Salmon Pink (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
salmon_pink) wrote2008-09-05 08:46 pm
salmon_pink) wrote2008-09-05 08:46 pm
(One Piece) Sandstone And Charcoal
Title: Sandstone And Charcoal
Fandom: One Piece
Pairing: Ace/Zoro
Rating: NC-17
Words: 1554
Timeline: Alabasta
Notes: For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
50_smutlets, prompt "submissive".
Summary: Ace picks a different kind of fight.
Zoro’s fingers claw at Ace’s back, dig into the flesh between his shoulders, merciless and cruel, but Ace only laughs, soft warm burst of air over Zoro’s lips as his own hands rake down the exposed skin of Zoro’s stomach. Zoro growls back, feeling his muscles jump and twitch under Ace’s touch, and he has to push into it, doesn’t know why, just has to make it hurt harder, hurt better, and Ace grins against his cheek.
It’s all wrong, and Zoro’s doing nothing to stop it, and Ace’s hands wander over him, touch him where they please.
He doesn’t really understand Luffy’s brother, mostly because he doesn’t understand how they could possibly be brothers. Ace is polite and thoughtful and appears actually capable of considering his actions and the potential consequences before throwing himself into danger.
He’s not like Luffy in any way, and Zoro isn’t sure if he’s comfortable with that or not.
He does know that he hadn’t been comfortable with the fact that Ace apparently thought it was fine to crawl into Zoro’s tent in the middle of the night and sit on his stomach.
Zoro hadn’t particularly appreciated being sat on, because he’s very aware of just how strong Ace is supposed to be, and it had felt too much like being beneath him, too much like submission.
Zoro doesn’t deal well with submission.
“Oi, what is this?” he’d growled, eyes narrowing in the feeble light of the tent at the sharp grin on Ace’s face.
“What do you think this is?” Ace had asked in a throaty voice, and his amusement clashed horribly with the tension Zoro had felt creeping into his muscles, had only spurred on the instinct to lash out.
Ace caught his wrist when Zoro’s fist streaked upwards as if it was the easiest thing in the world.
“Fine,” he’d murmured, and Zoro had been able to feel the way he was laughing in the shifting movement over his stomach. “You can think of it as a fight, if you want to.”
He’d yanked at Zoro’s wrist, dragged it closer, and Zoro had watched through his suspicion and anger as Ace’s teeth sunk lightly into the flesh of his palm, a clear warning, an act of dominance that ripped a snarl from Zoro’s lips.
He didn’t know who Ace thought he was dealing with, but Zoro had instantly been itching to show just what a mistake it was to try to humiliate the man who would be the greatest swordsman in the world.
Only Ace’s hand had closed around his throat when he tried to surge up, and he may not have had the leverage he needed but it still seemed far too easy for Ace to push him down, to pin his shoulders against the ground, leaning his weight forwards to loom over him with a grin that was too wrong to be anything like Luffy’s.
Ace’s tongue moves over the still throbbing mark from earlier, and Zoro’s heart thunders against his chest, still too caught in the confusion, in the heat of it. That first bite at his neck had shaken him, had seen his eyes fly wide open, and the air had changed around them, grown warmer, stifling and airless, and it still only grows hotter, pressing down all around Zoro, leaving him sweating and gasping as Ace’s hand touches him everywhere but where he craves it, as Ace’s tongue paints messy patterns over his shoulder.
Zoro knows what two men can do at sea, had heard Johnny and Yosaku talk about it often enough, whether he wanted to listen or not, but he’d never considered it himself.
Yet he feels open and stretched and needing, can still feel the ghost of sensation of Ace’s fingers moving inside, and he doesn’t understand the way it had set his nerves on edge, had made fire dance up his spine, had seen him curling forward at the burn of it that had tasted so different to the pain of battle.
He’d fought against every moment of it, feeling the way each movement of resistance had only dragged the feeling out, burning hotter and higher, feeling all the ways he could take control and feeling all the ways Ace could rip it from him, and Ace had smiled against his skin, and Ace apparently can’t stop grinning, only its darker and sharper and Zoro won’t say those words that hang in the air. Won’t ask for Ace’s fingers or anything else, won’t ask for the feeling back and won’t ask why Ace stopped.
Because he knows why Ace stopped. Because he knows Ace wants him to ask.
Ace’s hand pushes at his knee, urges his thighs wider apart, but Zoro won’t press against it, won’t spread himself, won’t make it easy. Won’t think about the way his chest seizes as Ace’s hand slides up the back of his leg, won’t writhe like a whore for another man’s touch, for anybody’s touch, and Ace bites at the skin just behind Zoro’s ear, three gold earrings swinging lightly under the hot air of his breath, and Zoro shivers and grits his teeth and won’t ask for it.
He can feel Ace’s thumb sliding up his cleft, skin still too sensitised from before, but it’s barely there, tease of a touch right at his opening, and Zoro plants his feet against the ground and tries to twist away from it before his body can twitch towards it, and he can’t seem to catch his breath and he can’t open his eyes. Lightest hint of pressure, Ace’s thumb right there, slick with spit and rubbing at the skin that wants to open to it, and Ace licks at the furrowed line of Zoro’s brow as Zoro tries to keep from trembling.
It’s too much, arousal straining at each taunting brush of Ace’s stomach as he moves above him, and Zoro’s choking on it, drowning, sinking under the weight of it.
“More,” he croaks, and the word comes from somewhere deep inside of him, somewhere he doesn’t want to think about, and it should be like a relief, but it only burns like more of a threat to hear himself give in to it, manipulated in another way that tastes like fire and need.
Zoro’s eyes open in time to see Ace’s grin as he pulls back, predatory and hungry, and his hands fist beside him but he can’t make himself move.
“Don’t let the others hear you,” Ace whispers, and Zoro shudders, the real world outside suddenly invading their heated isolation, realising just how thin the canvas is, just how close his nakama are, desperately trying not to see their potential reactions play across his mind, and Ace’s fingers dig into his hips with no warning.
Hot, blunt pressure, too large, too hard, and Zoro’s head arches back, sound choking in his throat as his teeth clamp down on the cry that builds within him. He can feel Ace pushing inside, can feel himself surrendering to the intrusion, even as he fights against it, hands clamping down on Ace’s knees, his thighs, anywhere he can reach. Burning at his senses, twisted confusion of pain swirling around a different kind of pleasure to anything he’s experienced, and Zoro’s shaking and panting as Ace pushes until his hips press against him.
He’s burning with it, but it’s not Ace’s fire, it’s his own, undiscovered furnace that blazes in his chest, and Zoro hisses and tries to adjust to it, in that split second before Ace begins to move.
It’s different to Ace’s fingers, too different, like Zoro can’t do anything but hold on and try to breathe through it. Like it’s enough to control him, raw needy movements as Ace’s length drags over parts of him that are so sensitive it feels like it could just blind him, as if there’s nothing beyond the sparks that dance across the back of his eyelids. Something inside being rocked loose as Ace fucks into him with sure, steady motions, hard long pull of it, and Zoro has to fight with everything he has not to reach up, not to reach for Ace’s face.
He feels beyond himself, as if he can’t control himself, and he can’t stop the way his back arches up, the way his hips try to roll into it, and it disturbs him and shakes him apart to feel all the ways his body fails to obey him, on edge for so long, and then something snaps, shatters, falls apart, as Ace throws everything he has against him and purrs, “Come for me.”
His body won’t obey him, but it lights up at Ace’s words, wrings him tight, clenched and shuddering, and Zoro can’t quite stop the low noise that rumbles in his chest, something like shame and anger and arousal. Everything crashes over him, and he couldn’t stop himself it he tried as he bucks into it, thrusts into heated air and sensation, and his orgasm is like a punch to his temple, like a fall from a cliff, and his release paints his stomach, scolding hot as if it could brand him, and Ace’s pleased laughter is deep and rough, and Zoro feels toyed with, manipulated, and hungry for something he doesn’t understand but he knows isn’t revenge.
Fandom: One Piece
Pairing: Ace/Zoro
Rating: NC-17
Words: 1554
Timeline: Alabasta
Notes: For
50_smutlets, prompt "submissive".Summary: Ace picks a different kind of fight.
Zoro’s fingers claw at Ace’s back, dig into the flesh between his shoulders, merciless and cruel, but Ace only laughs, soft warm burst of air over Zoro’s lips as his own hands rake down the exposed skin of Zoro’s stomach. Zoro growls back, feeling his muscles jump and twitch under Ace’s touch, and he has to push into it, doesn’t know why, just has to make it hurt harder, hurt better, and Ace grins against his cheek.
It’s all wrong, and Zoro’s doing nothing to stop it, and Ace’s hands wander over him, touch him where they please.
He doesn’t really understand Luffy’s brother, mostly because he doesn’t understand how they could possibly be brothers. Ace is polite and thoughtful and appears actually capable of considering his actions and the potential consequences before throwing himself into danger.
He’s not like Luffy in any way, and Zoro isn’t sure if he’s comfortable with that or not.
He does know that he hadn’t been comfortable with the fact that Ace apparently thought it was fine to crawl into Zoro’s tent in the middle of the night and sit on his stomach.
Zoro hadn’t particularly appreciated being sat on, because he’s very aware of just how strong Ace is supposed to be, and it had felt too much like being beneath him, too much like submission.
Zoro doesn’t deal well with submission.
“Oi, what is this?” he’d growled, eyes narrowing in the feeble light of the tent at the sharp grin on Ace’s face.
“What do you think this is?” Ace had asked in a throaty voice, and his amusement clashed horribly with the tension Zoro had felt creeping into his muscles, had only spurred on the instinct to lash out.
Ace caught his wrist when Zoro’s fist streaked upwards as if it was the easiest thing in the world.
“Fine,” he’d murmured, and Zoro had been able to feel the way he was laughing in the shifting movement over his stomach. “You can think of it as a fight, if you want to.”
He’d yanked at Zoro’s wrist, dragged it closer, and Zoro had watched through his suspicion and anger as Ace’s teeth sunk lightly into the flesh of his palm, a clear warning, an act of dominance that ripped a snarl from Zoro’s lips.
He didn’t know who Ace thought he was dealing with, but Zoro had instantly been itching to show just what a mistake it was to try to humiliate the man who would be the greatest swordsman in the world.
Only Ace’s hand had closed around his throat when he tried to surge up, and he may not have had the leverage he needed but it still seemed far too easy for Ace to push him down, to pin his shoulders against the ground, leaning his weight forwards to loom over him with a grin that was too wrong to be anything like Luffy’s.
Ace’s tongue moves over the still throbbing mark from earlier, and Zoro’s heart thunders against his chest, still too caught in the confusion, in the heat of it. That first bite at his neck had shaken him, had seen his eyes fly wide open, and the air had changed around them, grown warmer, stifling and airless, and it still only grows hotter, pressing down all around Zoro, leaving him sweating and gasping as Ace’s hand touches him everywhere but where he craves it, as Ace’s tongue paints messy patterns over his shoulder.
Zoro knows what two men can do at sea, had heard Johnny and Yosaku talk about it often enough, whether he wanted to listen or not, but he’d never considered it himself.
Yet he feels open and stretched and needing, can still feel the ghost of sensation of Ace’s fingers moving inside, and he doesn’t understand the way it had set his nerves on edge, had made fire dance up his spine, had seen him curling forward at the burn of it that had tasted so different to the pain of battle.
He’d fought against every moment of it, feeling the way each movement of resistance had only dragged the feeling out, burning hotter and higher, feeling all the ways he could take control and feeling all the ways Ace could rip it from him, and Ace had smiled against his skin, and Ace apparently can’t stop grinning, only its darker and sharper and Zoro won’t say those words that hang in the air. Won’t ask for Ace’s fingers or anything else, won’t ask for the feeling back and won’t ask why Ace stopped.
Because he knows why Ace stopped. Because he knows Ace wants him to ask.
Ace’s hand pushes at his knee, urges his thighs wider apart, but Zoro won’t press against it, won’t spread himself, won’t make it easy. Won’t think about the way his chest seizes as Ace’s hand slides up the back of his leg, won’t writhe like a whore for another man’s touch, for anybody’s touch, and Ace bites at the skin just behind Zoro’s ear, three gold earrings swinging lightly under the hot air of his breath, and Zoro shivers and grits his teeth and won’t ask for it.
He can feel Ace’s thumb sliding up his cleft, skin still too sensitised from before, but it’s barely there, tease of a touch right at his opening, and Zoro plants his feet against the ground and tries to twist away from it before his body can twitch towards it, and he can’t seem to catch his breath and he can’t open his eyes. Lightest hint of pressure, Ace’s thumb right there, slick with spit and rubbing at the skin that wants to open to it, and Ace licks at the furrowed line of Zoro’s brow as Zoro tries to keep from trembling.
It’s too much, arousal straining at each taunting brush of Ace’s stomach as he moves above him, and Zoro’s choking on it, drowning, sinking under the weight of it.
“More,” he croaks, and the word comes from somewhere deep inside of him, somewhere he doesn’t want to think about, and it should be like a relief, but it only burns like more of a threat to hear himself give in to it, manipulated in another way that tastes like fire and need.
Zoro’s eyes open in time to see Ace’s grin as he pulls back, predatory and hungry, and his hands fist beside him but he can’t make himself move.
“Don’t let the others hear you,” Ace whispers, and Zoro shudders, the real world outside suddenly invading their heated isolation, realising just how thin the canvas is, just how close his nakama are, desperately trying not to see their potential reactions play across his mind, and Ace’s fingers dig into his hips with no warning.
Hot, blunt pressure, too large, too hard, and Zoro’s head arches back, sound choking in his throat as his teeth clamp down on the cry that builds within him. He can feel Ace pushing inside, can feel himself surrendering to the intrusion, even as he fights against it, hands clamping down on Ace’s knees, his thighs, anywhere he can reach. Burning at his senses, twisted confusion of pain swirling around a different kind of pleasure to anything he’s experienced, and Zoro’s shaking and panting as Ace pushes until his hips press against him.
He’s burning with it, but it’s not Ace’s fire, it’s his own, undiscovered furnace that blazes in his chest, and Zoro hisses and tries to adjust to it, in that split second before Ace begins to move.
It’s different to Ace’s fingers, too different, like Zoro can’t do anything but hold on and try to breathe through it. Like it’s enough to control him, raw needy movements as Ace’s length drags over parts of him that are so sensitive it feels like it could just blind him, as if there’s nothing beyond the sparks that dance across the back of his eyelids. Something inside being rocked loose as Ace fucks into him with sure, steady motions, hard long pull of it, and Zoro has to fight with everything he has not to reach up, not to reach for Ace’s face.
He feels beyond himself, as if he can’t control himself, and he can’t stop the way his back arches up, the way his hips try to roll into it, and it disturbs him and shakes him apart to feel all the ways his body fails to obey him, on edge for so long, and then something snaps, shatters, falls apart, as Ace throws everything he has against him and purrs, “Come for me.”
His body won’t obey him, but it lights up at Ace’s words, wrings him tight, clenched and shuddering, and Zoro can’t quite stop the low noise that rumbles in his chest, something like shame and anger and arousal. Everything crashes over him, and he couldn’t stop himself it he tried as he bucks into it, thrusts into heated air and sensation, and his orgasm is like a punch to his temple, like a fall from a cliff, and his release paints his stomach, scolding hot as if it could brand him, and Ace’s pleased laughter is deep and rough, and Zoro feels toyed with, manipulated, and hungry for something he doesn’t understand but he knows isn’t revenge.