Sensation

No idea why I wrote this...it's just a stupid smutty drabble, but here you go anyway. Please enjoy

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Zoro would never consider himself a slave to Sanji's biddings. Hell, if asked, he would probably insist that he was the one in control of the situation.

But deep down, buried right at the bottom of his soul, he would eventually have to admit that the cook did have a hold on him, not that he usualy cared that much to venture that far.

"What d'you want? Get outta my kitchen." "Don't fucking touch that! Wash your hands first!" "That's not for you to fucking drink, asshole."

All those simple, meaningless commands Sanji shot at him day after day, Zoro never payed heed to. He didn't listen to things he didn't want to hear.

"Right there...do that again..." "Harder. Go harder. Faster." "Stop getting all distracted with my fucking nipples, dipshit. Fuck me."

They were different. Zoro wanted to hear them. He could drown in Sanji's bedroom orders, and though he didn't say it, even to himself, he knew Sanji had him well and truly whipped.

"Just gonna stare all day or are ya actually gonna do something about it?" the cook sneered from his position, lying back on the unkempt motel bed of the latest port, supported on bare elbows, legs spread viciously wide, and utterly naked. Zoro scowled.

"Dick..." he grumbled, tugging his shirt over his head violently. Sanji glared dangerously, the look in his eye coveying his state of arousal even better than the erection between his legs.

"Suck it," he demanded, tugging Zoro down by the hair to plant a harsh kiss to his chapped lips before forcing him further down. Zoro took on his usual state of mind for situations like these. He grasped Sanji's legs, wrenching them up above his head, and didn't care to give a moment of warning before sinking down, accepting the whole thing into his mouth very suddenly.

Combatting Sanji's demanding, dominating nature, was a difficult thing to consider. At first Zoro had tried abstinence, putting a barrier between the cook and his own sexual misgivings. But that had only led to a months worth of pent up frustration being taken out on Sanji's ass. Then he'd tried giving the bastard the opposite of what he'd asked for, but those nights usualy ended with bloody lips and mild concussions rather than afterglows, sticky, sweating skin, and cigarette smoke which smelled sweeter than usual.

Zoro had then concluded that giving Sanji more than what he asked for would work. So far, all he'd managed to do was add fuel to the fire, and Sanji, now having a better idea of what Zoro was capable of, only demanded more, damn near impossible things.

But, if Zoro was to give their situation one spark of hopeful light, at least he now knew Sanji couldn't live without him either.

As he sucked harder than instructed, scraping blunt nails down the inner thigh rubbing against his cheek, Zoro absently cast his mind back to the time he'd woken up to the cook dry humping him. It was difficult to smirk with a cock in your mouth, so he settled for dragging a finger down and pressing it to Sanji's entrance, completely dry, and teasing. It earned him a snarl and a push back from the hips.

"Finger..." Sanji only gasped. Zoro could have taken it as a simple statement, and patronisingly agreed that, yes Sanji, it is a finger, well done. But he was too horny for that Sesame Street bullshit, and just managed to slip it between his lips once, wetting it just slightly before thrusting it in whole, crooking and wiggling, searching. "Uhn...harder..."

It shocked Zoro that he suddenly considered the fact the Sanji never said please. Why the hell should he care whether the blond idiot never took the time for sexual pleasentries or not?! The hands suddenly tugging harshly at his hair, fingers massaging his scalp encouraged him to comply, and he shoved the second one in dry. Sanji would complain the next morning, but Zoro rarely cared about anything outside the moment. He wasn't even sure if they'd manage past one fuck tonight; they had abandoned Luffy with a small crowd of locals, screaming something about meat and funny old men. Luffy getting excited about anything was usualy a one way ticket off an island, chased remorselessly by clueless marines. That was unless one of the others found someone to save in the meantime, of course.

"Fuck me." The order was clean cut and simple, and Sanji was careful enough with it to show that he could have said it to anyone. He always wanted Zoro to feel that he didn't matter, that he was just a cook's toy. Zoro only saw this as Sanji wanting to reassure himself that this was the case. It might have been perfectly true all those months ago, when things were new and still in an experimental phase. Maybe then they could simply have left it, gone and found someone else.

But Zoro knew things were different now. They had come to a new place, full of new people. Different people. And neither had passed up the opportunity of a cheap rented room with each other for the night. It beat sneaking around the ship just fine, but now that they were taking time out of their shore leave to spend alone time meant something, whether Sanji wanted to ignore it or not.

Never the less, Zoro obeyed, sliding up Sanji's slick body, pressing them both together in whatever way possible, and allowing the sensation to impare his judgement like alcohol. He willingly indulged in Sanji, like booze, and took on the effects happily.

Sex, he had come to realise, was a drug. And it pissed him off slightly that Sanji had been the one to make him realise it.

Teeth were bared, snapping and biting at sensitive flesh, and Zoro's pants were caught around his ankles by the boots he hadn't cared to take off.

The first thrust had Sanji clawing at his tanned back, a silent challenge in his eyes that didn't stay silent for long.

"Faster, dickhead," he growled before leaning up to press his mouth to Zoro's, kissing in a way he would probably call passionate, but Zoro would call desperate. Sanji was always desperate with his movements, urgent and needing. Zoro knew he craved his body like cigarettes. But what made it even sweeter was that he couldn't chain smoke Zoro. There had to be a break.

Zoro liked to think that had had control over the break time. He liked pretending that he could resist Sanji's advanced, that he could say 'no' and the stupid cook would listen.

When he had his face buried in Sanji's shoulder, biting down hard enough to draw tasteless blood, he always knew he was wrong, though. He knew that Sanji had a hold on him. That he was pretty much controlled in the sexual sense. Sanji, he wouldn't ever admit, was like a demanding master. If push ever came to shove, Zoro would descrive him as a dominatrix, simply for arguments sake. Sanji liked to play during sex, but rarely did due to the unpredictable sea currents, and the even more unpredictable crew they sailed with. He wasn't playing now because it had been two and a half weeks since their last fuck, and he was close to angry with need.

Zoro was close, Sanji was closer. He spilled himself into Zoro's hand, which he had commanded there, and their chests, effectively sticking them together until Zoro moved again, barely able to prepare himself before orgasm took over.

He had to appreciate the few minutes Sanji always gave him to over come this, letting the afterglow set in before he began his bitching.

"Move over, I can't breathe," he grumbled, shoving Zoro to the side to let himself sit up, searching blindly for his cigarettes. Zoro sighed in contentment, letting himself be leaned over by a still shaking arm in search of matches. The feeling when skin touched his shoulder made him smirk.

If Zoro was ever to admit that he was a slave to anything, he would rather proudly admit to being a slave to sensation. Sanji was simply the one to deal it out for him.

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Drabbledrabbledrabble...

Meh...