling, dropping down into a spin, foot sweeping out to catch the back of Zoro’s legs.
Zoro’s arm snaps out, grabbing at Sanji’s sleeve, and they both land in a heap.
Sanji needs a second to figure out what the hell is going on, but Zoro doesn’t give him that. Uses his hold on Sanji’s arm to drag him closer, and Sanji tries to roll away, but Zoro just follows him and he ends up on his back with Zoro snarling down at him.
Something flares in his blood, something he doesn’t understand, and it’s different to the usual spike of heat he feels when they fight, but it’s just as insistent that he mustn’t let Zoro win.
They roll around frantically, Zoro trying to use his upper body strength to pin Sanji, Sanji using the strength of his legs to flip them over each time. Sanji’s vaguely aware of them rolling over the plant, which twitches and whispers, and there’s an emotion coiling inside of his chest that he doesn’t recognise. Everything feels like it’s shaking, except he doesn’t think he is, thinks maybe it’s just the world around them that’s moving, and he feels unstable, like the ground beneath him can’t offer him the support he needs. He claws at Zoro, at his arms, dirt and powder smeared everywhere, and the taste of aniseed burns at the roof of his mouth, and Sanji realises he’s making a noise, low and constant, although he doesn’t know what it is, doesn’t know if Zoro can even hear it.
There’s an unfocused anger in Zoro’s eyes that Sanji’s never seen before, and he looks a little lost, and Sanji can’t tell if his heart is racing because of his growing panic or because of something else, but he just knows something bad is about to happen, and that he can’t stop it.
“Fuck,” Zoro growls, and Sanji gasps, because the voice is right in his ear.
His back hits the ground again, and Zoro’s hand tangles in his hair, yanks his head back suddenly enough that Sanji whines, and the sound raises the hair on his own arms.
And then Zoro’s teeth sink into the exposed skin of his neck, and the floor shudders beneath him.
Something hot enough to be painful lances up his spine, and Zoro’s tongue swipes over the bite, and Sanji wants to tell him to stop, that the powder is poisonous. That something isn’t right, and Sanji thinks he might be dying, but all he can do is gasp and squeeze his eyes shut and his fingers have to be leaving bruises in Zoro’s arm.
“Stop squirming,” Zoro mumbles against his throat, and Sanji didn’t even know he was moving, didn’t even know he was breathing anymore.
Zoro’s lips, his tongue, burn their way up his neck, and Zoro’s nose presses against the hair above his ear. He can feel Zoro’s breath scorching at him, shallow and uneven, and the grip in his hair tightens and releases without pattern, without reason.
Sanji’s back arches, and Zoro presses down against him, and it’s like some unspoken agreement, and then it’s like fire and his worst nightmare and Sanji’s groaning and trying to buck up against it, but Zoro’s weight is pinning him to the floor, and Sanji’s never been hard and so ready and so needy.
And he doesn’t understand why.
Zoro moans into his ear, low and guttural and barely human, and Sanji whimpers and spreads his legs without realising it, and Zoro just holds them there and shakes.
“Stop it,” Zoro whispers, and he sounds panicked, and that only makes Sanji’s heart leap higher in his throat. “Fuck, stop it.”
Sanji’s arms wrap around him, his hands grip the back of Zoro’s t-shirt, fist in the material, and he pants opened-mouthed and it feels like he’s drowning.
Then Zoro rolls his hips.
It’s like a flash, a punch, a sword slicing through him, and it’s like nothing he’s ever felt before, and Zoro is hot and hard against him, and Sanji cries out before he can stop himself. Friction, rough, layers of cloth and so much heat, and Zoro doesn’t stop, and Sanji’s leg hooks around the back of Zoro’s thigh, tries to get the leverage to push up into it. Needs to push against Zoro, needs to push away the feeling and needs to get more.
Not enough, already not enough, and Zoro grunts against him, puts all of his weight, all of his strength, into grinding Sanji against the ground, and Sanji can’t even talk, can’t even make a noise, because it feels closer to what he needs, but it’s not quite there. Feels his back arch into it, and Zoro’s hand releases his hair, slides underneath him, palm solid against the small of his back.
And that’s closer to whatever Sanji needs, because his arms are sliding up and around Zoro’s neck in an instant, trying to pull him closer. Chests pressed together, and Zoro’s hand slides lower still, past his waist to grip at his ass, almost hard enough to hurt, and he jerks Sanji’s hips up forcefully as his own hips thrust down.
“Oh, oh shit,” Sanji gasps, and it doesn’t sound like his voice. Sounds tight and pained and so hoarse, and Zoro just groans.
Alignment, fuck, he can feel Zoro’s cock through his trousers, pressed against his own, can feel the way it jerks against him with each frantic buck of his hips, and they’re almost close enough but not quite, and Sanji realises it doesn’t matter, even though it does. Because he can’t hold on, trembling in Zoro’s arms, can only whine and shudder and try to buck against the weight above him, and Zoro’s hand squeezes at his ass, the other presses into the dirt by Sanji’s head as he pulls back enough to look down, and he’s flushed and sweating and his teeth are bared and it’s suddenly too much.
Sanji practically howls, knows he sounds like he’s in pain, and the intensity of it does hurt, and it claws at him, shreds at him.
“Are you -?” Zoro moans, and the words trail off into something more animal, something feral, and Sanji feels Zoro pulse against him, feels the echo of it in himself, as his release shakes at him with all the ferocity in Zoro’s eyes. And Sanji can’t even see any more, vision fuzzy and off-kilter, and Zoro collapses on top of him as he drops him to the ground.
Zoro hisses above him, and Sanji tries to hold on to his consciousness, and he’s aware that Zoro’s still hard before it sinks in that he is too.
The world around him sways in time with his pulse, time stands still and speeds up and lurches, and Sanji can’t stop trembling.
“Plant,” he gasps, and the word feels like sandpaper against his throat.
“Powder,” Zoro agrees.
For one long and terrifying moment, Sanji thinks Zoro won’t move. That he’ll keep him pinned to the ground, and Sanji will never be able to escape, and that he’ll never stop needing.
And then Zoro lurches backwards, rolls onto his feet in one awkward movement.
The heat leaves him with Zoro’s body, the strain of it, the maddening desire. He can think more clearly, can keep a hold of his thoughts. Stumbles up, one eye on Zoro, and he can see control settling back into his shoulders.
“We need to wash this off,” Zoro mutters, brushing streaks of yellow off his arm.
“There was a stream near by,” Sanji nods shakily.
He turns in the direction he vaguely remembers it being. A quick glance behind him sees Zoro heading the opposite way.
“This way,” he manages, and there’s no venom to his voice, no argument as Zoro turns to follow him.
He kind of wants to run, but he doesn’t have the strength. Isn’t so much walking as stumbling through the thick jungle, and knows from the heavy footfalls behind him that Zoro is struggling as well. Can practically feel Zoro’s heat behind him, but with a distance between them he feels like he can breathe. Feels like he can resist, and that just feels wrong and frightening, because it feels out of his control.
The sound of running water hits him like a physical blow, and he almost wants to cry, and he can see it, and he tries to rush but his legs won’t let him.
His feet tangle underneath him and he yelps and trips, and Zoro’s hand is on his arm to steady him in an instant.
And it’s exactly the wrong thing to do.
The stream is right there, Sanji can almost taste the cool water, is close enough to see the bank disappear as the water deepens, close enough to see the reflection of the clouds above them.
But Zoro’s hand on his arm is a searing brand of wrong, and it’s too late.
It’s like his body is being jump-started, it’s against his will, a work of instinct, and Zoro’s eyes flash with pain, shoulders shaking, but he can’t stop himself any more than Sanji can. Sanji’s back thumps against the nearest tree, and Zoro’s all over him, and the scent of it, sex and Zoro and himself, just drags him back.
“No,” Zoro moans, head dropping against Sanji’s shoulder, hips wasting no time in the way they roll against him, and they shouldn’t feel so familiar already.
One hand grips Sanji’s hip, drags him closer, while the other slams against the tree hard enough that it shakes. “No,” he growls again, and Sanji can only stare with wide eyes and realise frantically that he might just be watching Zoro break.
He tries to push him away, but his hands won’t obey him, his fingers only grip at Zoro’s t-shirt, and this time he knows he’s trembling instantly, already too gone. Too sensitised and too close to giving up, and the sense of inevitable has already crept into his spine, and Sanji wants to blame it on the powder because it’s easier than blaming it on himself.
Zoro’s hips pin him against the tree, and Sanji only arches and whines and needs more.
And Zoro shudders once, all over. Sanji feels it vibrate through every place they’re pressed together, feels the frustration there, and feels Zoro duck down, grabbing at the back of Sanji’s thighs, and he can only hold on as Zoro shifts him higher up the trunk of the tree. Arms around Zoro’s neck, legs around Zoro’s waist, and Sanji’s forehead presses against Zoro’s own, and he closes his eyes and it almost tastes like defeat on his tongue.
“Don’t,” Zoro whispers, and then Sanji feels himself swung around, but it feels detached, strange, because all his body can focus on is the way his cock feels as it rubs against Zoro’s stomach. Hard solid muscle, thin t-shirt doing nothing to hide defined ripples, and Sanji can’t thrust against it when he’s being held up like he is.
He hears water, and suddenly it seems louder. There’s something moving through it, like legs wading deeper, and it’s right below him. And it only hits him that his back isn’t pressed against the tree in the split second before Zoro drops him into the stream.
For a moment, he doesn’t know which way is up. Feels the water shove against him as Zoro submerges beside him and he reaches out blindly, and Zoro’s hand wraps around his wrist and pulls him back to the surface.
Stands up, spluttering, water lapping against his thighs, before he thinks better of it and drops down, scrubbing furiously at his skin, his hair, his suit, and the water turns yellow around them.
“That’s enough,” Zoro says finally, and Sanji can’t look at him, can only listen to the water rippling and splashing as Zoro wades back to the bank.
Because, yes, it’s enough, the heat has gone, the foreign feeling of manipulation and unnatural arousal. But that only leaves something more genuine, and the cool water’s done nothing to soothe his hormones, and Sanji’s still hard and he might just cry, because what else is there to do but settle for a different form of humiliation.
He stands in the middle of the stream, water over his knees, soaked trousers doing nothing to hide his arousal, and refuses to turn around, praying that Zoro might just decide that the best way to forget what just happened is to go the fuck away.
So, of course, Zoro begins to wade back into the water, because he always seems to know exactly how to piss Sanji off.
Except Sanji can’t be pissed off when he’s completely mortified, and he hears Zoro curse but that doesn’t stop him trying to push through the water and get to the other side of the stream before Zoro can reach him.
Zoro shouldn’t be able to catch him, except Sanji’s legs are still shaking and he feels dizzy and flushed, despite the cool water, and Zoro’s hands clamp down on his shoulders. And Sanji doesn’t have the energy to fight.
“Let me go,” he mumbles, and there’s nothing, no emotion to his voice. Just strain and exhaustion.
Zoro doesn’t answer, just yanks at one shoulder, spins him around. Stares at him, thankfully doesn’t stare down, and Sanji refuses to make eye contact and tries to hide behind his hair.
“We don’t talk about this. Ever,” Zoro sighs by way of explanation, and then his leg kicks out, knocks the back of Sanji’s ankle, and it’s clumsy and awkward, the impact dulled by the water, but Sanji’s balance has long since left him and he falls back anyway.
The water’s shallower closer to the bank, and Sanji scrambles backwards on his elbows until his torso is entirely out of the water. Faint feeling of panic creeping back into his system as Zoro kneels between his sprawled thighs, and he can’t help the way he has to glance up. But there’s no trace of the earlier desperation, there’s nothing but focus and Zoro there, nothing in his eyes that says Zoro is in anything but complete control.
Zoro’s hand presses against Sanji’s crotch, and Sanji falls back against the bank, head thudding softly against the grass, and Zoro’s free hand covers his mouth before he can cry out or protest.
Zoro’s hand squeezes between his legs and his eyes narrow. “Not ever,” he repeats.
Sanji stares back, blush already creeping down his neck, cock twitching underneath Zoro’s broad palm, and he refuses to nod but he already knows Zoro sees what he needs to in Sanji’s eyes.
It’s different, rushed in a different way, and somehow everything is more real, yet it feels more like a dream than before. Zoro leaning over him, shifting until their hips are pressed together, but his movements are more controlled, the way he rolls his hips more steady. Working with a clear rhythm, building the pace slowly, and Sanji bites at his lip and wills himself not to make a sound. Zoro rests his forearm on the grass beside his head and stares at Sanji’s chin, and there’s a concentration painted across his face. The sparks that shoot up Sanji’s spine, the heat that pools in his stomach, it’s all natural, it’s all Zoro and him, and it makes him shiver and it makes it more intense. Knows with shocking clarity that they have no excuse this time, although they’ll both try to make one, not for each other but themselves, and he just doesn’t care. Feels like nothing makes sense, and he can’t even taste the powder any more.
Zoro’s hips pull away, and Sanji gasps and feels weak for it, and then Zoro’s hand is between them. Uses his weight to push Sanji back when he automatically jerks up, confusion, hesitation, fear making him wary.
The sound of his belt unbuckling seems infinitely loud.
“Quicker,” Zoro grunts, and he’s not looking at Sanji’s face, or at what he’s doing.
The zipper being eased down is like a form of pressure he hadn’t even noticed being released, and Sanji wraps his arms around Zoro, buries his face in Zoro’s neck, and whines at the first slide of flesh against flesh.
It’s so different, so much hotter than it has a right to be, feels the heat radiating from Zoro, even though he knows the stream should have cooled them both. Still wet, slightly sticky as well, and Sanji bites at the soaked cotton of Zoro’s t-shirt and just holds on.
Urgency creeps back into it, back into the way Zoro’s hips jerk. Sensation getting away from him before he pulls it back, and there’s an obvious increase in tempo, and Sanji’s legs wrap around Zoro’s hips and if he had more strength he might just hurt Zoro, but instead Zoro only groans and rolls against him more frantically. Sanji had thought he’d been able to feel everything before, but it’s only without any layer of clothing between them that he realises before was nothing, and it’s painfully intimate, and he recognises the warning signs but he’s powerless to stop them. Feeling Zoro jolt and twitch and feeling himself tremble and it’s too fast, but he already knows Zoro’s right there with him, and he shouldn’t know that, but he does. Recognises the change in Zoro’s breathing, the noise that rumbles in his chest, and it only has him clinging tighter to Zoro’s neck, and he doesn’t know if it’s better to last or let go.
“Come on,” Zoro growls against him, suddenly enough that Sanji jerks up involuntarily.
Sanji lets go.
Gasps, feels it lurch through him. It hurts in a way, not a sharp pain but a dull ache, over-sensitised, and he can’t quite muffle the noises in his throat. Drawn too taut, shivering and holding on as everything leaves him breathless, and without the fabric between them he can actually feel Zoro’s release and the noise he makes is part-whimper, part-sob. Can’t drop his hold, can‘t will his arms to let go, even when he feels the tension slip out of Zoro, feels the way he catches himself before he can collapse against Sanji. Feels the shake in his shoulders as he supports himself on one arm.
Sanji can’t stop trembling, but he at least manages to piece himself together, pull coherent thought back into himself, before Zoro reaches back and loosens the grip around his neck.
Sanji falls back against the bank, one hand scrabbling awkwardly to tuck himself back in, to zip himself up. The belt is beyond him, so he leaves it unbuckled. Flops one arm over his eyes.
He hears the shift of wet fabric as Zoro collects himself.
It seems like barely a second later, although Sanji’s certain an entire lifetime has passed, when the toe of Zoro’s boot nudges against his thigh.
“I need to make sure they’re okay,” Zoro mutters quietly.
Sanji wants him to be gone, and realises he needs him to stay.
“See you back at the ship,” he says instead.
He waits for movement, but it doesn’t come. And he knows Zoro won’t let him leave it like that, because he never makes anything easy where Sanji’s concerned. But it takes the very last of his strength to pry his arm away from his eyes, and his vision takes a moment to clear before he glances up at Zoro’s face.
Zoro isn’t looking at him, is looking back across the stream.
But when he turns and glances down, there’s something in his eyes that makes Sanji’s pulse quicken, that makes his breath catch, and he should look away but it’s impossible.
“Later,” Zoro says and turns to leave in the vague direction of the beach.
It’s not meant to be a threat, Sanji knows that, but his heartbeat still skips, and he refuses to watch Zoro go, but he already knows it’s not over.
The stream silently washes the powder away, all trace of yellow vanishing beneath the surface.
Fandom: One Piece
Pairing: Zoro/Sanji
Rating: NC-17
Words: 4122
Notes: For the Sex Pollen challenge at
sanji_is_a_slut.Summary: The fight's just warming up when they're interrupted. By a plant. Which can't bode well.
Sanji can’t remember what they’re fighting about, not that it’s important. He knows that Zoro called him some choice names, and he may have insulted Nami at some point, so whatever the reason, it’s a good one. Zoro probably started it too, shitty bastard that he is.
The sole of Sanji’s foot blocks the katana’s path, and it pisses him off even more that Zoro is trying to hit him with the back of the blade.
It’s that usual rush of energy, adrenaline and exertion, swords and legs and harsh words, the only form of communication that rings true between them. Just another fight, because Zoro had been lost and Sanji was the one to find him and, well, maybe Sanji had started it after all because he remembers taunting about lack of direction. But Zoro escalated it, no doubt, probably tried for the first blow, because that’s the kind of asshole he is.
It’s a heady rhythm, something his body recognises and reacts to, sometimes before his brain can catch up to it, but it works for them, it’s practically natural for them.
Except Zoro’s eyes flying wide, his mouth dropping open, isn’t natural, not at all.
Sanji’s body reacts before his mind can, too lost in the sensation of the battle, and he spins round, leg raised, to see just what could have caused that kind of expression on Zoro’s face.
“Get back,” Zoro shouts, suddenly beside him, and Sanji’s pretty sure Zoro’s talking to him, but he’s too busy staring.
He’s never seen a plant with teeth before, petals gaping like a dripping mouth, and it’s the size of Chopper in Heavy Point, and Sanji hopes that Nami and Robin are safely on the Merry and that Usopp hasn’t gotten himself eaten or anything. And Sanji hopes he doesn’t get himself eaten.
And then Zoro’s hand is grabbing his arm, shoving him roughly backwards, sword slicing through the air with a sharp hiss that sends a shiver down Sanji’s spine, and the plant screams.
Then everything is a fog of yellow and gold, and Sanji yelps and tries to cover his face, and he hears Zoro cough and retch, and his first thought is blood and gore, except it’s a powder and he just managed to inhale a lungful.
Everything spins and lurches for a moment, and Sanji rubs at his eyes and feels cold and sick.
When the air clears, he’s kneeling, although he doesn’t remember falling, can’t remember the feeling of his knees slamming against the ground. Zoro’s sprawled on his back, staring up at the sky, breathing heavily. The plant is a quivering mess of stalk and sap.
Sanji wants to stand up, but his legs don’t quite want to, so he settles for growling and brushing the yellow powder off his suit. It doesn’t stick to the fabric or his skin, for which he’s thankful, but it tastes like aniseed and nicotine, which might be a combination he’d like under normal circumstances, but he’s not entirely convinced it isn’t poisonous.
Zoro lurches stiffly onto his elbows and shakes his head. Yellow and gold powder flies everywhere.
“You always just stand there when something tries to eat you?” he grumbles, scrubbing a hand through his short hair.
Sanji grits his teeth, and wills his legs to behave as he pulls himself to his feet.
“Fuck you!” he practically shouts, and the sound echoes in his own ears. “I would have killed it, you just saw it first!”
“Whatever,” Zoro snorts, much slower to get to his own feet, and Sanji refuses to be worried that Zoro took most of the blast, that there’s far more powder covering him than there is covering Sanji.
“Asshole,” he snarls back, unbalanced, sounding the other side of desperate. “Why does everything have to be a fucking competition with you?”
Zoro shoots him a glare before turning to prod at the plant’s remains with his now-sheathed katana. “Hypocrite,” he murmurs.
“Big word for an idiot like you,” Sanji snaps back, and the insult, his voice, everything sounds wrong. “Don’t strain yourself!”
Zoro spins around again, and his hands shove against Sanji’s chest, and Sanji has a moment to wonder why Zoro didn’t just draw his sword on him. And then he has a moment to panic when he finds himself shoving back without thought.
Zoro blinks at him, eyes flickering from the hands pressed against his chest, Sanji’s hands, hands that shouldn’t be used for fighting, to the expression on Sanji’s face, and Zoro looks confused and slightly panicked and maybe a little concerned. And it’s that last emotion that has Sanji growling, dropping down into a spin, foot sweeping out to catch the back of Zoro’s legs.
Zoro’s arm snaps out, grabbing at Sanji’s sleeve, and they both land in a heap.
Sanji needs a second to figure out what the hell is going on, but Zoro doesn’t give him that. Uses his hold on Sanji’s arm to drag him closer, and Sanji tries to roll away, but Zoro just follows him and he ends up on his back with Zoro snarling down at him.
Something flares in his blood, something he doesn’t understand, and it’s different to the usual spike of heat he feels when they fight, but it’s just as insistent that he mustn’t let Zoro win.
They roll around frantically, Zoro trying to use his upper body strength to pin Sanji, Sanji using the strength of his legs to flip them over each time. Sanji’s vaguely aware of them rolling over the plant, which twitches and whispers, and there’s an emotion coiling inside of his chest that he doesn’t recognise. Everything feels like it’s shaking, except he doesn’t think he is, thinks maybe it’s just the world around them that’s moving, and he feels unstable, like the ground beneath him can’t offer him the support he needs. He claws at Zoro, at his arms, dirt and powder smeared everywhere, and the taste of aniseed burns at the roof of his mouth, and Sanji realises he’s making a noise, low and constant, although he doesn’t know what it is, doesn’t know if Zoro can even hear it.
There’s an unfocused anger in Zoro’s eyes that Sanji’s never seen before, and he looks a little lost, and Sanji can’t tell if his heart is racing because of his growing panic or because of something else, but he just knows something bad is about to happen, and that he can’t stop it.
“Fuck,” Zoro growls, and Sanji gasps, because the voice is right in his ear.
His back hits the ground again, and Zoro’s hand tangles in his hair, yanks his head back suddenly enough that Sanji whines, and the sound raises the hair on his own arms.
And then Zoro’s teeth sink into the exposed skin of his neck, and the floor shudders beneath him.
Something hot enough to be painful lances up his spine, and Zoro’s tongue swipes over the bite, and Sanji wants to tell him to stop, that the powder is poisonous. That something isn’t right, and Sanji thinks he might be dying, but all he can do is gasp and squeeze his eyes shut and his fingers have to be leaving bruises in Zoro’s arm.
“Stop squirming,” Zoro mumbles against his throat, and Sanji didn’t even know he was moving, didn’t even know he was breathing anymore.
Zoro’s lips, his tongue, burn their way up his neck, and Zoro’s nose presses against the hair above his ear. He can feel Zoro’s breath scorching at him, shallow and uneven, and the grip in his hair tightens and releases without pattern, without reason.
Sanji’s back arches, and Zoro presses down against him, and it’s like some unspoken agreement, and then it’s like fire and his worst nightmare and Sanji’s groaning and trying to buck up against it, but Zoro’s weight is pinning him to the floor, and Sanji’s never been hard and so ready and so needy.
And he doesn’t understand why.
Zoro moans into his ear, low and guttural and barely human, and Sanji whimpers and spreads his legs without realising it, and Zoro just holds them there and shakes.
“Stop it,” Zoro whispers, and he sounds panicked, and that only makes Sanji’s heart leap higher in his throat. “Fuck, stop it.”
Sanji’s arms wrap around him, his hands grip the back of Zoro’s t-shirt, fist in the material, and he pants opened-mouthed and it feels like he’s drowning.
Then Zoro rolls his hips.
It’s like a flash, a punch, a sword slicing through him, and it’s like nothing he’s ever felt before, and Zoro is hot and hard against him, and Sanji cries out before he can stop himself. Friction, rough, layers of cloth and so much heat, and Zoro doesn’t stop, and Sanji’s leg hooks around the back of Zoro’s thigh, tries to get the leverage to push up into it. Needs to push against Zoro, needs to push away the feeling and needs to get more.
Not enough, already not enough, and Zoro grunts against him, puts all of his weight, all of his strength, into grinding Sanji against the ground, and Sanji can’t even talk, can’t even make a noise, because it feels closer to what he needs, but it’s not quite there. Feels his back arch into it, and Zoro’s hand releases his hair, slides underneath him, palm solid against the small of his back.
And that’s closer to whatever Sanji needs, because his arms are sliding up and around Zoro’s neck in an instant, trying to pull him closer. Chests pressed together, and Zoro’s hand slides lower still, past his waist to grip at his ass, almost hard enough to hurt, and he jerks Sanji’s hips up forcefully as his own hips thrust down.
“Oh, oh shit,” Sanji gasps, and it doesn’t sound like his voice. Sounds tight and pained and so hoarse, and Zoro just groans.
Alignment, fuck, he can feel Zoro’s cock through his trousers, pressed against his own, can feel the way it jerks against him with each frantic buck of his hips, and they’re almost close enough but not quite, and Sanji realises it doesn’t matter, even though it does. Because he can’t hold on, trembling in Zoro’s arms, can only whine and shudder and try to buck against the weight above him, and Zoro’s hand squeezes at his ass, the other presses into the dirt by Sanji’s head as he pulls back enough to look down, and he’s flushed and sweating and his teeth are bared and it’s suddenly too much.
Sanji practically howls, knows he sounds like he’s in pain, and the intensity of it does hurt, and it claws at him, shreds at him.
“Are you -?” Zoro moans, and the words trail off into something more animal, something feral, and Sanji feels Zoro pulse against him, feels the echo of it in himself, as his release shakes at him with all the ferocity in Zoro’s eyes. And Sanji can’t even see any more, vision fuzzy and off-kilter, and Zoro collapses on top of him as he drops him to the ground.
Zoro hisses above him, and Sanji tries to hold on to his consciousness, and he’s aware that Zoro’s still hard before it sinks in that he is too.
The world around him sways in time with his pulse, time stands still and speeds up and lurches, and Sanji can’t stop trembling.
“Plant,” he gasps, and the word feels like sandpaper against his throat.
“Powder,” Zoro agrees.
For one long and terrifying moment, Sanji thinks Zoro won’t move. That he’ll keep him pinned to the ground, and Sanji will never be able to escape, and that he’ll never stop needing.
And then Zoro lurches backwards, rolls onto his feet in one awkward movement.
The heat leaves him with Zoro’s body, the strain of it, the maddening desire. He can think more clearly, can keep a hold of his thoughts. Stumbles up, one eye on Zoro, and he can see control settling back into his shoulders.
“We need to wash this off,” Zoro mutters, brushing streaks of yellow off his arm.
“There was a stream near by,” Sanji nods shakily.
He turns in the direction he vaguely remembers it being. A quick glance behind him sees Zoro heading the opposite way.
“This way,” he manages, and there’s no venom to his voice, no argument as Zoro turns to follow him.
He kind of wants to run, but he doesn’t have the strength. Isn’t so much walking as stumbling through the thick jungle, and knows from the heavy footfalls behind him that Zoro is struggling as well. Can practically feel Zoro’s heat behind him, but with a distance between them he feels like he can breathe. Feels like he can resist, and that just feels wrong and frightening, because it feels out of his control.
The sound of running water hits him like a physical blow, and he almost wants to cry, and he can see it, and he tries to rush but his legs won’t let him.
His feet tangle underneath him and he yelps and trips, and Zoro’s hand is on his arm to steady him in an instant.
And it’s exactly the wrong thing to do.
The stream is right there, Sanji can almost taste the cool water, is close enough to see the bank disappear as the water deepens, close enough to see the reflection of the clouds above them.
But Zoro’s hand on his arm is a searing brand of wrong, and it’s too late.
It’s like his body is being jump-started, it’s against his will, a work of instinct, and Zoro’s eyes flash with pain, shoulders shaking, but he can’t stop himself any more than Sanji can. Sanji’s back thumps against the nearest tree, and Zoro’s all over him, and the scent of it, sex and Zoro and himself, just drags him back.
“No,” Zoro moans, head dropping against Sanji’s shoulder, hips wasting no time in the way they roll against him, and they shouldn’t feel so familiar already.
One hand grips Sanji’s hip, drags him closer, while the other slams against the tree hard enough that it shakes. “No,” he growls again, and Sanji can only stare with wide eyes and realise frantically that he might just be watching Zoro break.
He tries to push him away, but his hands won’t obey him, his fingers only grip at Zoro’s t-shirt, and this time he knows he’s trembling instantly, already too gone. Too sensitised and too close to giving up, and the sense of inevitable has already crept into his spine, and Sanji wants to blame it on the powder because it’s easier than blaming it on himself.
Zoro’s hips pin him against the tree, and Sanji only arches and whines and needs more.
And Zoro shudders once, all over. Sanji feels it vibrate through every place they’re pressed together, feels the frustration there, and feels Zoro duck down, grabbing at the back of Sanji’s thighs, and he can only hold on as Zoro shifts him higher up the trunk of the tree. Arms around Zoro’s neck, legs around Zoro’s waist, and Sanji’s forehead presses against Zoro’s own, and he closes his eyes and it almost tastes like defeat on his tongue.
“Don’t,” Zoro whispers, and then Sanji feels himself swung around, but it feels detached, strange, because all his body can focus on is the way his cock feels as it rubs against Zoro’s stomach. Hard solid muscle, thin t-shirt doing nothing to hide defined ripples, and Sanji can’t thrust against it when he’s being held up like he is.
He hears water, and suddenly it seems louder. There’s something moving through it, like legs wading deeper, and it’s right below him. And it only hits him that his back isn’t pressed against the tree in the split second before Zoro drops him into the stream.
For a moment, he doesn’t know which way is up. Feels the water shove against him as Zoro submerges beside him and he reaches out blindly, and Zoro’s hand wraps around his wrist and pulls him back to the surface.
Stands up, spluttering, water lapping against his thighs, before he thinks better of it and drops down, scrubbing furiously at his skin, his hair, his suit, and the water turns yellow around them.
“That’s enough,” Zoro says finally, and Sanji can’t look at him, can only listen to the water rippling and splashing as Zoro wades back to the bank.
Because, yes, it’s enough, the heat has gone, the foreign feeling of manipulation and unnatural arousal. But that only leaves something more genuine, and the cool water’s done nothing to soothe his hormones, and Sanji’s still hard and he might just cry, because what else is there to do but settle for a different form of humiliation.
He stands in the middle of the stream, water over his knees, soaked trousers doing nothing to hide his arousal, and refuses to turn around, praying that Zoro might just decide that the best way to forget what just happened is to go the fuck away.
So, of course, Zoro begins to wade back into the water, because he always seems to know exactly how to piss Sanji off.
Except Sanji can’t be pissed off when he’s completely mortified, and he hears Zoro curse but that doesn’t stop him trying to push through the water and get to the other side of the stream before Zoro can reach him.
Zoro shouldn’t be able to catch him, except Sanji’s legs are still shaking and he feels dizzy and flushed, despite the cool water, and Zoro’s hands clamp down on his shoulders. And Sanji doesn’t have the energy to fight.
“Let me go,” he mumbles, and there’s nothing, no emotion to his voice. Just strain and exhaustion.
Zoro doesn’t answer, just yanks at one shoulder, spins him around. Stares at him, thankfully doesn’t stare down, and Sanji refuses to make eye contact and tries to hide behind his hair.
“We don’t talk about this. Ever,” Zoro sighs by way of explanation, and then his leg kicks out, knocks the back of Sanji’s ankle, and it’s clumsy and awkward, the impact dulled by the water, but Sanji’s balance has long since left him and he falls back anyway.
The water’s shallower closer to the bank, and Sanji scrambles backwards on his elbows until his torso is entirely out of the water. Faint feeling of panic creeping back into his system as Zoro kneels between his sprawled thighs, and he can’t help the way he has to glance up. But there’s no trace of the earlier desperation, there’s nothing but focus and Zoro there, nothing in his eyes that says Zoro is in anything but complete control.
Zoro’s hand presses against Sanji’s crotch, and Sanji falls back against the bank, head thudding softly against the grass, and Zoro’s free hand covers his mouth before he can cry out or protest.
Zoro’s hand squeezes between his legs and his eyes narrow. “Not ever,” he repeats.
Sanji stares back, blush already creeping down his neck, cock twitching underneath Zoro’s broad palm, and he refuses to nod but he already knows Zoro sees what he needs to in Sanji’s eyes.
It’s different, rushed in a different way, and somehow everything is more real, yet it feels more like a dream than before. Zoro leaning over him, shifting until their hips are pressed together, but his movements are more controlled, the way he rolls his hips more steady. Working with a clear rhythm, building the pace slowly, and Sanji bites at his lip and wills himself not to make a sound. Zoro rests his forearm on the grass beside his head and stares at Sanji’s chin, and there’s a concentration painted across his face. The sparks that shoot up Sanji’s spine, the heat that pools in his stomach, it’s all natural, it’s all Zoro and him, and it makes him shiver and it makes it more intense. Knows with shocking clarity that they have no excuse this time, although they’ll both try to make one, not for each other but themselves, and he just doesn’t care. Feels like nothing makes sense, and he can’t even taste the powder any more.
Zoro’s hips pull away, and Sanji gasps and feels weak for it, and then Zoro’s hand is between them. Uses his weight to push Sanji back when he automatically jerks up, confusion, hesitation, fear making him wary.
The sound of his belt unbuckling seems infinitely loud.
“Quicker,” Zoro grunts, and he’s not looking at Sanji’s face, or at what he’s doing.
The zipper being eased down is like a form of pressure he hadn’t even noticed being released, and Sanji wraps his arms around Zoro, buries his face in Zoro’s neck, and whines at the first slide of flesh against flesh.
It’s so different, so much hotter than it has a right to be, feels the heat radiating from Zoro, even though he knows the stream should have cooled them both. Still wet, slightly sticky as well, and Sanji bites at the soaked cotton of Zoro’s t-shirt and just holds on.
Urgency creeps back into it, back into the way Zoro’s hips jerk. Sensation getting away from him before he pulls it back, and there’s an obvious increase in tempo, and Sanji’s legs wrap around Zoro’s hips and if he had more strength he might just hurt Zoro, but instead Zoro only groans and rolls against him more frantically. Sanji had thought he’d been able to feel everything before, but it’s only without any layer of clothing between them that he realises before was nothing, and it’s painfully intimate, and he recognises the warning signs but he’s powerless to stop them. Feeling Zoro jolt and twitch and feeling himself tremble and it’s too fast, but he already knows Zoro’s right there with him, and he shouldn’t know that, but he does. Recognises the change in Zoro’s breathing, the noise that rumbles in his chest, and it only has him clinging tighter to Zoro’s neck, and he doesn’t know if it’s better to last or let go.
“Come on,” Zoro growls against him, suddenly enough that Sanji jerks up involuntarily.
Sanji lets go.
Gasps, feels it lurch through him. It hurts in a way, not a sharp pain but a dull ache, over-sensitised, and he can’t quite muffle the noises in his throat. Drawn too taut, shivering and holding on as everything leaves him breathless, and without the fabric between them he can actually feel Zoro’s release and the noise he makes is part-whimper, part-sob. Can’t drop his hold, can‘t will his arms to let go, even when he feels the tension slip out of Zoro, feels the way he catches himself before he can collapse against Sanji. Feels the shake in his shoulders as he supports himself on one arm.
Sanji can’t stop trembling, but he at least manages to piece himself together, pull coherent thought back into himself, before Zoro reaches back and loosens the grip around his neck.
Sanji falls back against the bank, one hand scrabbling awkwardly to tuck himself back in, to zip himself up. The belt is beyond him, so he leaves it unbuckled. Flops one arm over his eyes.
He hears the shift of wet fabric as Zoro collects himself.
It seems like barely a second later, although Sanji’s certain an entire lifetime has passed, when the toe of Zoro’s boot nudges against his thigh.
“I need to make sure they’re okay,” Zoro mutters quietly.
Sanji wants him to be gone, and realises he needs him to stay.
“See you back at the ship,” he says instead.
He waits for movement, but it doesn’t come. And he knows Zoro won’t let him leave it like that, because he never makes anything easy where Sanji’s concerned. But it takes the very last of his strength to pry his arm away from his eyes, and his vision takes a moment to clear before he glances up at Zoro’s face.
Zoro isn’t looking at him, is looking back across the stream.
But when he turns and glances down, there’s something in his eyes that makes Sanji’s pulse quicken, that makes his breath catch, and he should look away but it’s impossible.
“Later,” Zoro says and turns to leave in the vague direction of the beach.
It’s not meant to be a threat, Sanji knows that, but his heartbeat still skips, and he refuses to watch Zoro go, but he already knows it’s not over.
The stream silently washes the powder away, all trace of yellow vanishing beneath the surface.
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