Zoro stared hungrily at Sanji, grunting and panting as he thrust into the body beneath him. Sanji breathed heavily, flush-faced, his hooded gaze never breaking Zoro’s own. Sweat coated Zoro’s brow, dripped down his temple, dampened his hairline. The sounds of slapping skin and the heady scent of sex were heavy in the air. The bed squeaked and thumped against the wall with every fevered punch of his hips. He could feel himself getting closer and closer to the edge as the wet heat clenched around him. But he didn’t want it to end.
Because once he came, misery always followed, knowing that the only way he’d ever see Sanji like this was with a woman between them.
The local woman’s head was in Sanji’s lap, mouth working, pleasuring him as Zoro took her from behind. It was the only way he could stomach it, keeping his eyes off her, pretending it was only him and the cook. Women did nothing for him, but being this close to Sanji, even with someone between them, was more than he could ever ask for.
He wanted Sanji more than he wanted his pride, and his self-worth wasn’t strong enough to resist Sanji’s sinful smile. Whenever he got drunk and suggested they find a woman to share, Zoro always said yes. Celebration after celebration, if he was still on his feet, Sanji would slink up with a tipsy grin and a low, teasing chuckle – tie loose, collar unbuttoned, color high on his cheeks – and hang on him until he broke, the same as he always did.
Sanji would find them a woman, just drunk enough to agree, but never so far she couldn’t choose. When he was intoxicated, his silver tongue could charm the spots off a leopard. The usual romantic idiocy vanished, leaving only that raw magnetism no woman could resist. Zoro couldn’t either. Time after time, he found himself in bed with them, taking what little of Sanji he was ever allowed to have.
Sanji was gorgeous naked. Ridges of muscle and corded thighs, buttermilk skin that Zoro longed to taste, dark blond hair that furred his chest and arrowed down from his navel to curl at his groin. Zoro salivated every time he saw Sanji’s cock, hard and flushed, leaking at the tip. What he wouldn’t give to have it in his mouth, to be in the woman’s position, being the one who caused those breathy moans that escaped Sanji’s kiss-reddened lips.
But it was not to be. The familiar tightening built fast, his rhythm faltering as release overtook him. He pulled out just as it hit, eye squeezing shut, body shuddering as he spilled into the protection. For one brief moment, he didn’t think.
Then it crashed down on him, like it always did. When he opened his eye, Sanji was no longer looking at him. The cook was already coaxing the woman up, sliding into the space Zoro had left.
Zoro moved off the bed, cleaned up, and dressed. He could hear the woman riding Sanji, Sanji’s quiet words of encouragement and praise. He knew if he glanced back, he’d see Sanji’s hand on her breast, the other between her thighs, his entire focus on her now with the same hooded gaze that he’d watched Zoro. It meant nothing, just a quirk of sex, and heartbreak settled over Zoro like a familiar shroud.
Without a word, he left Sanji to his pleasure, knowing he’d stay the night. Zoro went to find a stiff drink and the strength to stop repeating the same mistake. He knew he wouldn’t. At the next celebration, when Sanji slinked up to him with that smile, he’d give in all over again.
End