heart-curls:

lost-marimo:

Zoro feels caught, almost embarrassed to be staring at the other man so intently, to be so consumed by thoughts of him… His cheeks color just the faintest shade of pink, mercifully too light to be noticeable in the dim room.

“Hn. I’m not looking at anything.” He deadpans with a pointed, purposeful glance to the front of Sanji’s pants. He shifts and redirects his gaze to the ceiling before closing his eyes. “Oi, cook…”

He hesitates. No, Roronoa Zoro doesn’t hesitate. He…trails off, debating whether or not he should say anything. If he should just leave it alone and accept it for what it is…but can he do that if he doesn’t know what it is? And if he tries to figure out what it is, will he just fuck whatever it is all up?

Dammit. His brow furrows. Too much thinking right after an incredible orgasm.

“Nevermind.”

Sanji grins widely, knowing that Zoro was, indeed, looking. He just held too much pride in situations like this to admit them. The blond leans his back against the edge of the bed, quietly smoking his cigarette. He reaches to the bedside table for the ashtray that sat on its corner. Tapping the burning paper into it, he raises his brow.

“I know you were looking. It’s dark, but I can still see where your eyes are.” The cook turns around, resting his chin in his palm on the arm that he props up on the bed. He sits there quietly, pulling smoke into his lungs.

The swordsman calls for him. “… hm?” He was waiting for words to come from Zoro, whatever they were. Sanji lets white smoke leave his nostrils, then he smashes the end of it into the tray.

“What?” he said when there was a longer delay than he expected.

He extends a hand, the hand sliding over Zoro’s jaw. His thumb gently rubs the swordsman’s cheek. All the while, his facial expression remains still, almost calculating and trying to pry out any thoughts that were going through his nakama’s head. The tips of his fingers jingle the earrings that dangled from Zoro’s left ear.

“Come on .. ~”

The corners of Zoro’s mouth curve downward at the caress of Sanji’s palm and thumb, the brush against his earrings, even as his skin grows warm and his body shivers. This is even harder to understand. This gentle touch that isn’t an invitation for anything more, slightly teasing and yet not a suggestion. 

His lifts a hand with the intention of just swatting Sanji’s away, but ends up taking hold of it instead, fingers curling loosely around his wrist, pulling it away from his face.

“What does it mean for you…” The words leave him quietly, a step above a whisper, but sounding nowhere near as uncertain as he might’ve felt. “…when you touch me like this?”

(via heart-curls-deactivated20110720)