Salmon Pink (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
salmon_pink) wrote2008-08-31 12:16 am
salmon_pink) wrote2008-08-31 12:16 am
(One Piece) Minuet
Title: Minuet
Fandom: One Piece
Pairing: Brook/Zoro/Sanji
Rating: R
Words: 1355
Timeline: Post-Thriller Bark
Notes: Voyeurism. For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
50_smutlets, prompt "music".
Summary: A gift, from somebody who knows what happened.
Zoro didn’t like owing favours. He considered them a weakness, something for the enemy to exploit. Potential for blackmail and debts, and Nami’s smirking face always swam into his mind, with her calculations and her interest.
There were some favours, however, that were worth the sacrifice.
Getting the love cook to stop staring at him was one such example.
There shouldn’t have been any way Sanji would really believe Zoro would just stand back and let him put himself on the line for Luffy’s sake. Sanji should never have thought, for even a second, that Zoro would allow it, would allow Sanji to take his place.
Apparently Sanji did believe it though, because he’d been shooting Zoro weird looks ever since they’d left Thriller Bark, dark looks that made his face appear drawn, and he always averted his eyes when Zoro turned to glare back.
Whether it was anger or jealousy or whatever the hell else that kept the idiot cook up at night, Zoro really didn’t like it being directed at him.
Sanji didn’t know what had happened, and that was the way it was going to stay. For everyone’s sake.
Brook was older than them, had been even before he’d died. Fifty years alone, but he still was apparently as shrewd as his age would suggest, as experienced. He reminded Zoro of Robin, with his weighty silences that clashed terribly with his Luffy-like exuberance at the dinner table.
Zoro would catch him, when Brook wasn’t burying his face in his plate or belching, staring back and forth between Sanji and Zoro’s own face, and knowing someone else caught those looks meant that they were definitely real and not his imagination, and that just made him more pissed off.
He’d challenge Sanji, but he had no desire to even bring up the subject.
Not to mention he’d strained his body far more than ever before at Thriller Bark, and there was no way he was letting the damn cook get any kind of advantage over him.
He had been training specifically for the purpose of forcing himself back to his best and beyond when Brook had quietly sat beside him.
“You wish he’d stop staring at you,” Brook had said simply, and Zoro’s attention had been caught.
He’d given Brook the requested five minutes, before setting off to find them.
He’d almost forgotten what it was like to walk into a room and not have Sanji’s gaze turn to him, the temperature of the room dropping around them in a way that had nothing to do with their usual fire.
He didn’t know what Brook had done. A part of him didn’t really want to know.
Whatever it was, Sanji’s eyes remained closed, sprawled across the couch, and there was a smile on his face that wasn’t troubled or false or bitter, one that Zoro hadn’t seen since they’d left the rubble of Moria’s mansion.
Brook was humming, and it blended with the notes of the violin tucked under his chin that filled the room.
“He’s been waiting for you,” Brook said quietly, and Zoro might have wondered at that, but Sanji’s eyes fluttered open and fixed on him, and Zoro was completely distracted.
There wasn’t any of the cold silence that had been in his gaze of late, nor any of the usual irritation that usually simmered between them. It was something else, something lazy and serene and deep, and it felt wrong in a way that Zoro didn’t understand.
Sanji wasn’t angry at him in any way, shape or form. It was as if he had been waiting for Zoro, only any waiting on his part was usually accompanied by insults and annoyed little gestures and chain-smoking.
The look in his eyes was like a welcome.
Something in his stomach lurched, and Zoro wasn’t sure what was going on, but Sanji was still staring at him like that, and the sound of violin was surrounding him, and Brook was still humming.
Zoro took a step forward.
“Don’t mind me,” Brook murmured.
Zoro didn’t.
There hadn’t been time, not since Water 7, and he could almost admit to missing the taste of nicotine on his lips, the feeling of Sanji moving under him. There was none of their usual rush, none of the familiar sensation of trying to get at every part of Sanji he could reach without ripping the prissy bastard’s clothes. Just Sanji surging up against him, arms reaching for him in an instant, tongues sliding over each other, hungry for it as Zoro leant over him, and his body gave an insistent throb at the position, lust and awkwardness of still-sore muscles, but Sanji only wrapped his legs around Zoro’s waist when he settled over him more comfortably.
It was lazy exploration, the hundred kisses before never quite enough, as if they’d never taken the time to really enjoy it, and the violin throbbed along with Zoro’s pulse, the pace catching and increasing so subtly that he barely caught it over the noise Sanji was making against his mouth.
His hands were no longer content to brace themselves against the couch cushions, and they seemed to move of their own accord. Sliding up, framing Sanji’s face, one thumb following the curve of his eyebrow, but Sanji didn’t flinch away. Only undulated beneath him as Zoro’s fingers ran through his hair, and it distantly occurred to Zoro that he’d never touched Sanji that way before, almost like he was petting him, discovering him. He kissed as the corner of Sanji’s mouth, let his lips and his instincts guide him as he kissed at Sanji’s face, feeling Sanji’s fingers stroke lightly at his wrist, and at some point Brook had moved closer, but Zoro barely noticed as the sound of humming seemed to vibrate through him.
Sanji’s hips were rolling up into him, steady rhythm that didn’t feel quite like his usual restless energy, and Zoro’s fingers needed skin, had to slide under Sanji’s shirt, just resting his palm against Sanji’s stomach, feeling the heat there. Rolling down against each languid thrust, and the tempo of the humming had increased and it seemed only natural that Zoro should match it. Hearing Sanji whimper beneath him, his features relaxed in a way that Zoro wasn’t used to and couldn’t stop kissing at, breathing him in, and there was pressure against his back, thin and sharp and running along his spine, and he shuddered to realise it was Brook’s fingers, and that humming was right against his ear.
Sanji’s arms wrapped tighter around Zoro’s neck, leaning up to bury his face against Zoro’s throat, and he was shivering almost constantly in time to the tune, and the air seemed to shimmer with it, shudder and swirl with the music, and Zoro was breathless with it. Pressing his lips almost desperately against Sanji’s face in senseless patterns, feeling Brook’s fingers explore him, running over his clothes, and it felt like it could last forever, but Zoro’s body didn’t agree. There was pain in his joints and a suffocating warmth in his stomach, and Sanji was mumbling against his throat, and Zoro was grinding his hips down against Sanji’s, needing release and relief from the ache, one of Brook’s fingers drawing small circles over the back of his neck. Brook’s voice was so close, soft and soothing and stoking the heat within him, and Sanji whined high in the back of his throat, and it fit the tune so perfectly in Zoro’s mind, splintered through it and wrapped around it, and his body trembled and gave in, arching crescendo, and he instinctively knew Sanji was falling over the edge with him, as if something in the air commanded it.
Sanji’s breath was against his neck, and Zoro felt winded and shredded and as close to content as he could ever remember being, and Brook’s chuckle was barely a whisper in the back of his mind.
“Yohohoho, quite the performance,” he said softly, but sleep was already creeping into Zoro’s vision, and Sanji’s breathing was growing more shallow beneath him, and the door clicked shut behind him.
Fandom: One Piece
Pairing: Brook/Zoro/Sanji
Rating: R
Words: 1355
Timeline: Post-Thriller Bark
Notes: Voyeurism. For
50_smutlets, prompt "music". Summary: A gift, from somebody who knows what happened.
Zoro didn’t like owing favours. He considered them a weakness, something for the enemy to exploit. Potential for blackmail and debts, and Nami’s smirking face always swam into his mind, with her calculations and her interest.
There were some favours, however, that were worth the sacrifice.
Getting the love cook to stop staring at him was one such example.
There shouldn’t have been any way Sanji would really believe Zoro would just stand back and let him put himself on the line for Luffy’s sake. Sanji should never have thought, for even a second, that Zoro would allow it, would allow Sanji to take his place.
Apparently Sanji did believe it though, because he’d been shooting Zoro weird looks ever since they’d left Thriller Bark, dark looks that made his face appear drawn, and he always averted his eyes when Zoro turned to glare back.
Whether it was anger or jealousy or whatever the hell else that kept the idiot cook up at night, Zoro really didn’t like it being directed at him.
Sanji didn’t know what had happened, and that was the way it was going to stay. For everyone’s sake.
Brook was older than them, had been even before he’d died. Fifty years alone, but he still was apparently as shrewd as his age would suggest, as experienced. He reminded Zoro of Robin, with his weighty silences that clashed terribly with his Luffy-like exuberance at the dinner table.
Zoro would catch him, when Brook wasn’t burying his face in his plate or belching, staring back and forth between Sanji and Zoro’s own face, and knowing someone else caught those looks meant that they were definitely real and not his imagination, and that just made him more pissed off.
He’d challenge Sanji, but he had no desire to even bring up the subject.
Not to mention he’d strained his body far more than ever before at Thriller Bark, and there was no way he was letting the damn cook get any kind of advantage over him.
He had been training specifically for the purpose of forcing himself back to his best and beyond when Brook had quietly sat beside him.
“You wish he’d stop staring at you,” Brook had said simply, and Zoro’s attention had been caught.
He’d given Brook the requested five minutes, before setting off to find them.
He’d almost forgotten what it was like to walk into a room and not have Sanji’s gaze turn to him, the temperature of the room dropping around them in a way that had nothing to do with their usual fire.
He didn’t know what Brook had done. A part of him didn’t really want to know.
Whatever it was, Sanji’s eyes remained closed, sprawled across the couch, and there was a smile on his face that wasn’t troubled or false or bitter, one that Zoro hadn’t seen since they’d left the rubble of Moria’s mansion.
Brook was humming, and it blended with the notes of the violin tucked under his chin that filled the room.
“He’s been waiting for you,” Brook said quietly, and Zoro might have wondered at that, but Sanji’s eyes fluttered open and fixed on him, and Zoro was completely distracted.
There wasn’t any of the cold silence that had been in his gaze of late, nor any of the usual irritation that usually simmered between them. It was something else, something lazy and serene and deep, and it felt wrong in a way that Zoro didn’t understand.
Sanji wasn’t angry at him in any way, shape or form. It was as if he had been waiting for Zoro, only any waiting on his part was usually accompanied by insults and annoyed little gestures and chain-smoking.
The look in his eyes was like a welcome.
Something in his stomach lurched, and Zoro wasn’t sure what was going on, but Sanji was still staring at him like that, and the sound of violin was surrounding him, and Brook was still humming.
Zoro took a step forward.
“Don’t mind me,” Brook murmured.
Zoro didn’t.
There hadn’t been time, not since Water 7, and he could almost admit to missing the taste of nicotine on his lips, the feeling of Sanji moving under him. There was none of their usual rush, none of the familiar sensation of trying to get at every part of Sanji he could reach without ripping the prissy bastard’s clothes. Just Sanji surging up against him, arms reaching for him in an instant, tongues sliding over each other, hungry for it as Zoro leant over him, and his body gave an insistent throb at the position, lust and awkwardness of still-sore muscles, but Sanji only wrapped his legs around Zoro’s waist when he settled over him more comfortably.
It was lazy exploration, the hundred kisses before never quite enough, as if they’d never taken the time to really enjoy it, and the violin throbbed along with Zoro’s pulse, the pace catching and increasing so subtly that he barely caught it over the noise Sanji was making against his mouth.
His hands were no longer content to brace themselves against the couch cushions, and they seemed to move of their own accord. Sliding up, framing Sanji’s face, one thumb following the curve of his eyebrow, but Sanji didn’t flinch away. Only undulated beneath him as Zoro’s fingers ran through his hair, and it distantly occurred to Zoro that he’d never touched Sanji that way before, almost like he was petting him, discovering him. He kissed as the corner of Sanji’s mouth, let his lips and his instincts guide him as he kissed at Sanji’s face, feeling Sanji’s fingers stroke lightly at his wrist, and at some point Brook had moved closer, but Zoro barely noticed as the sound of humming seemed to vibrate through him.
Sanji’s hips were rolling up into him, steady rhythm that didn’t feel quite like his usual restless energy, and Zoro’s fingers needed skin, had to slide under Sanji’s shirt, just resting his palm against Sanji’s stomach, feeling the heat there. Rolling down against each languid thrust, and the tempo of the humming had increased and it seemed only natural that Zoro should match it. Hearing Sanji whimper beneath him, his features relaxed in a way that Zoro wasn’t used to and couldn’t stop kissing at, breathing him in, and there was pressure against his back, thin and sharp and running along his spine, and he shuddered to realise it was Brook’s fingers, and that humming was right against his ear.
Sanji’s arms wrapped tighter around Zoro’s neck, leaning up to bury his face against Zoro’s throat, and he was shivering almost constantly in time to the tune, and the air seemed to shimmer with it, shudder and swirl with the music, and Zoro was breathless with it. Pressing his lips almost desperately against Sanji’s face in senseless patterns, feeling Brook’s fingers explore him, running over his clothes, and it felt like it could last forever, but Zoro’s body didn’t agree. There was pain in his joints and a suffocating warmth in his stomach, and Sanji was mumbling against his throat, and Zoro was grinding his hips down against Sanji’s, needing release and relief from the ache, one of Brook’s fingers drawing small circles over the back of his neck. Brook’s voice was so close, soft and soothing and stoking the heat within him, and Sanji whined high in the back of his throat, and it fit the tune so perfectly in Zoro’s mind, splintered through it and wrapped around it, and his body trembled and gave in, arching crescendo, and he instinctively knew Sanji was falling over the edge with him, as if something in the air commanded it.
Sanji’s breath was against his neck, and Zoro felt winded and shredded and as close to content as he could ever remember being, and Brook’s chuckle was barely a whisper in the back of his mind.
“Yohohoho, quite the performance,” he said softly, but sleep was already creeping into Zoro’s vision, and Sanji’s breathing was growing more shallow beneath him, and the door clicked shut behind him.
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