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salmon_pinkTitle: Understandable
Fandom: One Piece
Pairing: Sanji/Zoro
Rating: R
Words: 800
Notes: For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
100moods, prompt "indescribable".
Summary: He can't really explain it, and he can't be without it.
It’s the lovecook who instigates it every time, even now. Never with words, but there’ll be some less-than-subtle hint, fingers trailing over Zoro’s lower back as he passes by or pinching at Zoro’s thigh under the dinner table. Zoro will look up and there’ll be this smirk on Sanji’s face, challenging and inviting and secret, meant for Zoro alone.
Sometimes he doesn’t even get those perfunctory signs; he’ll just feel Sanji’s gaze on him, dark and hungry, and a ball of heat clenches tight in his stomach. And somehow Sanji will know Zoro’s received the message loud and clear without their eyes meeting once. Must recognise something in Zoro’s frown, or maybe the way Zoro feels his shoulders tensing to stop himself from flinching or, worse, shivering under the attention. Something for Zoro to work on, to train himself out of, but he’s usually too caught up in anticipation to remember that until days later.
He suspects it’s his own pride that won’t let him make the first move. Not that he needs to, because Sanji’s patience for it is about as short as Zoro’s own, and he never keeps Zoro waiting long. But the fact is that sex was never an especially important part of Zoro’s life until he wandered into the Baratie dining room, and a part of Zoro resents that Sanji has changed that. Resents that Sanji could have that power over him.
Zoro has had sex with women, and he’s enjoyed it, but he’s never craved it, never desperately sought it out.
But that first time Sanji had twisted around mid-fight and slammed their lips together hard enough to make Zoro’s teeth hurt, something angry and hopeless and searing had been awakened in Zoro’s blood, and he knows he can never go back to acting like he doesn’t need this.
The lovecook needs it too, and some days that’s the only thing that keeps Zoro sane when he has Sanji pinned against a wall, a calloused hand expertly working him through his trousers. Sanji is this giant mess of hormones, and he wears it with pride, ridiculous as Zoro thinks that is. But there should be no reason for him to turn to Zoro for this, in the same way there should be no reason for Zoro to respond. Only they both do, so whatever it is between them, it’s mutual and so fucking addictive that Zoro’s starting to forget what life was like before he could devour Sanji’s mouth to keep him from spitting insults.
For his part, Sanji doesn’t seem bothered that Zoro never approaches him, that Sanji is always the one to chase after it. Maybe he’d understood that from the beginning, maybe that was why he made the first move. If he hadn’t, this never would have started. If he hadn’t, Zoro would probably never have realised just why his body sings for those daily fights between them, twisted type of foreplay that suits them so well.
Sanji’s never going to ask him for romance or even sentiments that aren’t curled around curses and sarcasm. He’s never going to ask Zoro to admit it, to admit how he’s already lost to it, can’t be without it, dreams about his hands on Sanji’s skin and wakes up to the phantom taste of his sweat. He doesn’t need to ask, because their best communication, the only kind that means anything, is always physical. He can see it, must be able to see it, in the way Zoro slams him against the nearest hard surface the second they’re alone, the way Zoro arches for him and presses close. Sees it in the way Zoro always means to but somehow always forgets to kick off his boots before he shoves his trousers down, the way he learnt after that very first time to be careful not to rip Sanji’s clothes. Must see it in the way Zoro watches him, heavy and heated, when Sanji wraps a hand around them both and finds a rhythm that makes his breath hiss out from between gritted teeth.
And when Zoro doesn’t immediately leave once he’s got what he wanted, when he’s content to laze around and just enjoy the warm looseness to his muscles, Sanji must know what that means. Must understand.
So Sanji is the one who instigates it every time. But Zoro’s never going to say no, and so it just stretches out between them, another part of the way they manage to exist together. This indescribable pull between them, this understanding, and Sanji will keep taking the first step because he must already know Zoro will be there, ready to meet him in the middle with a kiss that is hungrier and messier and more perfect than anything either of them could ever put into words.
Fandom: One Piece
Pairing: Sanji/Zoro
Rating: R
Words: 800
Notes: For
100moods, prompt "indescribable".Summary: He can't really explain it, and he can't be without it.
It’s the lovecook who instigates it every time, even now. Never with words, but there’ll be some less-than-subtle hint, fingers trailing over Zoro’s lower back as he passes by or pinching at Zoro’s thigh under the dinner table. Zoro will look up and there’ll be this smirk on Sanji’s face, challenging and inviting and secret, meant for Zoro alone.
Sometimes he doesn’t even get those perfunctory signs; he’ll just feel Sanji’s gaze on him, dark and hungry, and a ball of heat clenches tight in his stomach. And somehow Sanji will know Zoro’s received the message loud and clear without their eyes meeting once. Must recognise something in Zoro’s frown, or maybe the way Zoro feels his shoulders tensing to stop himself from flinching or, worse, shivering under the attention. Something for Zoro to work on, to train himself out of, but he’s usually too caught up in anticipation to remember that until days later.
He suspects it’s his own pride that won’t let him make the first move. Not that he needs to, because Sanji’s patience for it is about as short as Zoro’s own, and he never keeps Zoro waiting long. But the fact is that sex was never an especially important part of Zoro’s life until he wandered into the Baratie dining room, and a part of Zoro resents that Sanji has changed that. Resents that Sanji could have that power over him.
Zoro has had sex with women, and he’s enjoyed it, but he’s never craved it, never desperately sought it out.
But that first time Sanji had twisted around mid-fight and slammed their lips together hard enough to make Zoro’s teeth hurt, something angry and hopeless and searing had been awakened in Zoro’s blood, and he knows he can never go back to acting like he doesn’t need this.
The lovecook needs it too, and some days that’s the only thing that keeps Zoro sane when he has Sanji pinned against a wall, a calloused hand expertly working him through his trousers. Sanji is this giant mess of hormones, and he wears it with pride, ridiculous as Zoro thinks that is. But there should be no reason for him to turn to Zoro for this, in the same way there should be no reason for Zoro to respond. Only they both do, so whatever it is between them, it’s mutual and so fucking addictive that Zoro’s starting to forget what life was like before he could devour Sanji’s mouth to keep him from spitting insults.
For his part, Sanji doesn’t seem bothered that Zoro never approaches him, that Sanji is always the one to chase after it. Maybe he’d understood that from the beginning, maybe that was why he made the first move. If he hadn’t, this never would have started. If he hadn’t, Zoro would probably never have realised just why his body sings for those daily fights between them, twisted type of foreplay that suits them so well.
Sanji’s never going to ask him for romance or even sentiments that aren’t curled around curses and sarcasm. He’s never going to ask Zoro to admit it, to admit how he’s already lost to it, can’t be without it, dreams about his hands on Sanji’s skin and wakes up to the phantom taste of his sweat. He doesn’t need to ask, because their best communication, the only kind that means anything, is always physical. He can see it, must be able to see it, in the way Zoro slams him against the nearest hard surface the second they’re alone, the way Zoro arches for him and presses close. Sees it in the way Zoro always means to but somehow always forgets to kick off his boots before he shoves his trousers down, the way he learnt after that very first time to be careful not to rip Sanji’s clothes. Must see it in the way Zoro watches him, heavy and heated, when Sanji wraps a hand around them both and finds a rhythm that makes his breath hiss out from between gritted teeth.
And when Zoro doesn’t immediately leave once he’s got what he wanted, when he’s content to laze around and just enjoy the warm looseness to his muscles, Sanji must know what that means. Must understand.
So Sanji is the one who instigates it every time. But Zoro’s never going to say no, and so it just stretches out between them, another part of the way they manage to exist together. This indescribable pull between them, this understanding, and Sanji will keep taking the first step because he must already know Zoro will be there, ready to meet him in the middle with a kiss that is hungrier and messier and more perfect than anything either of them could ever put into words.
