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[He's good at loss. Koby thinks about rowing away from a burning ship, about standing on a dock, in a deserted street, in a tangerine grove. He thinks about the home he'd had, however briefly, and then he puts it out of his mind, a jagged-edged thing he refuses to let himself dwell on any further. There's a comforting numbness in the act of that, of pulling on the skin, the Changeling, the animal who thinks about nothing but here and now.
Unfortunately Koby isn't an animal, not at his heart. He's a person, a person who has somehow ended up caring very, very much about the people in this house. The potential of their loss -- all at once, which would somehow be more bearable than one at a time, two left here alone, delirious with loss, missing the third like a limb -- hangs over Koby constantly, keeping him tethered to humanity like an anchor. He feels it now, watching to make sure Zoro finishes the plate, leaves only a smear of blood on the smooth surface.
There's a huff of a laugh at the flat summary of his actions, a nudge of the glasses back up Koby's nose.] I don't feel the cold. I'm less...scrawny as a seal. [He's fairly cylindrical, actually. Aerodynamic.
The pelt pools in his lap, satiny between Koby's fingers as he finally loosens his grip. There aren't any wrinkles, the fur smoothing out immediately, pink-spotted and luxurious.] It wants to be taken, I think? Something like that, I've been doing some reading on legends and things, and the whole point of a skin is to be taken and held by someone else. It's like a curse? You get to transform, but you're always being hunted and always at risk of being controlled. [The pelt slips over his knee again, thick-furred and gleaming in the lamplight.]
Unfortunately Koby isn't an animal, not at his heart. He's a person, a person who has somehow ended up caring very, very much about the people in this house. The potential of their loss -- all at once, which would somehow be more bearable than one at a time, two left here alone, delirious with loss, missing the third like a limb -- hangs over Koby constantly, keeping him tethered to humanity like an anchor. He feels it now, watching to make sure Zoro finishes the plate, leaves only a smear of blood on the smooth surface.
There's a huff of a laugh at the flat summary of his actions, a nudge of the glasses back up Koby's nose.] I don't feel the cold. I'm less...scrawny as a seal. [He's fairly cylindrical, actually. Aerodynamic.
The pelt pools in his lap, satiny between Koby's fingers as he finally loosens his grip. There aren't any wrinkles, the fur smoothing out immediately, pink-spotted and luxurious.] It wants to be taken, I think? Something like that, I've been doing some reading on legends and things, and the whole point of a skin is to be taken and held by someone else. It's like a curse? You get to transform, but you're always being hunted and always at risk of being controlled. [The pelt slips over his knee again, thick-furred and gleaming in the lamplight.]
( what precious few thoughts linger in zoro's mind are washed away by the tide of his orgasm, panting softly, head flopping back against the pillows as he attempts wading through the fog that's settled over him. post-nut clarity is definitely a fucking myth, because he can barely comprehend how β intense that felt.
(it probably doesn't help that he doesn't really jerk off, even when he wakes up hard and sleepily drooling on nami's tits with sanji's stubble and hot exhales tickling the back of his neck β he just yawns and stretches and meanders outside to go for a run or lift some weights; he's never really understood the seemingly all-encompassing desperation other people feel. β until now, maybe.)
the soreness in his shoulders starts to creep in first β not unpleasant, really, just unusual from the way he's been holding his arms, muscles flexing in his attempts at keeping still, not realizing how tightly his fingers are curled in on themselves until he relaxes them. zoro swallows hard, rolling his shoulders one at a time, pointy ears relaxing against his hair as he slowly blinks his eyes open to look through heavy lids dumbly, perhaps awed, even, down at nami grinning like the cat that got the canary. fuck. she's so β
his hips jump as she palms over his spent cock, earning her another pathetic little dribble of cum and her taunts only leave him even more slack-jawed and stupid, brain practically short-circuiting as she smears his mess over his torso and takes some for herself, fingering it inside of her. the dichotomy of the unabashedly filthy way nami touches herself and the tender way she pets his ears, toys with his earrings is enough to make his head spin, enough to make him feel vaguely insane.
β is this what the shitty cook feels like all the fucking time? consumed with all-encompassing desire and devotion that practically seeps through his pores? for nami, he gets it. he really fucking gets it, even if he's too far gone right now to conjure up any other way to express it besides obedience.
it's pure instinct when his lips part and his tongue lolls out, eyes fluttering closed as she bears some of her weight down on him, chin tipping up just so as he laps at the slick folds of her cunt before licking deeper inside once, groaning as he tastes himself, tastes her, tastes β
zoro tugs at his restraints without even thinking about it, the chafe of the leather belt against his wrists the only reminder of why he can't just wrap his arms tightly around her thighs and hold her against him. nami's in control, and that satisfies something burrowed deep in his chest that he can't tell if it comes from being a familiar and having their connection or if it's just been inside him all along. he wants to please her, tongue outstretched and pressed against her, chin slick with her arousal and his own saliva, wants her to grind her clit against him until she's moaning and shuddering and can't hold herself up anymore. )
(it probably doesn't help that he doesn't really jerk off, even when he wakes up hard and sleepily drooling on nami's tits with sanji's stubble and hot exhales tickling the back of his neck β he just yawns and stretches and meanders outside to go for a run or lift some weights; he's never really understood the seemingly all-encompassing desperation other people feel. β until now, maybe.)
the soreness in his shoulders starts to creep in first β not unpleasant, really, just unusual from the way he's been holding his arms, muscles flexing in his attempts at keeping still, not realizing how tightly his fingers are curled in on themselves until he relaxes them. zoro swallows hard, rolling his shoulders one at a time, pointy ears relaxing against his hair as he slowly blinks his eyes open to look through heavy lids dumbly, perhaps awed, even, down at nami grinning like the cat that got the canary. fuck. she's so β
his hips jump as she palms over his spent cock, earning her another pathetic little dribble of cum and her taunts only leave him even more slack-jawed and stupid, brain practically short-circuiting as she smears his mess over his torso and takes some for herself, fingering it inside of her. the dichotomy of the unabashedly filthy way nami touches herself and the tender way she pets his ears, toys with his earrings is enough to make his head spin, enough to make him feel vaguely insane.
β is this what the shitty cook feels like all the fucking time? consumed with all-encompassing desire and devotion that practically seeps through his pores? for nami, he gets it. he really fucking gets it, even if he's too far gone right now to conjure up any other way to express it besides obedience.
it's pure instinct when his lips part and his tongue lolls out, eyes fluttering closed as she bears some of her weight down on him, chin tipping up just so as he laps at the slick folds of her cunt before licking deeper inside once, groaning as he tastes himself, tastes her, tastes β
zoro tugs at his restraints without even thinking about it, the chafe of the leather belt against his wrists the only reminder of why he can't just wrap his arms tightly around her thighs and hold her against him. nami's in control, and that satisfies something burrowed deep in his chest that he can't tell if it comes from being a familiar and having their connection or if it's just been inside him all along. he wants to please her, tongue outstretched and pressed against her, chin slick with her arousal and his own saliva, wants her to grind her clit against him until she's moaning and shuddering and can't hold herself up anymore. )
( zoro has an eager way about him, that anyone else might not recognize β luckily nami has a front row seat, can see the flush of excitement spread up his neck, the glimmer in his eyes that hints more at a daunting challenge than sexual frustration. it makes nami smile, girlish and giggly, because she knows she's going easy on him, and knows he wouldn't thank her for it. besides, there's no shame in him admitting defeat. this is a man who has set himself on the path of becoming the world's best swordsman β you don't get there without practice, and nami doesn't imagine she'd mind what practice would look like in this context. )
Just hit the headboard if you need to breathe.
( the first flick of his tongue has a shuddering gasp wrenched from nami's mouth, her body automatically bouncing away from him, overstimulated, shocked by pleasure. nothing she can't overcome though, with another breathless laugh, sinking a hand in the hair at the top of zoro's head and sitting back down, grinding her cunt on the runway his tongue makes. she still shivers and gasps like a ship on choppy water, but she doesn't pull away once she knocks against his nose, clit grinding on the squashed tip. she feels it building up in her core, an eruption bubbling in her belly. if she pulled back far enough to get fingers in her cunt, she could squirt all over him, could instruct him to lap it up like the hungry little kitten she knows he is.
she doesn't, though. the bigger part of nami wants to give him her orgasm, wants him to earn it and enjoy the reward. her body works in a rocking motion, throat raw from moaning and whining and gasping as she grinds down on his chin, letting his neck support her weight as she keens into him, back bending and arching, chasing after his tongue. )
God βΒ yes, Zoro, please. That's perfect, you're β you're a good boy, my good fucking kitty.
( the orgasm sneaks up and punches her in the gut, wrenching a moan out from her, hands in her own hair, on her breasts, in zoro's hair, until they finally settle on grasping his, the bars of the headboard squashed between their sweaty palms. her body moves more on instinct, rutting against his mouth, chasing the last tendrils of her orgasm until she's exhausted by it, body hot and floating on clouds as she comes down. languidly, with all the effort of a sleep-infected house cat, she dislodges from his neck, sinking down on his body until she's cupped beside him, overheated skin cooling against his. a happy sound leaves her throat, leg tossed over his hips, arm draped around his chest, eyes shut while she gives a very good impression of falling asleep.
luckily, she doesn't. nami's eyes open after a moment and, smiling at him, she reaches up to undo the belt around his wrists, wrapping her hands around them instead, squeezing the barely there bruises. )
How do you feel? Okay? You want water?
Just hit the headboard if you need to breathe.
( the first flick of his tongue has a shuddering gasp wrenched from nami's mouth, her body automatically bouncing away from him, overstimulated, shocked by pleasure. nothing she can't overcome though, with another breathless laugh, sinking a hand in the hair at the top of zoro's head and sitting back down, grinding her cunt on the runway his tongue makes. she still shivers and gasps like a ship on choppy water, but she doesn't pull away once she knocks against his nose, clit grinding on the squashed tip. she feels it building up in her core, an eruption bubbling in her belly. if she pulled back far enough to get fingers in her cunt, she could squirt all over him, could instruct him to lap it up like the hungry little kitten she knows he is.
she doesn't, though. the bigger part of nami wants to give him her orgasm, wants him to earn it and enjoy the reward. her body works in a rocking motion, throat raw from moaning and whining and gasping as she grinds down on his chin, letting his neck support her weight as she keens into him, back bending and arching, chasing after his tongue. )
God βΒ yes, Zoro, please. That's perfect, you're β you're a good boy, my good fucking kitty.
( the orgasm sneaks up and punches her in the gut, wrenching a moan out from her, hands in her own hair, on her breasts, in zoro's hair, until they finally settle on grasping his, the bars of the headboard squashed between their sweaty palms. her body moves more on instinct, rutting against his mouth, chasing the last tendrils of her orgasm until she's exhausted by it, body hot and floating on clouds as she comes down. languidly, with all the effort of a sleep-infected house cat, she dislodges from his neck, sinking down on his body until she's cupped beside him, overheated skin cooling against his. a happy sound leaves her throat, leg tossed over his hips, arm draped around his chest, eyes shut while she gives a very good impression of falling asleep.
luckily, she doesn't. nami's eyes open after a moment and, smiling at him, she reaches up to undo the belt around his wrists, wrapping her hands around them instead, squeezing the barely there bruises. )
How do you feel? Okay? You want water?
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