(no subject)
Aug. 9th, 2011 12:06 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
lady-karasu.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
onepieceyaoi100I don’t even know why. This entire thing was born of a completely-out-of-context glance at chibikanakonyu’s icon a few posts down. The hell, muse?!
Title: No Good Deed…
Pairing: ZoSan
Word Count: 657 (Ya, not even going to try to parse this one down…)
Topic: Pantomime (oddly, it works)
Rating: Just this side of R for implied context (to be safe)
Warnings: er, anti-warning? Not actually non-con, even if it kinda looks like it to start
Notes: Directly related to: To Prove a Point, Practice, and another I *know* I wrote but can’t find now, that dealt with Sanji repeating certain events from ‘To Prove a Point’ for Zoro’s benefit (when he could be caught) – even if he didn’t see it as such (overly stressed, needing an outlet, but unwilling to submit)
He would have fought, if it hadn’t felt like appropriate payback, and he hadn’t been so tired of waiting for the other shoe to drop. So instead, when the swordsman unexpectedly cornered and pinned him in the hold, he went somewhat limp across the barrel he was eventually held against.
A detached part of his mind thought he should be kicking himself about now (a feat he could, in fact, physically accomplish) for not having really thought this could happen. Only vaguely expecting something juvenile or otherwise violent – but in the open, without tact or subtlety.
Zoro was not one to take what he thought a loss, a slight to his honor, or ego or whatever it was with the man – without reprisal: Competitive to a fault. While the intent was – if not exactly pure, at least considerate – he should have understood, expected the other man to take it as a loss, and plan to make up for it later – not just to come at him blatantly with swords drawn, where he could defend himself…
Apparently, it was later.
So. Now.
Arm held high behind his back, solid thighs firmly pressing his legs into the barrel, he lay limp across the lid, cheek pressed into the wood grain, passively staring at nothing.
Warm breath in his ear, and a hand roughly felt under him, working at his belt, slacks coming undone, loose on his hips. “Never took you for the stoic type…” The words were not… unkind, but neither did they offer comfort. Part of his mind was gibbering, denying the reality of this as his pants were roughly pulled down, buttocks and thighs left bare and vulnerable in the cool air of the room – but the rest was oddly calm, because however much what he had done had helped the other man, he still felt a measure of guilt for not giving him a choice. And this? This was still better than the revenge he had offered that first night, in trade.
He bit back a flippant comment about ‘taking it like a man’, not willing to let bravado write checks his body couldn’t cash - forced his breathing under control, willing his heart to slow, and managed to get out, “better than what I offered”, in a somewhat reasonable voice, the only concession he would make to his own guilt and pride – tacit explanation for his lack of fight. He had allowed this to happen – he couldn’t have stopped it, but it made it better, somehow. Made him less helpless.
Then he felt the featherlight caress of a hand as it fumbled with the pant fastenings, inches away from his… and he bit his lip hard, forcing the rest of his body to go limp. Almost immediately a strong hand fastened roughly onto his hip, holding him still, and he realized with detached horror that he wouldn’t even be prepared first. He felt oddly betrayed – he’d taken great care with the other man- but only screwed his eyes shut in anticipation, biting his lip harder and concentrating on his breathing – so it took three or four thrusts for him to realize… nothing hurt – and another three to notice he had not, actually been penetrated. Confused, but unresisting, he experienced several more mock-thrusts, pelvic flesh slapping harmlessly against his ass – before he was pulled up hard and tight against the other man who then leaned over him like a predator, making him feel more claustrophobic than he had in his long life on the sea ever dreamed of being.
Warm breath stirred the hair at the nape of his neck, and a deep growl he could feel in his own chest said – in an odd tone between threat and benediction – “I understand why, so we are even with only this."
Then the weight and the warmth were abruptly gone, and he was left in the hold- shaking, but incongruously feeling lighter than he had in weeks.
Title: No Good Deed…
Pairing: ZoSan
Word Count: 657 (Ya, not even going to try to parse this one down…)
Topic: Pantomime (oddly, it works)
Rating: Just this side of R for implied context (to be safe)
Warnings: er, anti-warning? Not actually non-con, even if it kinda looks like it to start
Notes: Directly related to: To Prove a Point, Practice, and another I *know* I wrote but can’t find now, that dealt with Sanji repeating certain events from ‘To Prove a Point’ for Zoro’s benefit (when he could be caught) – even if he didn’t see it as such (overly stressed, needing an outlet, but unwilling to submit)
He would have fought, if it hadn’t felt like appropriate payback, and he hadn’t been so tired of waiting for the other shoe to drop. So instead, when the swordsman unexpectedly cornered and pinned him in the hold, he went somewhat limp across the barrel he was eventually held against.
A detached part of his mind thought he should be kicking himself about now (a feat he could, in fact, physically accomplish) for not having really thought this could happen. Only vaguely expecting something juvenile or otherwise violent – but in the open, without tact or subtlety.
Zoro was not one to take what he thought a loss, a slight to his honor, or ego or whatever it was with the man – without reprisal: Competitive to a fault. While the intent was – if not exactly pure, at least considerate – he should have understood, expected the other man to take it as a loss, and plan to make up for it later – not just to come at him blatantly with swords drawn, where he could defend himself…
Apparently, it was later.
So. Now.
Arm held high behind his back, solid thighs firmly pressing his legs into the barrel, he lay limp across the lid, cheek pressed into the wood grain, passively staring at nothing.
Warm breath in his ear, and a hand roughly felt under him, working at his belt, slacks coming undone, loose on his hips. “Never took you for the stoic type…” The words were not… unkind, but neither did they offer comfort. Part of his mind was gibbering, denying the reality of this as his pants were roughly pulled down, buttocks and thighs left bare and vulnerable in the cool air of the room – but the rest was oddly calm, because however much what he had done had helped the other man, he still felt a measure of guilt for not giving him a choice. And this? This was still better than the revenge he had offered that first night, in trade.
He bit back a flippant comment about ‘taking it like a man’, not willing to let bravado write checks his body couldn’t cash - forced his breathing under control, willing his heart to slow, and managed to get out, “better than what I offered”, in a somewhat reasonable voice, the only concession he would make to his own guilt and pride – tacit explanation for his lack of fight. He had allowed this to happen – he couldn’t have stopped it, but it made it better, somehow. Made him less helpless.
Then he felt the featherlight caress of a hand as it fumbled with the pant fastenings, inches away from his… and he bit his lip hard, forcing the rest of his body to go limp. Almost immediately a strong hand fastened roughly onto his hip, holding him still, and he realized with detached horror that he wouldn’t even be prepared first. He felt oddly betrayed – he’d taken great care with the other man- but only screwed his eyes shut in anticipation, biting his lip harder and concentrating on his breathing – so it took three or four thrusts for him to realize… nothing hurt – and another three to notice he had not, actually been penetrated. Confused, but unresisting, he experienced several more mock-thrusts, pelvic flesh slapping harmlessly against his ass – before he was pulled up hard and tight against the other man who then leaned over him like a predator, making him feel more claustrophobic than he had in his long life on the sea ever dreamed of being.
Warm breath stirred the hair at the nape of his neck, and a deep growl he could feel in his own chest said – in an odd tone between threat and benediction – “I understand why, so we are even with only this."
Then the weight and the warmth were abruptly gone, and he was left in the hold- shaking, but incongruously feeling lighter than he had in weeks.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2011-08-09 03:40 pm (UTC)Now bake Zoro a cake, and ask him for a real date. *lol*
Mmmm, cake...
Date: 2011-08-09 04:31 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-08-14 02:09 pm (UTC)