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More Birthday Whore-age
Ahaha...I fell asleep last night around 8 pm and didn't manage to finish up Zoro's birthday smuttage. Here's the two that I already had written out in my head before I passed the fuck out.
With: Ener, Wiper
Rating: R
Word Count: 1022
The rustling of silk and the dull clinking of metal on metal was a form of prayer to the god who padded into the small room silently on bare feet. Eyes bright with the light of divine inspiration, he studied the two acolytes who lay prostrate before him. Heads and bare backs bowed, knees tucked up beneath them, the figures were the very model of subservient veneration to their deity. Of course, the fact that one was snoring and the other was drooling ever so slightly into the plush pillows scattered across the floor went completely ignored by the god. The golden chains, however, which adorned their bodies and kept them splayed into their current posture, did not. A slight smile quirked the blood-red lips of the lord of this realm and he raised one hand languidly to allow a spark of divine light to leap into the metal.
The now-familiar and hated feel of electricity buzzing through the heated metal into skin woke the two men from a rest that had been much needed. Snarling, the darker, tattooed figure tried to leap forward, forgetting in his rage how many times this tactic had been attempted in the past. As always, grasping fingers fell short of the god’s calmly smiling face by scant centimeters, the chains jerking him short and making him fall back to his knees. The other man, possessing a much cooler head than his fellow captive, merely opened leaf-green eyes that reflected pure hatred at the being who claimed to be their master. The façade of serenity never leaving, the god ran his eyes possessively over his two most diligent worshippers and took an indulgent bite from one of the apples he always seemed to have.
One alabaster foot adorned with a ruby or two as well as gold was stretched forth to catch the angrier young man beneath his chin. As sparks coursed through his chains and limbs, holding him still, his head was lifted. Glaring defiantly at the powerful figure who now studied him in amusement, he sought once again to find enough moisture in his mouth to spit but the heat of the lightning in his veins thwarted him once more. When the god had finished his survey of his devoted slave, he pulled his holy limb away, replacing it firmly on his servant’s head and pushing the man’s face into the pillows. Swallowing a bite of the firm, juicy fruit, he turned to the other acolyte.
“Happy birthday,” he said simply, watching the man’s face closely.
The god was rewarded with a flaring of nostril and a slight widening of the man’s eyes. In his head the swordsman tried to remember how long he had been captive of the madman, but the ever-present light and his lack of sleep made it nearly impossible. He couldn’t help but shudder, realizing that if the madman was telling the truth, he’d been enslaved for over a month. It was an idea that chilled him to the core, despite of the heat that constantly sang in his blood from the bastard’s repeated applications of electricity. The outwardly peaceful visage he’d fought so hard to maintain cracked for a moment and he spoke.
“You’re lying,” he managed to growl through dry, cracked lips and was rewarded with the soft and jarring chuckle of his foe.
“God has no need to lie.”
The pale, muscular figure removed his foot from his worshipper’s head and stepped lightly between them. He settled himself upon the plush heap of cushion that formed his throne in the back of this small room and looked upon the backs of his two acolytes with glee. Their bonds prevented them from seeing him in that position and his disappearance from their sight had both spines tensing in what the god knew to be anticipation. Eager to not disappoint, he gestured negligently with his fingers and watched as the white-hot sparks of his divinity flowed through gold and their bodies.
When the moment of divine bliss had passed, the two chained young men found themselves in a new position. It delighted their captor to manipulate their bonds while they remained ignorant in the grasp of his power. Often had they found themselves pulled into displays of submission or arranged to suit his peculiar whims. Never, though, had they found themselves able to touch one another so easily, and this freedom made both of them pause and wait for whatever trick the madman undoubtedly had planned.
The god saw all this of course and sneered at the disbelief coming from those who should have known better. Sending a flick of lightning out to lick at their bodies as a tongue of divine flame, he manipulated them like puppets and watched as sweat beaded and breath grew short. The flesh that strained constantly between their legs in honor of him grew hot and flushed and he delighted in seeing a drop of crimson fall from one well-bitten lip to stain the pale silk they rested on.
“Even God,” he said at last, “is not without a shred of mercy or compassion.”
Another surge of electricity coursed through them, blood singing in their ears as their bodies came into unexpected contact. And then it was gone, leaving them joined intimately as they had never been before – without some element of their captor to drive them. The golden rings which clamped tightly over parts of their anatomy, another form of control, loosened suddenly and the supposed divinity’s plan became absolutely clear.
Too long a time of restrained lust and knowing only the harsh touch of the being who lounged behind them made them move. The sweetness of simple flesh inside of flesh without any complication was nearly overwhelming but neither of them could bear to stop despite the knowledge that this was exactly what the false god wanted. Unwillingly, the swordsman’s eyes leaked bitter tears of anger and relief as his body was stroked inside by something other than the burning hum of electricity. And as he came with a harsh, choked back shout, he cursed the dual-edged ‘gift’ he had been given.
With: Sanji
Rating: R
Word Count: 937
“Goodnight Nami-swaaaaan!” Sanji caroled after the navigator as she helped the tipsy sharpshooter roll an over-stuffed Luffy out the galley door towards the men’s cabin. His orange-haired goddess waved one delicate, talented hand at him and slammed the door shut with her heel. Delighted smile falling from his lips, the blonde chef surveyed his domain with an annoyed scowl. The room was a disaster area; a mess of dishes and empty bottles and bruised fruit, crushed nuts, and chocolate everywhere. In the corner of his territory, the direct cause of this chaos snored away unmindful of Sanji’s efforts or anger.
“Damn cabbage-head,” Sanji muttered as he slowly began gathering the drained, discarded glass that had previously housed most of the Going Merry’s liquor collection. “Only that idiot would have the discourtesy to have a birthday when it’s been days since we’ve had a chance to put in at a port and restock.”
The blonde had done his best when Luffy had declared that Zoro HAD to have a party. The swordsman hadn’t seemed to care, but captain’s orders were orders. Examining their dwindling supply of eggs and flour and sugar, Sanji had finally remembered that the marimo idiot had a weakness for chocolate. Pleased, the chef had forgone the traditional cake in order to spare their stock. Instead he’d managed to beg some mikans from his beloved navigator. Combining those with some other fruits and a store of nuts he’d been collecting with a mind to making a special kind of encrusted fish, he sweetened all of his baking chocolate and declared that the stupid swordsman wasn’t having a cake but fondue instead. That, combined with his grudging unlocking of the liquor cabinet, had been enough to satisfy his nakama.
Actually, Sanji was quite pleased with the way everything had gone. Excepting, of course, his forgetting of the uncouth behavior of most of his shipmates. Chocolate had gone EVERYWHERE. Drips trailed down the walls, spatters decorated the ceiling, and little pools of it had cooled and hardened on the floor. Almost no part of the table had gone untouched and even the birthday boy himself bore a streak of the stuff down the side of one cheek. The cook was at a loss about where to even start with it, so he settled for bustling around gathering bottles and dished to take to the sink.
One trip resulted in a particularly loud clatter and the moss-brained fool in the corner had managed to crack an eye open and harp at him in an obnoxiously drunken tone.
“Oi, cooking idiot! Keep it down, ‘m tryin’ ta sleep.”
Something in the slurred words had finally caused the tightly wound chef to snap. Perhaps it was because the swordsman had been eyeing him all evening long, going so far as to pull him down into his lap once he was intoxicated enough. Or maybe it was frustration over not being able to show his precious Nami his skills at baking a cake. It could have been that Sanji hadn’t gotten laid in almost a month, his usual fuck-buddy blowing him off with some kind of crap about training and stamina and control. In all likelihood it was a combination of all of this along with the typical expectation that he was to clean up, alone, once again with no possibility of a thank you the next morning.
Whatever the cause, Sanji had dropped his current armload of bottles and dishes in the sink regardless of whether or not they’d break. He’d strode quickly across the small room, stopping in front of a bleary Zoro. Grasping the swordsman’s chin tightly in one hand, he tilted that chocolate-stained cheek towards him and cleaned it with one firm lick of his tongue. Then, tasting a bit more of the sweet dessert from the idiot’s lips, he gave his order.
“You can sleep as soon as you help me clean up all the chocolate.”
Zoro’s eyes had widened and he’d jerked back out of Sanji’s hold with a spluttered “no!” But, the chef was pleased to notice as he backed away to where the last of the chocolate lay cooling inside the fondue pot on the stove, his eyes had seemed to clear a bit as they tracked his movement. Catching those hazy green with his own, Sanji stared Zoro down as he opened his slacks and poured the last of the warm, brown liquid over his demanding cock.
“Yes.”
When Sanji stalked back towards him, Zoro’s eyes widened and a bit of red tongue appeared at the corner of his mouth. The chef gave a satisfied smirk and straddled the swordsman’s body, chocolate-covered cock nudging insistently at his lips. Zoro never could resist, not chocolate nor Sanji’s dick when he was worked up and demanding, and his mouth opened obediently. He tasted and sucked and swallowed and soon the flesh Sanji was thrusting forward was gleaming wetly pink as he watched it sliding in and out. Fisting one hand in the moron’s seaweed hair brought forth a moan and impelled the cook to move faster, roughly, fucking Zoro’s mouth in search of the release he’d been denied in recent weeks.
Coming finally, groin pressed insistently against Zoro’s face and curly blond strands tickling the swordsman’s nose, Sanji growled in satisfaction as he felt his release swallowed down without hesitation. Hands came up around his waist when he slipped free, pulling him down on top of the idiot’s lap even as he tasted himself mingled with chocolate on Zoro’s tongue.
“Happy birthday asshole,” he muttered when he finally was allowed to catch his breath.
With: Ener, Wiper
Rating: R
Word Count: 1022
The rustling of silk and the dull clinking of metal on metal was a form of prayer to the god who padded into the small room silently on bare feet. Eyes bright with the light of divine inspiration, he studied the two acolytes who lay prostrate before him. Heads and bare backs bowed, knees tucked up beneath them, the figures were the very model of subservient veneration to their deity. Of course, the fact that one was snoring and the other was drooling ever so slightly into the plush pillows scattered across the floor went completely ignored by the god. The golden chains, however, which adorned their bodies and kept them splayed into their current posture, did not. A slight smile quirked the blood-red lips of the lord of this realm and he raised one hand languidly to allow a spark of divine light to leap into the metal.
The now-familiar and hated feel of electricity buzzing through the heated metal into skin woke the two men from a rest that had been much needed. Snarling, the darker, tattooed figure tried to leap forward, forgetting in his rage how many times this tactic had been attempted in the past. As always, grasping fingers fell short of the god’s calmly smiling face by scant centimeters, the chains jerking him short and making him fall back to his knees. The other man, possessing a much cooler head than his fellow captive, merely opened leaf-green eyes that reflected pure hatred at the being who claimed to be their master. The façade of serenity never leaving, the god ran his eyes possessively over his two most diligent worshippers and took an indulgent bite from one of the apples he always seemed to have.
One alabaster foot adorned with a ruby or two as well as gold was stretched forth to catch the angrier young man beneath his chin. As sparks coursed through his chains and limbs, holding him still, his head was lifted. Glaring defiantly at the powerful figure who now studied him in amusement, he sought once again to find enough moisture in his mouth to spit but the heat of the lightning in his veins thwarted him once more. When the god had finished his survey of his devoted slave, he pulled his holy limb away, replacing it firmly on his servant’s head and pushing the man’s face into the pillows. Swallowing a bite of the firm, juicy fruit, he turned to the other acolyte.
“Happy birthday,” he said simply, watching the man’s face closely.
The god was rewarded with a flaring of nostril and a slight widening of the man’s eyes. In his head the swordsman tried to remember how long he had been captive of the madman, but the ever-present light and his lack of sleep made it nearly impossible. He couldn’t help but shudder, realizing that if the madman was telling the truth, he’d been enslaved for over a month. It was an idea that chilled him to the core, despite of the heat that constantly sang in his blood from the bastard’s repeated applications of electricity. The outwardly peaceful visage he’d fought so hard to maintain cracked for a moment and he spoke.
“You’re lying,” he managed to growl through dry, cracked lips and was rewarded with the soft and jarring chuckle of his foe.
“God has no need to lie.”
The pale, muscular figure removed his foot from his worshipper’s head and stepped lightly between them. He settled himself upon the plush heap of cushion that formed his throne in the back of this small room and looked upon the backs of his two acolytes with glee. Their bonds prevented them from seeing him in that position and his disappearance from their sight had both spines tensing in what the god knew to be anticipation. Eager to not disappoint, he gestured negligently with his fingers and watched as the white-hot sparks of his divinity flowed through gold and their bodies.
When the moment of divine bliss had passed, the two chained young men found themselves in a new position. It delighted their captor to manipulate their bonds while they remained ignorant in the grasp of his power. Often had they found themselves pulled into displays of submission or arranged to suit his peculiar whims. Never, though, had they found themselves able to touch one another so easily, and this freedom made both of them pause and wait for whatever trick the madman undoubtedly had planned.
The god saw all this of course and sneered at the disbelief coming from those who should have known better. Sending a flick of lightning out to lick at their bodies as a tongue of divine flame, he manipulated them like puppets and watched as sweat beaded and breath grew short. The flesh that strained constantly between their legs in honor of him grew hot and flushed and he delighted in seeing a drop of crimson fall from one well-bitten lip to stain the pale silk they rested on.
“Even God,” he said at last, “is not without a shred of mercy or compassion.”
Another surge of electricity coursed through them, blood singing in their ears as their bodies came into unexpected contact. And then it was gone, leaving them joined intimately as they had never been before – without some element of their captor to drive them. The golden rings which clamped tightly over parts of their anatomy, another form of control, loosened suddenly and the supposed divinity’s plan became absolutely clear.
Too long a time of restrained lust and knowing only the harsh touch of the being who lounged behind them made them move. The sweetness of simple flesh inside of flesh without any complication was nearly overwhelming but neither of them could bear to stop despite the knowledge that this was exactly what the false god wanted. Unwillingly, the swordsman’s eyes leaked bitter tears of anger and relief as his body was stroked inside by something other than the burning hum of electricity. And as he came with a harsh, choked back shout, he cursed the dual-edged ‘gift’ he had been given.
With: Sanji
Rating: R
Word Count: 937
“Goodnight Nami-swaaaaan!” Sanji caroled after the navigator as she helped the tipsy sharpshooter roll an over-stuffed Luffy out the galley door towards the men’s cabin. His orange-haired goddess waved one delicate, talented hand at him and slammed the door shut with her heel. Delighted smile falling from his lips, the blonde chef surveyed his domain with an annoyed scowl. The room was a disaster area; a mess of dishes and empty bottles and bruised fruit, crushed nuts, and chocolate everywhere. In the corner of his territory, the direct cause of this chaos snored away unmindful of Sanji’s efforts or anger.
“Damn cabbage-head,” Sanji muttered as he slowly began gathering the drained, discarded glass that had previously housed most of the Going Merry’s liquor collection. “Only that idiot would have the discourtesy to have a birthday when it’s been days since we’ve had a chance to put in at a port and restock.”
The blonde had done his best when Luffy had declared that Zoro HAD to have a party. The swordsman hadn’t seemed to care, but captain’s orders were orders. Examining their dwindling supply of eggs and flour and sugar, Sanji had finally remembered that the marimo idiot had a weakness for chocolate. Pleased, the chef had forgone the traditional cake in order to spare their stock. Instead he’d managed to beg some mikans from his beloved navigator. Combining those with some other fruits and a store of nuts he’d been collecting with a mind to making a special kind of encrusted fish, he sweetened all of his baking chocolate and declared that the stupid swordsman wasn’t having a cake but fondue instead. That, combined with his grudging unlocking of the liquor cabinet, had been enough to satisfy his nakama.
Actually, Sanji was quite pleased with the way everything had gone. Excepting, of course, his forgetting of the uncouth behavior of most of his shipmates. Chocolate had gone EVERYWHERE. Drips trailed down the walls, spatters decorated the ceiling, and little pools of it had cooled and hardened on the floor. Almost no part of the table had gone untouched and even the birthday boy himself bore a streak of the stuff down the side of one cheek. The cook was at a loss about where to even start with it, so he settled for bustling around gathering bottles and dished to take to the sink.
One trip resulted in a particularly loud clatter and the moss-brained fool in the corner had managed to crack an eye open and harp at him in an obnoxiously drunken tone.
“Oi, cooking idiot! Keep it down, ‘m tryin’ ta sleep.”
Something in the slurred words had finally caused the tightly wound chef to snap. Perhaps it was because the swordsman had been eyeing him all evening long, going so far as to pull him down into his lap once he was intoxicated enough. Or maybe it was frustration over not being able to show his precious Nami his skills at baking a cake. It could have been that Sanji hadn’t gotten laid in almost a month, his usual fuck-buddy blowing him off with some kind of crap about training and stamina and control. In all likelihood it was a combination of all of this along with the typical expectation that he was to clean up, alone, once again with no possibility of a thank you the next morning.
Whatever the cause, Sanji had dropped his current armload of bottles and dishes in the sink regardless of whether or not they’d break. He’d strode quickly across the small room, stopping in front of a bleary Zoro. Grasping the swordsman’s chin tightly in one hand, he tilted that chocolate-stained cheek towards him and cleaned it with one firm lick of his tongue. Then, tasting a bit more of the sweet dessert from the idiot’s lips, he gave his order.
“You can sleep as soon as you help me clean up all the chocolate.”
Zoro’s eyes had widened and he’d jerked back out of Sanji’s hold with a spluttered “no!” But, the chef was pleased to notice as he backed away to where the last of the chocolate lay cooling inside the fondue pot on the stove, his eyes had seemed to clear a bit as they tracked his movement. Catching those hazy green with his own, Sanji stared Zoro down as he opened his slacks and poured the last of the warm, brown liquid over his demanding cock.
“Yes.”
When Sanji stalked back towards him, Zoro’s eyes widened and a bit of red tongue appeared at the corner of his mouth. The chef gave a satisfied smirk and straddled the swordsman’s body, chocolate-covered cock nudging insistently at his lips. Zoro never could resist, not chocolate nor Sanji’s dick when he was worked up and demanding, and his mouth opened obediently. He tasted and sucked and swallowed and soon the flesh Sanji was thrusting forward was gleaming wetly pink as he watched it sliding in and out. Fisting one hand in the moron’s seaweed hair brought forth a moan and impelled the cook to move faster, roughly, fucking Zoro’s mouth in search of the release he’d been denied in recent weeks.
Coming finally, groin pressed insistently against Zoro’s face and curly blond strands tickling the swordsman’s nose, Sanji growled in satisfaction as he felt his release swallowed down without hesitation. Hands came up around his waist when he slipped free, pulling him down on top of the idiot’s lap even as he tasted himself mingled with chocolate on Zoro’s tongue.
“Happy birthday asshole,” he muttered when he finally was allowed to catch his breath.
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BUT I ACTUALLY CAN.
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::rolls all over gleefully:: AUGH I LOVE THAT SO MUCH. Unwilling Wiper/Zoro conducted by Ener... is my FAVORITE. Oh man. I'm so happy. You rock so hardcore.
Also that second one -- RAWR.
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I can't think of Ener any more without thinking of your delicious non-con ideas. Also, it is FAR TOO MUCH FUN! I'm glad you liked it!
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SO LOVELY. I adored the twistedness of Zoro/Wiper, Ener. It strokes my dark sadistic little boner.
And of course I love the idea of a chocolate covered Sanji. Best birthday present anyone could ever ask for!
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And chocolate covered Sanji does seem delicious.
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Zoro's a lucky boy, well, at least in the Sanji one.
And I know I say this constantly, but your icon owns me.
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I just felt the need to do that. I shall now beat myself in the name of spelling and grammer.
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“Only that idiot would have the discourtesy to have a birthday when it’s been days since we’ve had a chance to put in at a port and restock.” I love dumb boy logic.
Oi, cooking idiot! Cute, that.
Sanji stared Zoro down as he opened his slacks and poured the last of the warm, brown liquid over his demanding cock. Well... damn. Words must be overrated, then?
chocolate-covered cock That's getting added as an interest, I hope you know.
Zoro never could resist, not chocolate nor Sanji’s dick Ok. This post is one of the hottest, best things in ever. Memoried like whoa.
And you know you're screwed, right? You've now proven that you can write Sanji. And Ener and Wiper and Ace as well. And I already knew you could write Usopp. So now you can't hide behind claims of lacking in skill.
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As for writing Sanji, I refer you to my reply to
Oh, and I'm glad you liked the E/W/Z because I had far too much fun with it which I figured meant it had to be lame.