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Prompt Responses
Title: Accusation
Rating: G
Pairing: Gen
Word Count: 890
“Nami-swan, Robin-chan! Lovely ladies, it’s time for dinner!” Sanji’s voice pealed out over the Thousand Sunny as he called in the crew to eat. “Oi, the rest of you lunks can come in too once the ladies are seated.”
Meals were always initially a tense time in the Strawhat crew. Sanji was very particular about Nami and Robin having first choice and Luffy was bound and determined to stuff his face with whatever was left. The remaining pirates had to fight and scuffle against the captain until Sanji finally stopped fawning over the women and deigned to grab whatever reserves he’d kept back from Luffy’s rubbery grip. So the thunder of stampeding footsteps on Sunny’s deck, echoing loudly below in the men’s cabin, didn’t wake up the dozing swordsman with a jolt of surprise but rather a lazy stretching grumble.
Zoro was comfortably ensconced on the new couch and had been whiling away the afternoon in a state of pleasant napping when Sanji’s shout and the ensuing rush disturbed his rest. He wasn’t particularly hungry and, the crap chef’s threats notwithstanding, he could always rustle up something later in the evening. What he really wanted was to go back to his nap and so, after scratching his nose and kicking off his boots, Zoro rolled over on his side, ready to settle in and sleep. It was then, just as his eyelids were slipping shut, that he saw it.
It had a blank green stare, bottle green, as green as the eyes in his own head but without the spark of life. He hadn’t really enjoyed the thing when it had been alive, animated and brought to life by the body beneath, but at least then he could understand its necessity. A shield, it had been the barrier that stood between loss and pain and battered pride, granted its wearer the courage to move forward and fight for nakama that had once been abandoned. Soge King had been ridiculous and determined and stubborn and strong and he wasn’t fooling anyone but himself, an innocent, and perhaps the one from whom he most had to hide. But it had worked and, even though it had taken until the last possible second, Usopp was firmly back among the crew. He shouldn’t have needed Soge King anymore. And yet the mask remained, propped up against one of Usopp’s bags where he had left it in his haste to get to dinner.
Zoro wasn’t a superstitious man; he placed no truck in gods or demons or ghosts nor did he see goblins in shadows and danger in every dark forest. But in that moment, poised on the brink of sleep, it seemed as if the lifeless green eyepieces could see right through him into his very soul. An accusing sort of stare that pinned him in place, demanded to know why he had insisted on Usopp’s apology, held the rest of the crew, even the captain, to that course. Zoro grunted at his thoughts and closed his eyes determinedly. Masks were inanimate objects and his conscience might have wanted to feel guilty but his brain knew better than to listen. Still, as he lay there and listened to the sudden silence that had fallen as the rest of the crew sought out the galley, studied the color-shot blackness inside his eyelids, it felt as if something or someone was watching him.
Five minutes passed as Zoro brooded and tossed and turned and tried to resume his nap. But finally it got to be too much, the heavy weight of a gaze on him, and he shot to his feet, Sandai Kitetsu in his hands. Eight quick strides covered the floor and then he stood over it, naked steel held at the ready. It wouldn’t take any effort to level the blow, slice the painted wood and fabric and glued paper in half so that it could never be made completely whole again. His fingers itched around the red sword’s hilt and half-heard whispers in his mind urged him on as Zoro looked down on the face of Soge King. For a long moment he stood there, frozen in indecision, and then he shook his head, slid his sword back into its sheath. No matter how much it might irk him, the mask belonged to Usopp and it was his alone to dispose of when he was ready.
The same was true of whatever feelings lingered in him over his declaration back on Water 7. It had been the right thing to do but that didn’t mean it had been easy. Still, he needed to let go. Usopp was back and that was all that really mattered. Besides, masks couldn’t see without any real eyes behind them and he was being an idiot. Good thing the rest of his nakama were upstairs eating and couldn’t see him acting like a fool. Zoro snorted and gave himself another good shake. What he needed was some fresh air and some more sleep. That was just common sense and he wasn’t retreating, really, when he made his way up the ladder and out onto Sunny’s deck to settle in the grass. Sleep did claim Zoro again, but not until Luffy, Usopp, and Chopper came back out of the galley, full and happy and busy planning their night’s mischief.
Title: Whatever It Takes
Rating: PG15
Pairing: ZoSan
Word Count: 981
Note: Metal!verse AU
“What’re ya gonna give me for ‘em?” Ace’s warm brown eyes were positively sparkling with mirth as he grinned at Zoro. “These weren’t easy to come by and it’ll take something big to convince me to give them up.”
Six months ago the answer would have been easy. He’d have offered himself, a night completely at Ace’s mercy, and while he might have emerged from the experience a bit embarrassed and wondering just how much new blackmail material he’d given the older man, at least it would have been fun. Fun and, more importantly, free. But that was no longer an option. The prissy blond chef would take his head off with a single sharp kick and then go after his balls for good measure if he ever found out Zoro had more or less prostituted himself for a pair of concert tickets.
Not that he wouldn’t have done it otherwise. Front-row tickets to a Dethklok show was, well, he didn’t really want to know what Ace had done to get them, or who, and it was just unfortunate he couldn’t take that route himself. It was practically a goddamn miracle, or more likely some sort of black magic sacrifice, that Ace had tickets. The fact that they were for the front row had been enough to send Zoro after the freckled young man, taking him out for drinks even though the construction foreman really hated having to pay for rounds. Speaking of which…
“You ain’t gonna take a grand apiece, are ya?” There was a note of pleading in Zoro’s gruff tone and it made Ace’s grin deepen, white teeth flashing in the dim light of the bar.
“Nope.”
Tickets from the tenth to the fiftieth row tended to be in that price range and front row tickets generally went for at least five k if not more. Two tickets meant ten thousand minimum and Zoro didn’t have that kind of money. Neither did Ace but he had the goods and Zoro wanted them. Wanted them REAL bad. Sanji wasn’t into metal as much as the rest of them, at least not the black, thrash, and metalcore that got the rest of them going. He preferred more traditional stuff but Dethklok, for Dethklok he made an exception. Dethklok was the biggest freaking band in the world and the best. The most brutal, the blackest, more metal than fucking metal and seeing them live was always mind-blowing. Seeing them from the front row, where the potential for ruptured ear drums and carnage was increased a hundred-fold, was a chance people literally sold their kidneys for. And Zoro hadn’t been able to come up with a better possible birthday present for the crap cook.
“Look…” Zoro took a big swig from his beer, having a very good feeling he would need the alcoholic fortification. “Just tell me what ya want.”
Ace drained his own mug, set it down and fixed Zoro with a too-bright stare. “More beer for starters.”
So Zoro waved the barman over, got them refills, and then mentally girded his loins. “Spill already for fuck’s sake. I’ll do anything short of committing outright robbery or murder.”
The smile that grew on Ace’s face wasn’t pretty and he leaned forward so that his mouth was almost against Zoro’s ear, breath skittering over the backs of the younger man’s earrings. “You remember the Black Bandito don’tcha?”
Zoro shivered, fought the urge to move away. He remembered all right. His ass would remember the Black Bandito for the rest of his fucking life. “Yeah,” he said slowly, not liking where Ace was headed.
“Well I think it’s time for you to introduce him to your blond lover. I’m sure he’ll like what he does to ya too. AND…”
God, there was more. Zoro grit his teeth to keep back his protest and listened manfully.
“I want it on tape. All of it. I want to see you bring the Black Bandito up and I want to see Sanji using him on ya and I want the aftermath.”
This was un-fucking-believable! That goddamned dildo had nearly killed him, albeit in a good way but he wasn’t about to admit that to Ace, and now he had to tape the act? But it was all for Sanji and Zoro tried to remember that he was bound to be paid back in spades for a birthday present as brutal as Dethklok front row tickets. And there was no way in hell Sanji could ever find him something as awesome for his birthday so he’d have one up on the blonde to boot. Of course Ace would have yet another one over him but that was okay. Some day Ace would need a favor from him and then the very first thing Zoro would get back would be that tape and every single copy.
His new beer vanished, drained in a single long quaff, and Zoro set his mug back on the bar and let out a sigh. “Alright. I’ll do it. But you’re a fucker and if you EVER show that tape to anyone else, I’ll stick my boot so far up your ass you’ll never be able to sit down again.”
Ace’s expression was decidedly smug as he held up his hand. “Scout’s honor. You have my word that the tape will remain in my sole possession. And once it’s in my hands, you’ll get yer tickets. But the concert’s next week so ya better get busy. C’mon, let’s go back to my place and you and the Bandito can get reacquainted.”
Zoro scowled and tossed a twenty on the bar to cover their tab before sliding off his stool and following Ace’s cocky ass. Sanji had better fucking appreciate this or so help him, there would be hell to pay. At least, and this was almost enough compensation, Dethklok would be mindblowingly awesome.
Title: Control
Rating: PG15
Pairing: Nathan/Toki
Word Count: 1,047
This is getting a little ridiculous. Or rather it’s been ridiculous and is now reaching levels approaching hysteria. Except that Nathan Explosion is not ridiculous and he’s certainly never been hysterical and besides the entire situation is out of his hands. It’s all Charles’ fault, which makes him suspect that it’s secretly Pickles’ fault since the drummer has Ofdensen wrapped securely around his little finger even if he doesn’t know it, and that’s the only reason he’s done any of this. Only Charles can make him do things he doesn’t want to do, things he isn’t sure about. Only Charles could put him over his lap, make him crawl on his hands and knees, have him begging shamelessly with his voice gone even deeper and thicker with restrained need. And only Charles is smart enough to figure out when to set him free, give him back his feet and his scraps of dignity and his freedom. Nathan NEEDS to be in control as much as his bassist needs to be controlled and his manager is the only person who has ever successfully taken it from him even for a little while.
It’s only the second time they’ve done this and Nathan still doesn’t quite know why he’s gone along. Except that he does, deep down, just that it’s hard to admit any part of him could want to be used and abused, choice taken away so that it’s just him and his body and he doesn’t have to think, only has to feel. It works and that’s probably why he’s downstairs, deep in a part of Mordhaus he had never really thought about before. Three days back from the most recent tour and Ofdensen has juggled them all. His ass still hurts, deep inside and also where the silk of his boxers brushes over his cheeks lightly, reminding him of willow switches and well-worked leather. At least he’s not naked anymore and he can think again, think of more than his need to come, to please his temporary master. The new album isn’t more than a germ at the back of his brain though, and he needs something more, something that will put his sense of control firmly to rights.
Ofdensen’s doing again, and Nathan supposes it’s good his band mates are all very different people tempermentally or the clash of egos would have torn them apart long before. William is done with the group too, off with the two women who keep him in line much of the time, no doubt engaging in acts of masochistic depravity the depths of which the singer doesn’t even want to imagine, no matter how brutal and awesome they might be for song ideas. Pickles belongs with the manager at all times and, at the moment, the only question is when Skwisgaar will want to switch, joining with Ofdensen rather than taking from him. The drummer’s good at not thinking, likes to lose himself in the game, and he can handle both men with a kind of strange ease once Skwisgaar’s ready. But three is a bit much, even for Pickles, and Toki likes nothing more than to be taken care of; being ignored and neglected is the worst sort of torture for the Norwegian. So now that Nathan’s gotten the initial stress out of his system, Charles has remanded Toki to his care.
He’s a little scared, to be honest, because this kind of care requires a different sort of control. A deft touch, stern but not angry, a certain type of – dare he say it – love that must be inherent in every action no matter how brutal. Toki’s tough and Nathan isn’t worried about doling out the physical punishments if he needs to but mentally the guy’s fairly fragile. The last thing he wants to do is fuck up his rhythm guitarist. When that incident with the little dying girl happened, they’d been without Toki for over a month and the band needed him. He can’t mess this up.
At least he’s comfortable now, boxers and jeans and a soft old t-shirt. None of Ofdensen’s black suits for him. Nathan is most in control when he IS Nathan Explosion and suits make him antsy and uncomfortable. Waiting is making him think all this and if Toki doesn’t get in here in the next thirty seconds, they’re going to start off in punishment mode because Nathan doesn’t like this kind of nervous anticipation. But even as he thinks this, rising up out of the butter-soft black leather chair to pace, bare feet slapping on the smooth wood floor and then scuffling over the wool of sheepskin scattered here and there as he paces, fingers curl around the entry way and Toki clears his voice.
“Um Nathans? You in dere?”
This is it. Time to prove he can do this, control more than just himself and the music. Control his actions and direct Toki so that the rhythm guitarist gets what he needs too. Nathan swallows thickly and wipes his palms on his jeans but his deep voice is a clear rumble when he speaks. “Come in here Toki. You’re this close to being…late.”
The last word trails off and he’s nearly speechless as Toki scurries into the room. Ofdensen did say he had found appropriate outfits and Pickles had been grousing about his, cat tail swishing and bell tinkling as he slunk around the main room, all morning. But Toki isn’t a cat nor is he a horse as Charles had been intimating would be Skwisgaar’s fate. The ears are long and black and they flop over a bit at the tips. He has the usual collar and cuffs too and the silver around his rampant cock is so familiar that Nathan’s dick twinges a bit in sympathy. But it’s the tail that does him in. Black too, and fluffy as it rises up out of the crack of Toki’s ass to rest jauntily at the base of his spine. It suits Toki perfectly, even his mustache working to make softly drooping whiskers about his mouth. Hyper and quick and soft and sleek and all of a sudden Nathan isn’t worried anymore. Toki is HIS little bunny and he knows just how to take care of him.
Rating: G
Pairing: Gen
Word Count: 890
“Nami-swan, Robin-chan! Lovely ladies, it’s time for dinner!” Sanji’s voice pealed out over the Thousand Sunny as he called in the crew to eat. “Oi, the rest of you lunks can come in too once the ladies are seated.”
Meals were always initially a tense time in the Strawhat crew. Sanji was very particular about Nami and Robin having first choice and Luffy was bound and determined to stuff his face with whatever was left. The remaining pirates had to fight and scuffle against the captain until Sanji finally stopped fawning over the women and deigned to grab whatever reserves he’d kept back from Luffy’s rubbery grip. So the thunder of stampeding footsteps on Sunny’s deck, echoing loudly below in the men’s cabin, didn’t wake up the dozing swordsman with a jolt of surprise but rather a lazy stretching grumble.
Zoro was comfortably ensconced on the new couch and had been whiling away the afternoon in a state of pleasant napping when Sanji’s shout and the ensuing rush disturbed his rest. He wasn’t particularly hungry and, the crap chef’s threats notwithstanding, he could always rustle up something later in the evening. What he really wanted was to go back to his nap and so, after scratching his nose and kicking off his boots, Zoro rolled over on his side, ready to settle in and sleep. It was then, just as his eyelids were slipping shut, that he saw it.
It had a blank green stare, bottle green, as green as the eyes in his own head but without the spark of life. He hadn’t really enjoyed the thing when it had been alive, animated and brought to life by the body beneath, but at least then he could understand its necessity. A shield, it had been the barrier that stood between loss and pain and battered pride, granted its wearer the courage to move forward and fight for nakama that had once been abandoned. Soge King had been ridiculous and determined and stubborn and strong and he wasn’t fooling anyone but himself, an innocent, and perhaps the one from whom he most had to hide. But it had worked and, even though it had taken until the last possible second, Usopp was firmly back among the crew. He shouldn’t have needed Soge King anymore. And yet the mask remained, propped up against one of Usopp’s bags where he had left it in his haste to get to dinner.
Zoro wasn’t a superstitious man; he placed no truck in gods or demons or ghosts nor did he see goblins in shadows and danger in every dark forest. But in that moment, poised on the brink of sleep, it seemed as if the lifeless green eyepieces could see right through him into his very soul. An accusing sort of stare that pinned him in place, demanded to know why he had insisted on Usopp’s apology, held the rest of the crew, even the captain, to that course. Zoro grunted at his thoughts and closed his eyes determinedly. Masks were inanimate objects and his conscience might have wanted to feel guilty but his brain knew better than to listen. Still, as he lay there and listened to the sudden silence that had fallen as the rest of the crew sought out the galley, studied the color-shot blackness inside his eyelids, it felt as if something or someone was watching him.
Five minutes passed as Zoro brooded and tossed and turned and tried to resume his nap. But finally it got to be too much, the heavy weight of a gaze on him, and he shot to his feet, Sandai Kitetsu in his hands. Eight quick strides covered the floor and then he stood over it, naked steel held at the ready. It wouldn’t take any effort to level the blow, slice the painted wood and fabric and glued paper in half so that it could never be made completely whole again. His fingers itched around the red sword’s hilt and half-heard whispers in his mind urged him on as Zoro looked down on the face of Soge King. For a long moment he stood there, frozen in indecision, and then he shook his head, slid his sword back into its sheath. No matter how much it might irk him, the mask belonged to Usopp and it was his alone to dispose of when he was ready.
The same was true of whatever feelings lingered in him over his declaration back on Water 7. It had been the right thing to do but that didn’t mean it had been easy. Still, he needed to let go. Usopp was back and that was all that really mattered. Besides, masks couldn’t see without any real eyes behind them and he was being an idiot. Good thing the rest of his nakama were upstairs eating and couldn’t see him acting like a fool. Zoro snorted and gave himself another good shake. What he needed was some fresh air and some more sleep. That was just common sense and he wasn’t retreating, really, when he made his way up the ladder and out onto Sunny’s deck to settle in the grass. Sleep did claim Zoro again, but not until Luffy, Usopp, and Chopper came back out of the galley, full and happy and busy planning their night’s mischief.
Title: Whatever It Takes
Rating: PG15
Pairing: ZoSan
Word Count: 981
Note: Metal!verse AU
“What’re ya gonna give me for ‘em?” Ace’s warm brown eyes were positively sparkling with mirth as he grinned at Zoro. “These weren’t easy to come by and it’ll take something big to convince me to give them up.”
Six months ago the answer would have been easy. He’d have offered himself, a night completely at Ace’s mercy, and while he might have emerged from the experience a bit embarrassed and wondering just how much new blackmail material he’d given the older man, at least it would have been fun. Fun and, more importantly, free. But that was no longer an option. The prissy blond chef would take his head off with a single sharp kick and then go after his balls for good measure if he ever found out Zoro had more or less prostituted himself for a pair of concert tickets.
Not that he wouldn’t have done it otherwise. Front-row tickets to a Dethklok show was, well, he didn’t really want to know what Ace had done to get them, or who, and it was just unfortunate he couldn’t take that route himself. It was practically a goddamn miracle, or more likely some sort of black magic sacrifice, that Ace had tickets. The fact that they were for the front row had been enough to send Zoro after the freckled young man, taking him out for drinks even though the construction foreman really hated having to pay for rounds. Speaking of which…
“You ain’t gonna take a grand apiece, are ya?” There was a note of pleading in Zoro’s gruff tone and it made Ace’s grin deepen, white teeth flashing in the dim light of the bar.
“Nope.”
Tickets from the tenth to the fiftieth row tended to be in that price range and front row tickets generally went for at least five k if not more. Two tickets meant ten thousand minimum and Zoro didn’t have that kind of money. Neither did Ace but he had the goods and Zoro wanted them. Wanted them REAL bad. Sanji wasn’t into metal as much as the rest of them, at least not the black, thrash, and metalcore that got the rest of them going. He preferred more traditional stuff but Dethklok, for Dethklok he made an exception. Dethklok was the biggest freaking band in the world and the best. The most brutal, the blackest, more metal than fucking metal and seeing them live was always mind-blowing. Seeing them from the front row, where the potential for ruptured ear drums and carnage was increased a hundred-fold, was a chance people literally sold their kidneys for. And Zoro hadn’t been able to come up with a better possible birthday present for the crap cook.
“Look…” Zoro took a big swig from his beer, having a very good feeling he would need the alcoholic fortification. “Just tell me what ya want.”
Ace drained his own mug, set it down and fixed Zoro with a too-bright stare. “More beer for starters.”
So Zoro waved the barman over, got them refills, and then mentally girded his loins. “Spill already for fuck’s sake. I’ll do anything short of committing outright robbery or murder.”
The smile that grew on Ace’s face wasn’t pretty and he leaned forward so that his mouth was almost against Zoro’s ear, breath skittering over the backs of the younger man’s earrings. “You remember the Black Bandito don’tcha?”
Zoro shivered, fought the urge to move away. He remembered all right. His ass would remember the Black Bandito for the rest of his fucking life. “Yeah,” he said slowly, not liking where Ace was headed.
“Well I think it’s time for you to introduce him to your blond lover. I’m sure he’ll like what he does to ya too. AND…”
God, there was more. Zoro grit his teeth to keep back his protest and listened manfully.
“I want it on tape. All of it. I want to see you bring the Black Bandito up and I want to see Sanji using him on ya and I want the aftermath.”
This was un-fucking-believable! That goddamned dildo had nearly killed him, albeit in a good way but he wasn’t about to admit that to Ace, and now he had to tape the act? But it was all for Sanji and Zoro tried to remember that he was bound to be paid back in spades for a birthday present as brutal as Dethklok front row tickets. And there was no way in hell Sanji could ever find him something as awesome for his birthday so he’d have one up on the blonde to boot. Of course Ace would have yet another one over him but that was okay. Some day Ace would need a favor from him and then the very first thing Zoro would get back would be that tape and every single copy.
His new beer vanished, drained in a single long quaff, and Zoro set his mug back on the bar and let out a sigh. “Alright. I’ll do it. But you’re a fucker and if you EVER show that tape to anyone else, I’ll stick my boot so far up your ass you’ll never be able to sit down again.”
Ace’s expression was decidedly smug as he held up his hand. “Scout’s honor. You have my word that the tape will remain in my sole possession. And once it’s in my hands, you’ll get yer tickets. But the concert’s next week so ya better get busy. C’mon, let’s go back to my place and you and the Bandito can get reacquainted.”
Zoro scowled and tossed a twenty on the bar to cover their tab before sliding off his stool and following Ace’s cocky ass. Sanji had better fucking appreciate this or so help him, there would be hell to pay. At least, and this was almost enough compensation, Dethklok would be mindblowingly awesome.
Title: Control
Rating: PG15
Pairing: Nathan/Toki
Word Count: 1,047
This is getting a little ridiculous. Or rather it’s been ridiculous and is now reaching levels approaching hysteria. Except that Nathan Explosion is not ridiculous and he’s certainly never been hysterical and besides the entire situation is out of his hands. It’s all Charles’ fault, which makes him suspect that it’s secretly Pickles’ fault since the drummer has Ofdensen wrapped securely around his little finger even if he doesn’t know it, and that’s the only reason he’s done any of this. Only Charles can make him do things he doesn’t want to do, things he isn’t sure about. Only Charles could put him over his lap, make him crawl on his hands and knees, have him begging shamelessly with his voice gone even deeper and thicker with restrained need. And only Charles is smart enough to figure out when to set him free, give him back his feet and his scraps of dignity and his freedom. Nathan NEEDS to be in control as much as his bassist needs to be controlled and his manager is the only person who has ever successfully taken it from him even for a little while.
It’s only the second time they’ve done this and Nathan still doesn’t quite know why he’s gone along. Except that he does, deep down, just that it’s hard to admit any part of him could want to be used and abused, choice taken away so that it’s just him and his body and he doesn’t have to think, only has to feel. It works and that’s probably why he’s downstairs, deep in a part of Mordhaus he had never really thought about before. Three days back from the most recent tour and Ofdensen has juggled them all. His ass still hurts, deep inside and also where the silk of his boxers brushes over his cheeks lightly, reminding him of willow switches and well-worked leather. At least he’s not naked anymore and he can think again, think of more than his need to come, to please his temporary master. The new album isn’t more than a germ at the back of his brain though, and he needs something more, something that will put his sense of control firmly to rights.
Ofdensen’s doing again, and Nathan supposes it’s good his band mates are all very different people tempermentally or the clash of egos would have torn them apart long before. William is done with the group too, off with the two women who keep him in line much of the time, no doubt engaging in acts of masochistic depravity the depths of which the singer doesn’t even want to imagine, no matter how brutal and awesome they might be for song ideas. Pickles belongs with the manager at all times and, at the moment, the only question is when Skwisgaar will want to switch, joining with Ofdensen rather than taking from him. The drummer’s good at not thinking, likes to lose himself in the game, and he can handle both men with a kind of strange ease once Skwisgaar’s ready. But three is a bit much, even for Pickles, and Toki likes nothing more than to be taken care of; being ignored and neglected is the worst sort of torture for the Norwegian. So now that Nathan’s gotten the initial stress out of his system, Charles has remanded Toki to his care.
He’s a little scared, to be honest, because this kind of care requires a different sort of control. A deft touch, stern but not angry, a certain type of – dare he say it – love that must be inherent in every action no matter how brutal. Toki’s tough and Nathan isn’t worried about doling out the physical punishments if he needs to but mentally the guy’s fairly fragile. The last thing he wants to do is fuck up his rhythm guitarist. When that incident with the little dying girl happened, they’d been without Toki for over a month and the band needed him. He can’t mess this up.
At least he’s comfortable now, boxers and jeans and a soft old t-shirt. None of Ofdensen’s black suits for him. Nathan is most in control when he IS Nathan Explosion and suits make him antsy and uncomfortable. Waiting is making him think all this and if Toki doesn’t get in here in the next thirty seconds, they’re going to start off in punishment mode because Nathan doesn’t like this kind of nervous anticipation. But even as he thinks this, rising up out of the butter-soft black leather chair to pace, bare feet slapping on the smooth wood floor and then scuffling over the wool of sheepskin scattered here and there as he paces, fingers curl around the entry way and Toki clears his voice.
“Um Nathans? You in dere?”
This is it. Time to prove he can do this, control more than just himself and the music. Control his actions and direct Toki so that the rhythm guitarist gets what he needs too. Nathan swallows thickly and wipes his palms on his jeans but his deep voice is a clear rumble when he speaks. “Come in here Toki. You’re this close to being…late.”
The last word trails off and he’s nearly speechless as Toki scurries into the room. Ofdensen did say he had found appropriate outfits and Pickles had been grousing about his, cat tail swishing and bell tinkling as he slunk around the main room, all morning. But Toki isn’t a cat nor is he a horse as Charles had been intimating would be Skwisgaar’s fate. The ears are long and black and they flop over a bit at the tips. He has the usual collar and cuffs too and the silver around his rampant cock is so familiar that Nathan’s dick twinges a bit in sympathy. But it’s the tail that does him in. Black too, and fluffy as it rises up out of the crack of Toki’s ass to rest jauntily at the base of his spine. It suits Toki perfectly, even his mustache working to make softly drooping whiskers about his mouth. Hyper and quick and soft and sleek and all of a sudden Nathan isn’t worried anymore. Toki is HIS little bunny and he knows just how to take care of him.
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I swear, if I could purr right now I totally would be. Nyeh. You're so good to me. ^_____^
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As for the second, if it has you wanting more that is all I care about.
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Plus it makes for entertaining kink fic in fandom world. If you're into masochism fics, there are several very good ones although most don't involve Sanji interestingly enough...those tend to involve mutual abuse though.
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As for hypnotic powers, that's always been attributed to his swirly eyebrow.