Salmon Pink (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
salmon_pink) wrote2008-08-24 10:39 pm
salmon_pink) wrote2008-08-24 10:39 pm
(One Piece) Spread
Title: Spread
Fandom: One Piece
Pairing: Robin/Sanji
Rating: NC-17
Words: 1253
Timeline: Post-Alabasta
Notes: Voyeurism. For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
50_smutlets, prompt "fingers".
Summary: Taste for the exquisite, taste of vulnerability.
“Robin-chan?” he asks quietly, and then the blindfold settles over his eyes.
Sanji can still see the image of her painted across the back of his eyelids, reclining slightly in her chair, endless legs crossed in front her. All the way across the room, and he feels a little exposed, kneeling on her bed and stripped of all clothing whilst she remains fully dressed, but he already knows he can’t deny her anything she asks of him.
His wrists are held pinned against his back by the arms that sprout from the bed and his own shoulders, and her skin is so warm against him, and Sanji licks his lips and waits. And waits.
The first touch is light, a single finger drawing a gentle line down his chest, and Sanji tries not to flinch in surprise. He can still hear Robin’s even breathing from across the room, and he can’t see anything around the blindfold, and he has no way of telling where the next touch will come from, and Sanji feels himself begin to sweat.
The second touch is more sure, two palms settling against his shoulders, massaging at him, and he doesn’t realise how tense he is until Robin’s knuckles press at his shoulder blades. He sighs slightly, relaxing into the touch, and he’s rewarded by hands petting at his hair, brushing it away from his face, tucking a stray lock behind his ear.
There are more fingers on his chest now, drawing swirling patterns across his skin, and he makes a high and embarrassing noise as one brushes over his nipple, but Robin doesn’t laugh, doesn’t make a single sound. Still, it wasn’t a particularly masculine noise, and Sanji feels humiliation colour his cheeks under the already present flush of lust, and he bites his lip against any further sounds.
Robin’s fingers are there instantly, stroking over his jaw, easing his mouth open and his teeth away from his lip, and two digits slip inside, and Sanji licks at them obediently, feels them press over his tongue.
There are hands at his thighs, easing them apart slightly, and he shifts on the bed, swallowing thickly around Robin’s fingers, as the hands at his chest multiply and dip lower, as the hands at his thighs rub higher.
He moans at the first touch between his legs, already achingly hard for her, and the sound is muffled as another finger slides into his mouth.
Her touches are slow and purposeful. Her fingers wrap around him and simply hold him for a long moment, and he imagines she is weighing the size and shape of it, and he feels young and inexperienced and hopes he doesn’t disappoint her.
Then the hand slides lower, drags back up, and Sanji’s eyes flutter behind the blindfold, needing her to move faster but loving the slow pull of it, the delicious burn of it, and there’s no rush to her movements as she explores and touches every part of him. Another hand wraps around the very base of his cock, and every time the first hand pulls up and touches at the head, the second rhythmically squeezes at him, releasing him as the first hand dips back so that they touch, and Sanji’s panting and trying not to plead.
The way her hands move is almost lazy, yet it feels infinitely better that those rushed sessions in the bathroom, just Sanji and his left palm, racing to release before somebody disturbs him with an irritated knock on the door. It’s more sensual, more about the tease of it than the conclusion, and Sanji writhes and her hands keep his wrists firmly pinned.
There are more fingers, dipping lower, cupping him, and the hands on his chest keep rubbing, pinching at his nipples, and there are hands on his arms, the very tips of her fingers trailing over him and raising goosebumps in their wake. Sanji’s quickly lost in it, too many touches, too much stimulation, and he feels a little frantic, and her fingers slowly begin to pump in and out of his mouth, stroking over his tongue and leaving his lips tingling and hungry.
Her grip becomes a little firmer, and even though the rhythm doesn’t change, Sanji still squirms and feels all semblance of control ravelling loose and slipping away from him. Hands settle over his hips, hold him securely when he tries to buck up into her hold on him, and he’s embarrassed to be so helpless and needy in front of her, but his body is quickly reaching the point where it no longer cares.
And that’s when he feels it, the slide of a single finger moving down his spine and past his tailbone, and it doesn’t stop, and Sanji’s eyes fly wide behind the blindfold.
He tries to cry out, but can’t form words around the fingers that lazily thrust in and out of his mouth, and he’d promised himself to her, promised to give her whatever she wanted, but he still tries to wriggle away from the touch.
New and strange, and Sanji’s burning up, and he feels the finger press inside, and it’s the strangest thing, the way his body just opens to it. It’s like surrendering, like she’s taking him, and he shouldn’t find the thought so erotic, and then her finger crooks inside of him, stroking sensitive inner walls, and he arches up and whines, and feels fingers pet at his tongue.
Spread open and exposed, and he barely has time to catch his breath before a second finger buries its way inside, and he’s making a near-constant noise. Robin’s hand are still slow as they caress his cock, still following the same leisurely pace, but their touch is firmer, their grip is more forceful. He’s caught between too many sensations, Robin’s hands expertly pulling the tension within him to breaking point, and the hands at his hips allow him little movement, but he still finds himself thrusting forward into her grip and back onto her fingers. They scissor inside of him, and he groans and feels stretched and used, and flushed and dizzy, and he hears it, the softest laughter from across the room. Not mocking, not cruel, but genuinely pleased, and he imagines for just a moment the picture he must make, and imagines a look of hunger in her eyes.
His heart seizes and flares with it, and her fingers brush deep inside of him, and Sanji wails and lets go.
Release surges through him, and he struggles unconsciously against her hold on him, body trying to double over, and she just keeps stroking at him, milking him, and he’s over-sensitised and trembling. Her fingers pull back and then thrust home one more time, spread open as they push inside, and his body shudders, orgasm stretched out, and he almost wants her to stop, but it’s too good. Cold sweat on his brow, fire in his veins, and light streaks and spots across his vision, and Sanji gasps as the fingers in his mouth brush over his lips a final time, the hands between his legs vanish, and the grip on his wrists releases him, and he topples over on to the sheets.
He can’t hear much beyond his own frantic breathing and the racing of his heart, but he distantly hears the scrape of the chair moving back, stiletto heels crossing the floor.
“Well done, Cook-san,” Robin purrs, and it is her own two hands that lift the blindfold from his eyes.
Fandom: One Piece
Pairing: Robin/Sanji
Rating: NC-17
Words: 1253
Timeline: Post-Alabasta
Notes: Voyeurism. For
50_smutlets, prompt "fingers". Summary: Taste for the exquisite, taste of vulnerability.
“Robin-chan?” he asks quietly, and then the blindfold settles over his eyes.
Sanji can still see the image of her painted across the back of his eyelids, reclining slightly in her chair, endless legs crossed in front her. All the way across the room, and he feels a little exposed, kneeling on her bed and stripped of all clothing whilst she remains fully dressed, but he already knows he can’t deny her anything she asks of him.
His wrists are held pinned against his back by the arms that sprout from the bed and his own shoulders, and her skin is so warm against him, and Sanji licks his lips and waits. And waits.
The first touch is light, a single finger drawing a gentle line down his chest, and Sanji tries not to flinch in surprise. He can still hear Robin’s even breathing from across the room, and he can’t see anything around the blindfold, and he has no way of telling where the next touch will come from, and Sanji feels himself begin to sweat.
The second touch is more sure, two palms settling against his shoulders, massaging at him, and he doesn’t realise how tense he is until Robin’s knuckles press at his shoulder blades. He sighs slightly, relaxing into the touch, and he’s rewarded by hands petting at his hair, brushing it away from his face, tucking a stray lock behind his ear.
There are more fingers on his chest now, drawing swirling patterns across his skin, and he makes a high and embarrassing noise as one brushes over his nipple, but Robin doesn’t laugh, doesn’t make a single sound. Still, it wasn’t a particularly masculine noise, and Sanji feels humiliation colour his cheeks under the already present flush of lust, and he bites his lip against any further sounds.
Robin’s fingers are there instantly, stroking over his jaw, easing his mouth open and his teeth away from his lip, and two digits slip inside, and Sanji licks at them obediently, feels them press over his tongue.
There are hands at his thighs, easing them apart slightly, and he shifts on the bed, swallowing thickly around Robin’s fingers, as the hands at his chest multiply and dip lower, as the hands at his thighs rub higher.
He moans at the first touch between his legs, already achingly hard for her, and the sound is muffled as another finger slides into his mouth.
Her touches are slow and purposeful. Her fingers wrap around him and simply hold him for a long moment, and he imagines she is weighing the size and shape of it, and he feels young and inexperienced and hopes he doesn’t disappoint her.
Then the hand slides lower, drags back up, and Sanji’s eyes flutter behind the blindfold, needing her to move faster but loving the slow pull of it, the delicious burn of it, and there’s no rush to her movements as she explores and touches every part of him. Another hand wraps around the very base of his cock, and every time the first hand pulls up and touches at the head, the second rhythmically squeezes at him, releasing him as the first hand dips back so that they touch, and Sanji’s panting and trying not to plead.
The way her hands move is almost lazy, yet it feels infinitely better that those rushed sessions in the bathroom, just Sanji and his left palm, racing to release before somebody disturbs him with an irritated knock on the door. It’s more sensual, more about the tease of it than the conclusion, and Sanji writhes and her hands keep his wrists firmly pinned.
There are more fingers, dipping lower, cupping him, and the hands on his chest keep rubbing, pinching at his nipples, and there are hands on his arms, the very tips of her fingers trailing over him and raising goosebumps in their wake. Sanji’s quickly lost in it, too many touches, too much stimulation, and he feels a little frantic, and her fingers slowly begin to pump in and out of his mouth, stroking over his tongue and leaving his lips tingling and hungry.
Her grip becomes a little firmer, and even though the rhythm doesn’t change, Sanji still squirms and feels all semblance of control ravelling loose and slipping away from him. Hands settle over his hips, hold him securely when he tries to buck up into her hold on him, and he’s embarrassed to be so helpless and needy in front of her, but his body is quickly reaching the point where it no longer cares.
And that’s when he feels it, the slide of a single finger moving down his spine and past his tailbone, and it doesn’t stop, and Sanji’s eyes fly wide behind the blindfold.
He tries to cry out, but can’t form words around the fingers that lazily thrust in and out of his mouth, and he’d promised himself to her, promised to give her whatever she wanted, but he still tries to wriggle away from the touch.
New and strange, and Sanji’s burning up, and he feels the finger press inside, and it’s the strangest thing, the way his body just opens to it. It’s like surrendering, like she’s taking him, and he shouldn’t find the thought so erotic, and then her finger crooks inside of him, stroking sensitive inner walls, and he arches up and whines, and feels fingers pet at his tongue.
Spread open and exposed, and he barely has time to catch his breath before a second finger buries its way inside, and he’s making a near-constant noise. Robin’s hand are still slow as they caress his cock, still following the same leisurely pace, but their touch is firmer, their grip is more forceful. He’s caught between too many sensations, Robin’s hands expertly pulling the tension within him to breaking point, and the hands at his hips allow him little movement, but he still finds himself thrusting forward into her grip and back onto her fingers. They scissor inside of him, and he groans and feels stretched and used, and flushed and dizzy, and he hears it, the softest laughter from across the room. Not mocking, not cruel, but genuinely pleased, and he imagines for just a moment the picture he must make, and imagines a look of hunger in her eyes.
His heart seizes and flares with it, and her fingers brush deep inside of him, and Sanji wails and lets go.
Release surges through him, and he struggles unconsciously against her hold on him, body trying to double over, and she just keeps stroking at him, milking him, and he’s over-sensitised and trembling. Her fingers pull back and then thrust home one more time, spread open as they push inside, and his body shudders, orgasm stretched out, and he almost wants her to stop, but it’s too good. Cold sweat on his brow, fire in his veins, and light streaks and spots across his vision, and Sanji gasps as the fingers in his mouth brush over his lips a final time, the hands between his legs vanish, and the grip on his wrists releases him, and he topples over on to the sheets.
He can’t hear much beyond his own frantic breathing and the racing of his heart, but he distantly hears the scrape of the chair moving back, stiletto heels crossing the floor.
“Well done, Cook-san,” Robin purrs, and it is her own two hands that lift the blindfold from his eyes.
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