February 2025 Drabble #2

Sanji/Zoro – post time skip – thigh fucking – they try to keep it down but they're pent up from two years apart...

Part 1 (This Part)

Part 2 (Patreon Link)

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“Shit, fuck-”

Sanji’s eyes widen in alarm. His hand jerks back, the heel crashing hard enough into Zoro’s mouth that he’s sure he’s caused his lip to split against his teeth. Zoro rears his head back with a grunt.

“Shut the fuck up!” Sanji whisper-screams, his heart thumping fast in his chest as he cranes his neck to stare at the closed door of the bathroom. “What if any of the others hear you idiot?!”

Zoro jerks his head to pull his mouth away from Sanji’s palm. “Let ‘em,” he grunts but he’s quieter than before. He grabs Sanji harder around the waist to keep him from squirming more. His wriggling has caused his cock to slide clean out from between his legs and he doesn’t sound too happy about it as he hisses: “Stay still, shitty cook. Fuck, come on-”

His gruff voice takes on a whiny cadence that mollifies Sanji somewhat. He exhales shakily, longing for a cigarette that he can’t have inside the ship. The other crew members would kill him.

So he goes back to clutching at the water tank of the toilet, staring at the smear of blood against the white porcelain. So he really did make Zoro bleed…

The thought flies out of his head when the big oaf fits his big oaf dick back into the warm, snug space between his thighs.

Sanji closes his eyes, feeling unsteady. It shouldn’t get him off as hard as it does. It shouldn't feel as good as it does. It’s just a cock between his thighs. He’s neither fucking up into his hole nor rubbing satisfyingly up against his own dick. He’s just… he’s just fucking Sanji’s thighs.

Calm down, he thinks desperately. Calm down, calm down, calm the fuck down! It’s just the stinking green bastard with his stinking, green-

Said cock jerks between Sanji’s legs. He can feel dribbles of pre-cum tickling against the hairs of his thighs as it slides down his skin.

Zoro pulls back again; slow like the asshole is savoring every moment. His hot, heavy hand lands just underneath Sanji’s nape; right between his shoulder blades. He’s not pushing him forward but… Sanji starts to tilt even so, his hips thrust further back.

He muffles his wet panting into the sleeve of his suit jacket.

“Put your… put your legs closer together,” Zoro grunts out. When Sanji doesn’t move – just to be contrary of course and not because his brain is oozing out of his ears – he kicks against the outside of his feet, forcing them closer together.

Sanji bites into the fabric of his jacket to keep an appreciative whine down. Zoro doesn’t have as much self-preservation, of course. He groans, loud and explosive and hisses: “Fuck, your thighs are- shit, cook-”

Sanji has to kill him kill him kill him.