( there's a moment of relative silence that lingers the air after zoro practically spits his last words, exasperated, and he briefly thinks that maybe it'll finally sink in — that zoro would give his life if it meant keeping nami and this shitty fucking cook alive. but before that thought can settle, sanji is on his feet and it makes zoro's heart race — angry that he's running away from him again like he always fucking does, but aching at the thought of it.
the kick to the wall may as well be a kick to the throat instead with the way the sound reverberates through the room, ears flattening on top of his head. there's a defensive flash of his teeth as sanji encroaches his personal space entirely, fingers curling into fists briefly at his sides, but he doesn't retaliate. hell, he doesn't even look away, gaze sharp as each word ends up practically growled in his face. do something about it, asshole, he wants to yell. do something about it for once instead of being a fucking coward.
the words die on his tongue as zoro suddenly realizes how intently the cook is staring at him, can feel each smoke-tinged exhale of air against his face as he pants, mouths a breath apart. is tonight the night that they finally stop pretending to tolerate each other for nami's sake? is tonight the night that they finally stop holding back and actually fight, claws and sharp teeth and torn flesh, uncaring if his wounds split back open again, uncaring if he bleeds out? the way sanji snatches hold of his wrist makes him think so, and zoro makes one attempt to struggle against his fingers, surprised by the brute strength he finds.
instead of the warm blood spewing from a split lip after an imagined punch to the face, there's suddenly only the wet heat of sanji's mouth, his tongue laving over zoro's fingertips like they're the best thing he's ever fucking tasted. it knocks the wind out of him, honestly, gaze fixed on the way his lips stretch around his fingers, and memories of those same lips wrapping around his cock come flooding back in, the greedy drag of his tongue up his length —
fuck. this is — this isn't good. he presses his fingers down on sanji's tongue, meanly shoves them a little deeper inside. ) Don't fuck with me, cook, ( zoro practically whispers, a mild warning, a mild plea, voice feeling ragged with a need that he knows deep down doesn't match the blonde that's practically in his lap — he's been denied way too many fucking times to make that stupid mistake again. )
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2024-01-23 02:48 am (UTC)the kick to the wall may as well be a kick to the throat instead with the way the sound reverberates through the room, ears flattening on top of his head. there's a defensive flash of his teeth as sanji encroaches his personal space entirely, fingers curling into fists briefly at his sides, but he doesn't retaliate. hell, he doesn't even look away, gaze sharp as each word ends up practically growled in his face. do something about it, asshole, he wants to yell. do something about it for once instead of being a fucking coward.
the words die on his tongue as zoro suddenly realizes how intently the cook is staring at him, can feel each smoke-tinged exhale of air against his face as he pants, mouths a breath apart. is tonight the night that they finally stop pretending to tolerate each other for nami's sake? is tonight the night that they finally stop holding back and actually fight, claws and sharp teeth and torn flesh, uncaring if his wounds split back open again, uncaring if he bleeds out? the way sanji snatches hold of his wrist makes him think so, and zoro makes one attempt to struggle against his fingers, surprised by the brute strength he finds.
instead of the warm blood spewing from a split lip after an imagined punch to the face, there's suddenly only the wet heat of sanji's mouth, his tongue laving over zoro's fingertips like they're the best thing he's ever fucking tasted. it knocks the wind out of him, honestly, gaze fixed on the way his lips stretch around his fingers, and memories of those same lips wrapping around his cock come flooding back in, the greedy drag of his tongue up his length —
fuck. this is — this isn't good. he presses his fingers down on sanji's tongue, meanly shoves them a little deeper inside. ) Don't fuck with me, cook, ( zoro practically whispers, a mild warning, a mild plea, voice feeling ragged with a need that he knows deep down doesn't match the blonde that's practically in his lap — he's been denied way too many fucking times to make that stupid mistake again. )