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There’s nothing sexy about this.
It’s not soft and gentle-- the way he’d like it to be. There’s no caressing or whispered words of arousal and encouragement. What he wants is to start slow, he wants to sniff and kiss and taste. He wants to know intimately the way that bronze chest hitches when he’s hit a sweet spot. He wants to let his nails grow out to wickedly sharp points before raking them down frustratingly smooth legs.
He wants to watch toes curl in unadulterated pleasure as moans slip out uncontrollably and he drains that man of everything.
But no.
Instead, his teeth gnash as he lurches forward. Chains clang and the metal is loud in this room below deck. He knows. He knows he asked for this but fuck it’s nearly impossible to hold on to the last bit of his restraint. The smell is tantalizing, teasing and pisses him off to no end. There are others nearby, he knows it but he can only focus on one.
He can only focus on Zoro.
Zoro. Zoro. Zoro. Zoro. Zoro.
“ZORO!” The name rips out of his throat, guttural and violent as he thrashes in the shadows. “ZORO!” and it’s not human, the syllables he forces himself to say. It's angry and raging and desperate all at the same time. It’s needy and it despises and desires.
He feels something wet slide down his chin. It starts as a dribble and grows until he’s leaking. The noise echoes amid the silence, going from an occasional plip plip to a steady stream and it takes him a long moment to understand that he’s drooling, damn near raving and foaming at the mouth.
His tongue darts out to give a slow swipe to lips-- already slick with spit-- and runs over his fangs at a turtle’s pace. He knows Zoro can see them, just like he can see the way that the man’s pulse jumps. The way he can smell that thin thread of apprehension and the predator in him wants to exploit that to its fullest extent. He knows that Zoro has sharp ears, sharper than the average human, and he knows that Zoro can hear pleased rumbling from deep within his chest.
The way that he approves even with his gaping stomach and insatiable hunger. Hunger that not even his hands and his skills can conquer. Its fucking shitty knowing that he’ll never truly be full.
But Zoro is here. Zoro with his thick arms and strong neck and welcoming stance and--
The chains rattle and he yells. He screams and jumps forward, his eyes locked on its target. The blood just beneath the surface, waiting, gushing beneath a layer of skin and a sheen of sweat and Sanji only wants a bite.
“Let me go!” He demands, just sane enough to not break his hands free, regardless of the fact that he’ll be perfectly fine. “Let me go. Let me go. Let me eat. I’m so hungry. Let me eat him.”
Nothing about this is sexy. It’s not soft and gentle.
Sanji wants to devour Zoro. He wants to rip flesh and drink to his unbeating heart’s content. He wants to bite a chunk out of the swordsman and chew it slowly, savor the flavor of hard work and dedication. He wants to eat Zoro’s love for him, if only to truly make them one.
If he eats-- “If I eat you I’ll be full.” his hands pull at the restraints, breath growing labored and chest heaving. “I just want to be full. I don’t want to starve.”
Sanji’s begging, but he can’t help it. Zoro is there and Zoro is gorgeous and Zoro looks delicious and fuck, fuck, fuck he wants to kill that man. Murder and feast on him until there aren’t even bones. His eyes study the swordsman and already he has more than a hundred meals in mind. Ways to cut at arteries for a cleaner swipe. Cube cuts for soups and sliced for sandwiches. Fingers as crispers and toes as poppers and Sanji has to swallow.
Be patient. He just has to be patient, because Zoro always provides. Zoro offers himself. There is nothing sexy about this but the swordsman makes such delicious sounds. The man steps forward and his steps are heavy with purpose and Sanji whines when his lover stops only inches away.
It’s not long before the action is corrected, and the man discards his swords, shirking off the green robe and tilting his neck, arms crossed and face impassive but the barest flicker of arousal.
In his proper state of mind, the blond would laugh. Oh how he lucked out, to end up with such a masochistic partner. One that got off on even the most tortuous of pains and called it training.
Any trace of humor is effectively eradicated as Zoro comes even closer, golden eyes nearly black and skin hot. Searing. “Fucking eat me.”
So Sanji's teeth sink into flesh as he relishes the scream that reverberates in return.
It's almost like a kiss.