triple | ( open )

( inspiration, nsfw. )

[ 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 ...

oi
put a fucking shirt on

quickly: pick a number between 1 and 70

don't look at me!!!

for the tiddy.

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