[ it's the first time, sanji realizes, that he's left to take care of the ship entirely alone. it had to be someone, since the marines have been fairly hot on their trail the past few days which left a higher need for a guard, and since luffy and zoro had already darted off ahead into the forests of the island (the former hastily hungry for adventure and the latter horrifyingly declaring "don't worry, i'll make sure he doesn't get lost"), there'd been little time to plan out the arrangements more thoughtfully. and, well, since it'd been nami who'd asked for a volunteer to protect her dear treasure, there could only be one man who'd scramble to take up the job position without a second thought.
so everyone moves on ahead and sanji remains, something that seems like a fine enough idea since there's plenty to do on board, tidying up the shelving of their food reserves and canning new specialty made jams and jellies for toast he'll serve at the crew's next breakfast meal. when he isn't in the galley, there are plenty of chores to be done, scrubbing the deck and wiping down railings (motivated by the common reward of nami patting his head gratefully when he does) and getting some laundry sorted.
the hours pass, more than he'd anticipated, and after about twenty-seven cigarettes smoked, he wonders if the crew is alright.
it isn't so common these days that he's left entirely alone, always having someone around, never left behind long enough for him to really notice the emptiness, not as he does now. the usual laughter is absent and his friends are too far away for him to reach.
(the last time he'd felt that alone, he'd been in the confines of a cell, suffocated by darkness, crying out to no one who cared if he lived or died—)
no, it's alright. he believes in his crew, knows that they'll look out for one another. and most importantly, zoro is with them. as long as he stayed by their side, they'd all be safe. the two of them had promised one another that, without words.
once he's taken care of the girls' clothes, those having taken priority first, sanji begins to rummage in the rooms for the boys' scattered articles, a much smellier affair, unfortunately. the worst of the offenders consists of zoro's, of course, immediately frowning when he sees all the familiar shirt pieces, a number of them originally having been his own before zoro had slipped them on and accidentally stretched out the fabric in his favor. ]
Shitty Marimo. [ he mutters to himself, with no one else to hear his grumbles.
crouching down to the ground to toss the pieces into the basket, he halts when his fingers grab a dark green coat, the fabric thin and surprisingly soft to the touch, jolted into a memory of a time he'd peeled it open, palms sneaking beneath it to reach for zoro's cock, heavy and intoxicating to stroke even before he's hard. he'd ultimately ended up on his knees, the swordsman's pants shoved down but still wearing that green fabric as sanji enthusiastically stuffed his mouth, head bobbing until he could feel familiar wet heat spilling down his throat.
the sanji of presents swallows recalling it, feeling the stirring warmth within his own trousers. he hates that it makes him think about how much he misses that idiot, even when he's only been away for half a day. he hates even more how such a short time apart feels that ridiculously unbearable.
the laundry basket gets left on the floor, forgotten, as sanji removes his own clothes without much logical thought, draping that coat around his own naked body. pressing his nose to the collar, it doesn't even reek, as he'd typically expect. it just smells like zoro, like musk and metal and sweat, like the soft press of his kiss on a lazy morning. he engulfs himself with more of that smell when he lays in zoro's bed — their bed, most days, with how often sanji collapses in it after long hours in the galley — and pulls the coat even tighter around himself, eyes closing. ]
Stupid idiot Marimo. [ another insult for no one, hating zoro even more for not being here to hear it. it should be nami or robin on his mind and yet, it's the dumbass who leaves him aching, just for being away for a little while.
he inhales again, musk, metal, sweat, and his heart quickens, hips stirring as he thinks of that memory again, strong fingers stroking through his hair, always surprising him with a gentle touch, such a contrast to his slashing swords bent on killing him, all for him just to caress his neck like the "shitty cook" is actually the most delicate creature to exist. sanji wants that touch again, wants that heavy warm body, and he could feel his own cock react to the quiet desire, slowly tenting beneath the coat's fabric. ]
Fuck. [ like he's trying to warn himself to have some sense, but his hand is already moving, arm tucking inward to pull out of the sleeve and slip downward, curling a grip around the shaft to start stroking, slow movements leaving him in a shudder. zoro kissing him. zoro touching him. zoro fucking him. he loses himself in the fantasies of past experiences, hand quickening with its pace as the groans begin to work their way out of his throat, deep sounds that imitate the same ones that slip when zoro takes him far enough past his lips to tickle his nose against a thick patch of blond hairs.
the crown of his cock rubs up against the coat from within, threads going a darker shade as it dampens, precome leaking enough to stain. but sanji still strokes himself, forgetting everything else as he pants against the touch of his own hand, heels digging into the mattress with a whine, arching his hips up from the bed. ] D-damn it — Zoro ...
( this isn't an unusual affair, luffy running off as soon as they dock and zoro having to run after him to corral him into some kind of order, but it hasn't happened in a while. luffy takes off like a shot and like an old habit rearing its ugly head, zoro takes off without a second thought. somehow it's easier to do now, knowing that if he disappears, sanji will be there to pick up the slack.
of course, he doesn't know that sanji's the one left behind on the ship while the others disembark to see whatever else the island has to offer.
eventually, he does catch up to luffy and the two of them wander together before suddenly luffy is lost and zoro's left standing alone in the middle of a copse of lemon trees. it's fragrant in a way he hadn't really expected and somehow when he looks at the branches with the yellow citrus hanging heavy among the green leaves, it makes him think of the stupid cook. zoro's lips push up into a small scowl that he's so easily swayed by a stupid color.
before he even realizes what he's doing, he's reaching up to pluck the fruit from the trees until he's laden with them. having to carry all these back is going to be annoying, so he takes his shirt off to tie them up into it, hangs it off the handle of one of his swords as he makes his way back to the ship.
which, of course, takes a bit longer than anyone else might take to get back. but, that's not his fault. it's never his fault.
anyway.
he boards the ship, curious at how quiet it is. instantly, his hackles are raised; someone always watches the ship and now no one's to be found. he doesn't like the implication of it. he searches the ship, checking everywhere and only winds up in the bunks last. what he sees actually stops him in his tracks. so, the idiot love cook is the one who got left behind to watch and he's in here being filthy in zoro's bed, with zoro's jacket, thinking about zoro.
nice.
for a few moments he just stands there watching him, feeling his own cock fill with interest as it tends to whenever sanji does anything remotely alluring. considering this is downright obscene, he's on a quicker path to arousal. quietly he sets the makeshift sack of lemons down, removes his swords, heads over toward the bed, )
[ everything else vanishes. the gentle rocking of the ship against light waves, the squawking of birds taking off from the island's trees, the loneliness of being on his own in the cabin. because in his mind, zoro is here with him, urging his legs to spread further — which he does, toes curling to lift himself higher off of them, like he can somehow offer a better angle to be fucked — and then thrusting in deep inside of him. his hole might be empty now but it takes little to recall the sensation of zoro stretching him open, the thrilling rub of where he likes it most.
he moans again, eyes still screwed tight with heavier pants from his lips, fingers twisting into a tighter fist to stroke harder.
and then he hears his voice, so clearly that he's surprised by how clear his fantasy can be, before it jolts him into opening his eyes, the surprise dropping him into the mattress as his feet give out from lifting himself. ]
Fuck, what are you—!? [ lifting himself on an elbow, he gives a squeeze to his cock on impulse, like he could somehow calm it down that way instead of making it worse. his instinct is to try to cover up what he'd been doing, just because that would be the most sensible thing to do, but — including the boner's that poking out from under the jacket that's definitely not his, and whatever obscene noises he'd been making just seconds ago, there's honestly little worth bothering to hide.
but sanji and stubbornness are old friends, so he hisses between his teeth, even as he still breathes hard, his face a complete fluster. ]
( by the time sanji's done spluttering all over himself, zoro's beside the bed. his gaze rakes over sanji beneath his jacket and he can see where he's hard beneath it — as if he hadn't when he'd been standing near the door — and he wets his lips. it's rare when he doesn't feel a low, simmering banked heat for sanji just regularly, but it's grown into an inferno as he's watching him and it's a little obvious just how turned on it's made him.
his fingers flex at his side; this is a test of his willpower, his patience. he just wants to jump on sanji right now and fuck him into the mattress. how could he not? this is one of the more overt ways sanji's shown he's actually into him; zoro rarely — if ever — gets that kind of thing from him. of course he wants to jump on it.
but, he refrains from touching him. for the moment.
he doesn't even bother answering sanji's questions. no point in it. and sanji probably knows already that he's not going to entertain them. )
Keep going. ( his voice is low, there's an edge of demanding in his tone. he wants to see more. feels like he needs it. ) Show me what you'd be doing if I wasn't here.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
don't look at me!!!
[ it's the first time, sanji realizes, that he's left to take care of the ship entirely alone. it had to be someone, since the marines have been fairly hot on their trail the past few days which left a higher need for a guard, and since luffy and zoro had already darted off ahead into the forests of the island (the former hastily hungry for adventure and the latter horrifyingly declaring "don't worry, i'll make sure he doesn't get lost"), there'd been little time to plan out the arrangements more thoughtfully. and, well, since it'd been nami who'd asked for a volunteer to protect her dear treasure, there could only be one man who'd scramble to take up the job position without a second thought.
so everyone moves on ahead and sanji remains, something that seems like a fine enough idea since there's plenty to do on board, tidying up the shelving of their food reserves and canning new specialty made jams and jellies for toast he'll serve at the crew's next breakfast meal. when he isn't in the galley, there are plenty of chores to be done, scrubbing the deck and wiping down railings (motivated by the common reward of nami patting his head gratefully when he does) and getting some laundry sorted.
the hours pass, more than he'd anticipated, and after about twenty-seven cigarettes smoked, he wonders if the crew is alright.
it isn't so common these days that he's left entirely alone, always having someone around, never left behind long enough for him to really notice the emptiness, not as he does now. the usual laughter is absent and his friends are too far away for him to reach.
(the last time he'd felt that alone, he'd been in the confines of a cell, suffocated by darkness, crying out to no one who cared if he lived or died—)
no, it's alright. he believes in his crew, knows that they'll look out for one another. and most importantly, zoro is with them. as long as he stayed by their side, they'd all be safe. the two of them had promised one another that, without words.
once he's taken care of the girls' clothes, those having taken priority first, sanji begins to rummage in the rooms for the boys' scattered articles, a much smellier affair, unfortunately. the worst of the offenders consists of zoro's, of course, immediately frowning when he sees all the familiar shirt pieces, a number of them originally having been his own before zoro had slipped them on and accidentally stretched out the fabric in his favor. ]
Shitty Marimo. [ he mutters to himself, with no one else to hear his grumbles.
crouching down to the ground to toss the pieces into the basket, he halts when his fingers grab a dark green coat, the fabric thin and surprisingly soft to the touch, jolted into a memory of a time he'd peeled it open, palms sneaking beneath it to reach for zoro's cock, heavy and intoxicating to stroke even before he's hard. he'd ultimately ended up on his knees, the swordsman's pants shoved down but still wearing that green fabric as sanji enthusiastically stuffed his mouth, head bobbing until he could feel familiar wet heat spilling down his throat.
the sanji of presents swallows recalling it, feeling the stirring warmth within his own trousers. he hates that it makes him think about how much he misses that idiot, even when he's only been away for half a day. he hates even more how such a short time apart feels that ridiculously unbearable.
the laundry basket gets left on the floor, forgotten, as sanji removes his own clothes without much logical thought, draping that coat around his own naked body. pressing his nose to the collar, it doesn't even reek, as he'd typically expect. it just smells like zoro, like musk and metal and sweat, like the soft press of his kiss on a lazy morning. he engulfs himself with more of that smell when he lays in zoro's bed — their bed, most days, with how often sanji collapses in it after long hours in the galley — and pulls the coat even tighter around himself, eyes closing. ]
Stupid idiot Marimo. [ another insult for no one, hating zoro even more for not being here to hear it. it should be nami or robin on his mind and yet, it's the dumbass who leaves him aching, just for being away for a little while.
he inhales again, musk, metal, sweat, and his heart quickens, hips stirring as he thinks of that memory again, strong fingers stroking through his hair, always surprising him with a gentle touch, such a contrast to his slashing swords bent on killing him, all for him just to caress his neck like the "shitty cook" is actually the most delicate creature to exist. sanji wants that touch again, wants that heavy warm body, and he could feel his own cock react to the quiet desire, slowly tenting beneath the coat's fabric. ]
Fuck. [ like he's trying to warn himself to have some sense, but his hand is already moving, arm tucking inward to pull out of the sleeve and slip downward, curling a grip around the shaft to start stroking, slow movements leaving him in a shudder. zoro kissing him. zoro touching him. zoro fucking him. he loses himself in the fantasies of past experiences, hand quickening with its pace as the groans begin to work their way out of his throat, deep sounds that imitate the same ones that slip when zoro takes him far enough past his lips to tickle his nose against a thick patch of blond hairs.
the crown of his cock rubs up against the coat from within, threads going a darker shade as it dampens, precome leaking enough to stain. but sanji still strokes himself, forgetting everything else as he pants against the touch of his own hand, heels digging into the mattress with a whine, arching his hips up from the bed. ] D-damn it — Zoro ...
👀👀 i'm starin
of course, he doesn't know that sanji's the one left behind on the ship while the others disembark to see whatever else the island has to offer.
eventually, he does catch up to luffy and the two of them wander together before suddenly luffy is lost and zoro's left standing alone in the middle of a copse of lemon trees. it's fragrant in a way he hadn't really expected and somehow when he looks at the branches with the yellow citrus hanging heavy among the green leaves, it makes him think of the stupid cook. zoro's lips push up into a small scowl that he's so easily swayed by a stupid color.
before he even realizes what he's doing, he's reaching up to pluck the fruit from the trees until he's laden with them. having to carry all these back is going to be annoying, so he takes his shirt off to tie them up into it, hangs it off the handle of one of his swords as he makes his way back to the ship.
which, of course, takes a bit longer than anyone else might take to get back. but, that's not his fault. it's never his fault.
anyway.
he boards the ship, curious at how quiet it is. instantly, his hackles are raised; someone always watches the ship and now no one's to be found. he doesn't like the implication of it. he searches the ship, checking everywhere and only winds up in the bunks last. what he sees actually stops him in his tracks. so, the idiot love cook is the one who got left behind to watch and he's in here being filthy in zoro's bed, with zoro's jacket, thinking about zoro.
nice.
for a few moments he just stands there watching him, feeling his own cock fill with interest as it tends to whenever sanji does anything remotely alluring. considering this is downright obscene, he's on a quicker path to arousal. quietly he sets the makeshift sack of lemons down, removes his swords, heads over toward the bed, )
What are you cursing me for, Cook?
no subject
he moans again, eyes still screwed tight with heavier pants from his lips, fingers twisting into a tighter fist to stroke harder.
and then he hears his voice, so clearly that he's surprised by how clear his fantasy can be, before it jolts him into opening his eyes, the surprise dropping him into the mattress as his feet give out from lifting himself. ]
Fuck, what are you—!? [ lifting himself on an elbow, he gives a squeeze to his cock on impulse, like he could somehow calm it down that way instead of making it worse. his instinct is to try to cover up what he'd been doing, just because that would be the most sensible thing to do, but — including the boner's that poking out from under the jacket that's definitely not his, and whatever obscene noises he'd been making just seconds ago, there's honestly little worth bothering to hide.
but sanji and stubbornness are old friends, so he hisses between his teeth, even as he still breathes hard, his face a complete fluster. ]
When— when the hell did you get back?
no subject
his fingers flex at his side; this is a test of his willpower, his patience. he just wants to jump on sanji right now and fuck him into the mattress. how could he not? this is one of the more overt ways sanji's shown he's actually into him; zoro rarely — if ever — gets that kind of thing from him. of course he wants to jump on it.
but, he refrains from touching him. for the moment.
he doesn't even bother answering sanji's questions. no point in it. and sanji probably knows already that he's not going to entertain them. )
Keep going. ( his voice is low, there's an edge of demanding in his tone. he wants to see more. feels like he needs it. ) Show me what you'd be doing if I wasn't here.