[ the words drop like stones between them, and at once his temper ignites, fueled by something so much stronger than just rage. his fear sticks in his throat, choking him, the grief of what could have transpired sitting like a weight upon his shoulders. for one horrible moment, his animal instinct envisions slamming his foot right into zoro's throat, knowing the exact trajectory to take to break his fucking neck.
he's on his feet, whirling around to kick the wall. the room nearly shakes, the thud deafening. then he slides back onto the bed, crowding into zoro's space, his one eye wide and red-rimmed. ]
Fuck you, you shitty idiot. Don't fucking say that to me ever again.
[ it sounds so wrong from zoro's lips, so unnatural. it sounds like something sanji would say, always ready for self-sacrifice, to throw himself upon a sword or a pyre or a reason to save someone else. zoro is the one that's supposed to fight. sanji is the one that gives himself up, belly up, with a smile.
from this close, he can see everything. the freckles spread across zoro's cheeks. the dusting of his dark lashes. the little flush of red at zoro's lips from the meat. sanji's throat bobs in a hard swallow, his gaze pointedly avoiding the bowl, but he can't avoid zoro's strong, calloused, elegant fingers, stained with meaty juices from the raw cuts of deer. his hunger wrenches him forward like a hook, his breath straining in his chest. his weak, aching hand claps around zoro's wrist, dragging it to his mouth, where he holds it there for an eternity, panting.
his tongue flicks out. there's nothing there but the residue of the meat, but he can taste it, raw flesh and trace remnants of blood. his lips touch zoro's fingertips, and then he's sliding his first two fingers into the warm heat of his mouth, tonguing him up to his knuckles. he sucks at every trace of flavor, licking him clean, and it's not nearly enough, but it's more than what he's had in days, in weeks. ]
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he's on his feet, whirling around to kick the wall. the room nearly shakes, the thud deafening. then he slides back onto the bed, crowding into zoro's space, his one eye wide and red-rimmed. ]
Fuck you, you shitty idiot. Don't fucking say that to me ever again.
[ it sounds so wrong from zoro's lips, so unnatural. it sounds like something sanji would say, always ready for self-sacrifice, to throw himself upon a sword or a pyre or a reason to save someone else. zoro is the one that's supposed to fight. sanji is the one that gives himself up, belly up, with a smile.
from this close, he can see everything. the freckles spread across zoro's cheeks. the dusting of his dark lashes. the little flush of red at zoro's lips from the meat. sanji's throat bobs in a hard swallow, his gaze pointedly avoiding the bowl, but he can't avoid zoro's strong, calloused, elegant fingers, stained with meaty juices from the raw cuts of deer. his hunger wrenches him forward like a hook, his breath straining in his chest. his weak, aching hand claps around zoro's wrist, dragging it to his mouth, where he holds it there for an eternity, panting.
his tongue flicks out. there's nothing there but the residue of the meat, but he can taste it, raw flesh and trace remnants of blood. his lips touch zoro's fingertips, and then he's sliding his first two fingers into the warm heat of his mouth, tonguing him up to his knuckles. he sucks at every trace of flavor, licking him clean, and it's not nearly enough, but it's more than what he's had in days, in weeks. ]