salmon_pink | (One Piece) Dirt

Title: Dirt
Fandom: One Piece
Pairing: Nami/Zoro/Sanji
Rating: NC-17
Words: 1580
Timeline: Skypeia
Notes: Masturbation. Voyeurism. For

50_smutlets, prompt "voyeurism".
Summary: It's the middle of the night, and Nami goes digging for trouble.

Nami wakes up panting and sweating, and her eyes are instantly searching the sky for storm clouds.

Except there are none, and they’re still in Skypeia and the air is crisp, the night sky clear, and everyone around is sleeping peacefully.

Nami’s heart is racing and she has no idea why. Her senses tingle in warning, and she feels tension in the air.

She slowly pulls herself to her feet, still a little disorientated at waking in such a jarring manner.

Eneru’s gone, she reminds herself. There is no danger, not anymore.

The campfire is still glowing faintly. Luffy is snoring, Usopp has a jug of rum tucked under one arm and Chopper under the other, and Robin is sleeping peacefully in the moonlight.

Zoro and Sanji are nowhere to be seen. Nami feels a flare of annoyance, and she can guess why she feels so on edge.

She’s tired of their constant bickering, and she’s tired of telling them to shut up. There are unsightly bruises on her knuckles from all the times when words apparently weren’t enough to keep them from brawling. Now she’s more alert she can recognise that the thickness of the air, the taste of it, is nothing to do with thunderstorms, and all to do with posturing machismo and endless arguments.

Nami rolls her eyes, growls quietly to herself and sets off to find them, because she isn’t going to be able to sleep until she’s punished them for waking her.

She tests the air, feeling out for unnatural disturbances, and it’s a sign that she’s grown used to their rows that she can locate their direction so easily, following their tracks and the simmering tension that grows thicker as she steals through the jungle.

She’s well-practiced at moving in silence, and the instincts that make her a master thief quietly whisper to her, tell her which parts of the ground to avoid, tell her which direction to approach from.

It takes longer than she might have thought to find them, simply because they’ve moved so far away from the camp. She might be grateful to them for trying to at least be discreet in their bickering if she weren’t so pissed off.

She freezes when she hears that first noise. A soft moan, and her instincts tell her that it is Sanji, and he sounds like he’s in pain.

“Stop, bastard,” he hisses in the cool night air. “I’ll kill you.”

Nami stays motionless, her heartbeat beginning to pick up and she’s starting to understand why she woke up in such a state. There’s something about the tone of his voice, a little panicked and so sincere, and Nami knows that, whatever they’re fighting about, it’s serious.

Cautiously she creeps closer, ducking beneath branches and stepping over roots, keeping to the shadows, and she can hear Sanji panting, like he’s struggling to breathe, and she can hear a low sound that she realises with a jolt of worry is Zoro growling.

She isn’t sure whether it would be better to just barge forward, let them know her presence, or if she should run back to the camp for help, and she can’t believe that, under all their fighting, they’ve ever harboured the desire to actually injure each other. She’d always thought it was frustration and boredom and a clash of egos, and she’s a little scared to think that she could have been so wrong.

And then she peers around a wide tree trunk, careful to remain hidden, and it’s only shock that keeps her voice trapped in her throat at what she sees.

Sanji’s sprawled on his back, pink shirt unbuttoned and tangled around his elbows, and that’s the only item of clothing between the two of them. Zoro looms above him, and Sanji’s legs are spread, and Zoro’s kneeling between them, and Nami brings a shaky hand to her lips. Zoro’s moving, thrusting between Sanji’s thighs, his head bowed, teeth bared, and it’s almost savage, the way he rolls his hips. Sanji’s head is tipped back, dirt and leaves in his hair, so pale under the weak star light that filters through the canopy, but there’s a flush to his cheeks that trails down his neck and chest, under the bandages and lower still, and Nami shouldn’t look, but she can’t help where her eyes are naturally drawn.

She should be leaving, she should be sneaking away, running away, but Zoro makes a noise that sounds too feral to be human, and Nami’s heart flutters in her throat and her fingernails dig into the bark of the tree.

It’s rough, so aggressive. Zoro pushes one of Sanji’s legs up, presses the knee back against Sanji’s chest. Manipulating him so carelessly, and Sanji only whines, and the hair at the back of Nami’s neck stands on end.

She hates the idea of losing control, of being dominated, but there’s something about watching the way Zoro’s hand at Sanji’s jaw tilts his head, exposes his throat to Zoro’s teeth, that makes her tremble. Something about seeing Sanji, usually so aware of himself, usually trying so hard for suave, being spread open, and he’s so lost in it, so exposed and helpless in his desire.

Nami’s been stuck on the ocean for so long, and she isn’t really thinking as her hand slides down, moving over the curves of her chest. Her vision is tinted red and black at the edges as her fingers move over her waist and lower still. She aches, and her legs are shivering as her hand slips between her thighs, and the pressure of it, it’s everything she needs in that moment, and not enough.

She gasps quietly, swallows the noise back down, and Sanji moans fitfully, tossing his head, but he can’t shake Zoro’s grip in his hair. Zoro braces his hand on the floor, leans into it, and Nami shudders as though she can feel the force of his next thrust surging through her. Her fingers press higher, and she can feel the heat through her clothes.

“Stop, shit, don’t,” Sanji whines, even as he wraps his legs around Zoro’s waist, but Zoro doesn’t even seem to hear him. There’s sweat on his back, on his arms, and it glistens in the moonlight, tanned skin a dark contrast against the pale thighs clinging to his hips, and Nami licks her lips and decides that she’s lost her mind and that she should probably just go with it. She’s wet and throbbing for her own touch, and her fingers rub at herself through the material of her trousers. The drag of the fabric is just the perfect compliment to the pleasure, only heightens it. Her legs threaten to give way beneath her, but Nami grits her teeth and refuses to give in, and it’s been so long since she’s had the opportunity to touch herself, trapped on a ship with so many men, now sharing her room with Robin, and she’d forgotten how good it could be.

And then Zoro’s head turns to the side, his eyes looking through the foliage, looking directly at her, and Nami forgets to breathe.

It’s like a smack to the face, a physical blow, and she shakes under the force of it. She knows her eyes are round and wild, and slowly, achingly slowly, Zoro’s face splits into a shark-like grin.

Nami watches as he rocks Sanji into the ground, eyes never leaving Nami’s face. He looks so heated, so powerful, and Nami feels her eyes narrow, her lips pull into her own matching smirk, and suddenly the warmth in her stomach flares and burns at her, and it’s real.

Sanji’s eyes are closed as he gasps and whimpers, and Zoro’s eyes are fixed on Nami, and her fingers press more insistently, forcing the fabric taut, urging it higher, cotton brushing the edges of her insides. Zoro’s gaze scolds her, Sanji’s cries fill her, and Nami hisses and purrs. Her other hand roughly drags over her stomach, cupping her chest, teasing her nipple through the fabric, and she’s given up on sanity.

Sanji lurches upwards, hands clawing at Zoro’s back, and Nami feels the echo of it as her own fingernails leave candy-pink stripes across her collarbone. Zoro’s eyes flutter and darken and he never breaks the connection, his eyes never leave her, but his face slackens slightly, panting open-mouthed, and Nami realises she’s watching them both orgasm, and her body decides to catch up with them. She stumbles and leans against the tree as pleasure grips as her, head spinning, mouth dry, feeling heavy and feeling like she could just float away, and struggling not to cry out loud. She feels her pulse throb under her fingers, and her chest aches, a cold sweat overtaking her, and she’s trembling without pause and Zoro’s shaking and Sanji’s eyes are still closed and it’s the best she’s ever had.

It’s a little more difficult to manoeuvre her way back through the jungle with her legs shaking as much as they are. She still remains silent as she moves, but the vision of Zoro’s scorching gaze is branded across her mind and Sanji’s voice still rings in her ears and the craving between her legs has lessened but is gradually building again, demanding her attention.

The afterglow, however, is a little diminished when she hears their voices break out in yet another unnecessarily loud argument when she’s still only halfway back to their camp.

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Well first I was melting into a pile of goo from the sheer HOT of the fic then I got to the last paragraph went "..." and then cackled like a moron.

A++++++!

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(One Piece) Dirt