(no subject)

[moe81]

Title: Clothes Make The Man

Rating: M

Pairing: Sanji/Zoro

Prompt: Jeans

A/N: This epically lovely prompt is from Sybile. And we also get the extreme pretties~




Zoro's pants had finally fallen apart and being the moronic marimo that he was, he hadn't replaced the spares that he'd resorted to using. Nami, the ever generous goddess that she was, had offered him a pair of jeans that she'd put away. Sanji was a little curious as to why they were the moss-head's size but then it made sense that his orange-haired beauty had foreseen something like this happening. The idiot swordsman should be damn grateful.

 

Sanji lit a cigarette and watched impassively as Zoro stalked across the deck to his weights. Apparently the change in clothing also necessitated the removal of the ridiculous haramaki. Zoro was a lot leaner than he appeared.

 

The denim tapered to his legs and moulded to his hips and it was entirely possible the other man couldn't breathe, they looked so tight. Someone would be hard pressed to fit a hand under the waistband and curl fingers around...

 

Sanji licked his lips when Zoro bent over. The material stretched over his ass, tight and pleading to be touched. His skin tingled with the need to run a hand over that hard curve and to press tightly against the other man. To grasp at his waist and dip his fingertips just underneath the edge of the pants, teasing. To drop his hands into the back pockets and curl his fingers, massaging the hard muscle. 

 

To play with the button holding them together and to hear the zipper teeth part as he slowly dragged the little tag down. To hear Zoro's breath hitch as the metal teeth scratched gently over bare flesh. To dip his hand into the opening and wrap his fingers around...

 

He exhaled unsteadily and focussed on his cigarette. The stick had burned to the filter without him noticing. He tossed it over the side and searched for another; anything to keep his hands busy and his mind off tight denim. He glanced back at the swordsman and sucked in a breath.

 

With weights held above his head, Zoro's shirt had ridden up and Sanji stared at the small strip of exposed skin. Blue contrasted with bronze and with every lift the pants shifted, dropping to show the curve of hips that disappeared under the material. So that's what the damn haramaki hid.

 

His fingers could follow the dip and hollow while his thumb rubbed at the edge of the scar, where he was sure the skin was soft. Hard abs would jump and twitch at his touch and he would drop to his knees before the swordsman, licking and biting at the smooth flesh above the jeans. The taste of sweat and steel on his tongue and he would tug at the tight waistband, baring more skin. His hands would grasp at Zoro's covered ass and dance down his thighs, tracing the seams of his pants, feeling the heat of tight muscle clenching through denim.

 

Zoro shifted again, turning his back to Sanji and placing his weights on the deck. His spine curled and Sanji wondered what the unmarred back would feel like; muscles flexing and the pounding of his pulse. Pants rode low over his hips and Sanji could just see the shadow of the dip between his ass cheeks.

 

His fingers twitched with the imagined sensation of smooth skin. The feel of each vertebra as his calloused hands would slip under the white shirt and skim back down, slipping under the loosened band and caressing the rounded muscle. He would rock his hips into Zoro's as his fingertips teased the crease of Zoro's ass.

 

Zoro would moan and grab at his hands and Sanji would turn him around so that his back was plastered against his chest. He'd wrap his arms around Zoro's waist and his hands would dive into the front pockets. His fingers would brush against hardened flesh and a hand would cover his, trapping him in the confines of soft material. Zoro would shift, ever so slightly, and his palm would rub against the heated length.

 

Zoro's head would fall back and his hips arch forward. Sanji's hands would move with the pants as they fell lower, his hands skimming the top of Zoro's thighs. He'd mouth at the tanned neck, marking a path to Zoro's ear and his lips would close over cold metal. Sensitized skin would heat under his tongue and Zoro would turn to him for a kiss, mouth parted and wanting.

 

One of his hands would slip from a pocket, sliding down and cupping the other man through the roughened denim. Zoro would strain against his hold; moaning, pleading for release. The other would skate over the shirt and tease peaked nipples through the cotton. Zoro would collapse against him and grind his ass back. Sanji would press both hands in harder, building friction between skin and material. He'd growl against bruised lips and he'd receive the same in return.

 

Zoro stripped his shirt off and Sanji refrained from groaning out loud. He closed his eyes and willed the other man to return to his usual outfit. He looked again and was... well, far from disappointed but he was distracted and possibly a little flustered. He glanced down. Definitely aroused.

 

He wondered what would happen if he suggested a permanent change to the marimo's limited wardrobe. Or if he attempted to molest him in the middle of his training. His eyes glazed over as his mind supplied an image of those jeans pooled around scarred ankles.

 

He needed a cigarette. He glanced at the wasted butt between his fingers and threw it over the side. Maybe he needed a cold shower. Maybe a shared shower would be better. Maybe he'd go make something special for Nami as a thank you.