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salmon_pinkTitle: Smothered
Fandom: One Piece
Pairing: Zoro/Sanji
Rating: NC-17
Words: 1074
Notes: For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
100moods, prompt "scared".
A/N: I'm going to be sorting through some old, unposted fic whilst I gear myself back up to writing. Here's the first, I hope you enjoy. I am weirdly nervous right now. Also, I'd forgotten how crap I am with titles/summaries.
Summary: Suffocating under the strength of inevitability.
He can’t breathe. Sanji can’t breathe, fuck, he actually can’t breathe, and he can’t even say anything, can’t make his voice work the way he needs it to. It’s so wrong, so painfully wrong, and he’s losing himself, piece by piece. Trembling, sensitised ache slowly numbing around the edges in the same way black creeps into his vision. Feeling like he’s drifting apart, throat seized and mouth working uselessly around noises he doesn’t recognise as his own.
He and Zoro, shit, they’ve fought so many times over so many pointless things, thrown everything they have at each other, tried to hurt and damage and wreck. But this is the first time he’s actually been scared. Because this is the first time he’s realising that Zoro’s actually going to kill him.
He’s going to die, stupid useless death, and he’s not even fighting it.
Prickling sensation in his fingers and toes, and there’s a warmth in his spine that’s different to the heat that’s searing him everywhere calloused hands touch him. Slowly rising from within him, something different and unnatural and dangerous, and he’s boiling, insides boiling up, and there’s only a hollow pit of ice where his chest once existed. And it’s like plunging into a pool of water without getting wet, sinking into darkness, giving in to the ringing emptiness.
He barely feels the twinge of discomfort at his scalp as Zoro’s hand fists in his hair, the feeling of being harshly yanked backwards on to his knees detached and surreal. He can feel Zoro’s heat behind him, the slickness of his skin as his back slumps against Zoro’s chest. Zoro’s hand drops, palm moving over the side of his face, and it’s like sandpaper, scraping at his skin. He tries to twist away but his body doesn’t even twitch, just leans back more fully, and it isn’t until Zoro’s thumb strokes a rough line over his throat that Sanji remembers how much he needs oxygen.
He gasps, sucks in air too quickly, coughs around it, temples burning as the room whites out before shifting back into focus. Fire in his chest with every breath, not hurting, just reassuring, crashing back into himself, and he’s shivering even worse than before.
“Stay with me,” Zoro murmurs behind him, voice quiet but firm.
“Can’t,” Sanji hisses, and his voice sounds so cracked and broken, scratching his throat like glass.
Zoro doesn’t answer, doesn’t need to. Sanji knows he won’t stop, and the thought grips at him, shakes him, makes him feel helpless in a way he’s never felt before, a way that he hates, that makes him shudder and gulp down another shaky breath.
Zoro would stop. Zoro would stop if he thought Sanji wanted him to. But Zoro won’t because he can see everything Sanji won’t say, can’t say.
Zoro lowers him forward again, and Sanji feels like a rag doll in his arms, his weight balanced between his knees and Zoro’s arm wrapped around his chest. Held there, forehead bowed and pressed against the mattress, Zoro’s breath beating against his shoulder blades. When Zoro nudges his legs further apart, Sanji can’t fight it, can’t protest, because Zoro’s hand is trailing over his back, fingertips brushing over his tailbone, electric thrill of sensation that steals all of Sanji’s focus. His whole world coming down to that ghost of a touch sinking lower, and Sanji’s body jerks against Zoro’s hold without his permission but he knows Zoro isn’t going to let him go.
One long finger circling him, reminding him of how slick and open he feels, before pushing inside.
He jerks again, knows he does, hears himself grunt and whine. Two fingers again, pushing inside, easy slide, so much oil and preparation he can barely feel the friction of it. Just the fullness, the feeling of being claimed, taken, and it was too much before but now, God, he’s trying to fuck back against the touch without thought, trying to take it deeper. Feeling Zoro’s fingers shift, flex, curl slightly to tease a spark of sensation that shoots through him, forces more desperate and needy sounds from his throat. Surrendering to it, feeling so lost in it, and he can’t remember, can’t remember how they got to this point, how he allowed this to happen. Brush of another finger against him, and then it’s pushing forward, pushing past the circle of muscle, three fingers, moving inside, and Sanji’s curling in on himself, struggling against the hand on his chest, eyes closed and pressing his face into the sheets.
“Stop trying to get away,” Zoro growls, sounding as ragged as Sanji feels. He pulls Sanji back again, just enough that he can’t bury his face in the mattress, just enough that he can’t inadvertently suffocate himself again, but Sanji barely notices. Can only feel the slight shift in position, the way Zoro’s fingers move inside of him, stretching and aching and too much, even as he pushes back, moans for it in a way that fills him with shame and need. Hears the catch in Zoro’s breathing, feels the tremble of his hand rock through him, and Sanji can’t hold on anymore, drawn too taut, on the edge of falling and never stopping, and then Zoro’s fingers slip away.
He hears the noise he makes, primal and afraid and so, so desperate.
He’s pulled backwards, more to do with Zoro’s shudder than any conscious thought.
“You’re ready,” Zoro says, and he sounds strained and almost angry, and Sanji feels it. Feels that first brush at his entrance of something bigger than Zoro’s fingers, infinitely hotter, and maybe he’s known this was going to happen since the Baratie, or maybe he’s only known since that morning. Didn’t know his back would arch for it, even if Zoro’s wrong, even if he isn’t ready. He’s never going to be ready, never ready for what this is going to do him, to them. Because Zoro is going to kill him, one way or another, break him apart and piece him back together, and Sanji doesn’t know if he’s going to be the same person by the time Zoro’s through with him. Doesn’t know if Zoro’s ever going to be through with him, doesn’t know how much he minds or even cares, and then Zoro’s voice is in his ears, rough and gasping, and he’s pushing inside, and Sanji’s pushing back, and maybe they’re going to kill each other.
Fandom: One Piece
Pairing: Zoro/Sanji
Rating: NC-17
Words: 1074
Notes: For
100moods, prompt "scared".A/N: I'm going to be sorting through some old, unposted fic whilst I gear myself back up to writing. Here's the first, I hope you enjoy. I am weirdly nervous right now. Also, I'd forgotten how crap I am with titles/summaries.
Summary: Suffocating under the strength of inevitability.
He can’t breathe. Sanji can’t breathe, fuck, he actually can’t breathe, and he can’t even say anything, can’t make his voice work the way he needs it to. It’s so wrong, so painfully wrong, and he’s losing himself, piece by piece. Trembling, sensitised ache slowly numbing around the edges in the same way black creeps into his vision. Feeling like he’s drifting apart, throat seized and mouth working uselessly around noises he doesn’t recognise as his own.
He and Zoro, shit, they’ve fought so many times over so many pointless things, thrown everything they have at each other, tried to hurt and damage and wreck. But this is the first time he’s actually been scared. Because this is the first time he’s realising that Zoro’s actually going to kill him.
He’s going to die, stupid useless death, and he’s not even fighting it.
Prickling sensation in his fingers and toes, and there’s a warmth in his spine that’s different to the heat that’s searing him everywhere calloused hands touch him. Slowly rising from within him, something different and unnatural and dangerous, and he’s boiling, insides boiling up, and there’s only a hollow pit of ice where his chest once existed. And it’s like plunging into a pool of water without getting wet, sinking into darkness, giving in to the ringing emptiness.
He barely feels the twinge of discomfort at his scalp as Zoro’s hand fists in his hair, the feeling of being harshly yanked backwards on to his knees detached and surreal. He can feel Zoro’s heat behind him, the slickness of his skin as his back slumps against Zoro’s chest. Zoro’s hand drops, palm moving over the side of his face, and it’s like sandpaper, scraping at his skin. He tries to twist away but his body doesn’t even twitch, just leans back more fully, and it isn’t until Zoro’s thumb strokes a rough line over his throat that Sanji remembers how much he needs oxygen.
He gasps, sucks in air too quickly, coughs around it, temples burning as the room whites out before shifting back into focus. Fire in his chest with every breath, not hurting, just reassuring, crashing back into himself, and he’s shivering even worse than before.
“Stay with me,” Zoro murmurs behind him, voice quiet but firm.
“Can’t,” Sanji hisses, and his voice sounds so cracked and broken, scratching his throat like glass.
Zoro doesn’t answer, doesn’t need to. Sanji knows he won’t stop, and the thought grips at him, shakes him, makes him feel helpless in a way he’s never felt before, a way that he hates, that makes him shudder and gulp down another shaky breath.
Zoro would stop. Zoro would stop if he thought Sanji wanted him to. But Zoro won’t because he can see everything Sanji won’t say, can’t say.
Zoro lowers him forward again, and Sanji feels like a rag doll in his arms, his weight balanced between his knees and Zoro’s arm wrapped around his chest. Held there, forehead bowed and pressed against the mattress, Zoro’s breath beating against his shoulder blades. When Zoro nudges his legs further apart, Sanji can’t fight it, can’t protest, because Zoro’s hand is trailing over his back, fingertips brushing over his tailbone, electric thrill of sensation that steals all of Sanji’s focus. His whole world coming down to that ghost of a touch sinking lower, and Sanji’s body jerks against Zoro’s hold without his permission but he knows Zoro isn’t going to let him go.
One long finger circling him, reminding him of how slick and open he feels, before pushing inside.
He jerks again, knows he does, hears himself grunt and whine. Two fingers again, pushing inside, easy slide, so much oil and preparation he can barely feel the friction of it. Just the fullness, the feeling of being claimed, taken, and it was too much before but now, God, he’s trying to fuck back against the touch without thought, trying to take it deeper. Feeling Zoro’s fingers shift, flex, curl slightly to tease a spark of sensation that shoots through him, forces more desperate and needy sounds from his throat. Surrendering to it, feeling so lost in it, and he can’t remember, can’t remember how they got to this point, how he allowed this to happen. Brush of another finger against him, and then it’s pushing forward, pushing past the circle of muscle, three fingers, moving inside, and Sanji’s curling in on himself, struggling against the hand on his chest, eyes closed and pressing his face into the sheets.
“Stop trying to get away,” Zoro growls, sounding as ragged as Sanji feels. He pulls Sanji back again, just enough that he can’t bury his face in the mattress, just enough that he can’t inadvertently suffocate himself again, but Sanji barely notices. Can only feel the slight shift in position, the way Zoro’s fingers move inside of him, stretching and aching and too much, even as he pushes back, moans for it in a way that fills him with shame and need. Hears the catch in Zoro’s breathing, feels the tremble of his hand rock through him, and Sanji can’t hold on anymore, drawn too taut, on the edge of falling and never stopping, and then Zoro’s fingers slip away.
He hears the noise he makes, primal and afraid and so, so desperate.
He’s pulled backwards, more to do with Zoro’s shudder than any conscious thought.
“You’re ready,” Zoro says, and he sounds strained and almost angry, and Sanji feels it. Feels that first brush at his entrance of something bigger than Zoro’s fingers, infinitely hotter, and maybe he’s known this was going to happen since the Baratie, or maybe he’s only known since that morning. Didn’t know his back would arch for it, even if Zoro’s wrong, even if he isn’t ready. He’s never going to be ready, never ready for what this is going to do him, to them. Because Zoro is going to kill him, one way or another, break him apart and piece him back together, and Sanji doesn’t know if he’s going to be the same person by the time Zoro’s through with him. Doesn’t know if Zoro’s ever going to be through with him, doesn’t know how much he minds or even cares, and then Zoro’s voice is in his ears, rough and gasping, and he’s pushing inside, and Sanji’s pushing back, and maybe they’re going to kill each other.
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Date: 20/12/2010 18:24 (UTC)no subject
Date: 20/12/2010 18:44 (UTC)no subject
Date: 20/12/2010 19:30 (UTC)Nothing like hot, helpless Sanji porn in the morning to revitalise the senses.
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Date: 20/12/2010 19:50 (UTC)early riseralarm cockwake-up call.no subject
Date: 20/12/2010 23:52 (UTC)This was beautiful. And hot in this incredibly desperate way that had me leaning in toward my laptop monitor as I went along. And then when I read the last line, I just kinda slumped back in my chair and went all gooey.
Also: "Stop trying to get away" -- I think I died for a second there.
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Date: 21/12/2010 08:55 (UTC)Ahem, getting back on track. I'm so very glad you enjoyed the fic, lovey. ♥
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Date: 21/12/2010 00:17 (UTC)no subject
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Date: 22/12/2010 11:36 (UTC)no subject
Date: 22/12/2010 02:22 (UTC)I nearly squealed out loud in joy when I saw this pop up on my f-list. I have been a fan of your stories since I started watching OP fandom (I cannot write to save my life ~~~/o/) And I must say, this was an amazing fic. I love the way you portray both Sanji and Zoro and the sheer [i]desperation[/i] that permeated this is, for lack of a better word, delicious. :) &heart &heart &heart
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Date: 22/12/2010 11:39 (UTC)no subject
Date: 23/12/2010 01:18 (UTC)Very nice to make an acquaintence as well! :D
Ah, One Piece, a fandom I got into relatively recently and have yet to look back. And your stories have been fuel for my ZoSan fire. :)
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Date: 24/12/2010 20:19 (UTC)no subject
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Date: 22/12/2010 07:32 (UTC)ETA: I should've done this ages ago so I'll do it now while I'm here. Would it be okay if I friend you?
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Date: 22/12/2010 11:46 (UTC)And yes, that would be more than okay. I'm gonna run over to your Journal and friend you too. ♥
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Date: 23/12/2010 04:37 (UTC)no subject
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Date: 22/12/2010 11:49 (UTC)no subject
Date: 22/12/2010 18:39 (UTC)Second..OMG THIS WAS FREAKING AWESOME!!!! I've read that orgasm is called the 'little death' but you blew that out the door with this fic. And the way Sanji thought Zoro would 'kill him' in more of a spiritual sense than a physical was genius.
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Date: 22/12/2010 23:53 (UTC)Ah, yes, le petit mort. (At least, I think that's the French for it. Been a while since I last attempted to write/speak it.) And Sanji totally would refer to it by the French name, because we all know Sanji likes his French. And he'd be wearing a beret and blowing heart-shaped smoke rings. I'm going off on a tangent here, aren't I? Sorry.
Anyway, the point is THANK YOU for the lovely comment!
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Date: 22/12/2010 21:18 (UTC)no subject
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Date: 24/12/2010 09:36 (UTC)no subject
Date: 24/12/2010 20:24 (UTC)I think I should start saving your comments for rainy days, because they cheer me up like nothing else, whilst making me melt into a puddle of happy goo.
And only Sanji could get suffocated during sex and have it be nothing to do with auto-erotic asphyxiation but just be from his own failure. And also Zoro's overwhelming sexiness, obviously. ;D
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Date: 24/12/2010 11:56 (UTC)no subject
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Date: 01/01/2011 01:21 (UTC)YOUR WORK IS AS BRILLIANT AS USUAL =) I miss them.