"Sanji…"
His voice was soft, just barely above a whisper. It was a stark contrast to the rough baritone I had become so accustomed to hearing, but I immediately fell in love with the new and alluring sound.
His breathing was ragged and uneven. The man above me was normally so calm; he was always able to keep a perfect composure under any circumstance, however this was one of the very few exceptions.
Roronoa Zoro, the epitome of supreme willpower and self-restraint was quickly losing all of his control and becoming an all too willing slave to his innermost carnal desires, and it was all thanks to me.
"Sanji…" He whispered teasingly into my ear, before ever so carefully taking the sensitive cartilage of my earlobe between parted lips and nibbling on the tender skin.
"Sanji…" My green-haired lover lowered himself and continued his ministrations on my neck and clavicle, kissing and ever-so gently nipping my heated and overstimulated flesh.
"Sanji…" He finally came back up and pressed his lips to mine; bestowing upon me the most intense kiss I have ever taken part in. I eagerly kissed him back, trying desperately to return every ounce of passion he was giving me.
Zoro repeated my name over and over again, as if he were chanting some sort of mantra that only consisted of two syllables and was somehow meant to convey each and every thought that he could not manage to speak out loud.
I desire you.
I need you.
I can't get enough of you.
Only he could be able to turn something so simple into a palpable expression of his feelings and intentions that only I could possibly understand. Coupled with well-placed kisses and passionate use of a remarkably proficient tongue, I felt every earnest emotion that currently had possession over his being, I heard every word that he was unable to say. I knew exactly what my marimo felt for me, and the knowledge gave me more gratification and power than I had the right to.
It was strange, hearing Zoro say my name, especially like this, so softly, so affectionately. I do not think he has ever called me by my given name before, but maybe that's what made listening to him repeat my name over and over again in such a captivating, down-right sexy voice so fucking arousing.
Every touch, every kiss, every utterance of my name sent me spiraling head-first into a world of wondrous and unadulterated ecstasy. The marimo was relentless in his onslaught of extraordinary pleasure. Each fervent kiss left me gasping for air, making me wonder if asphyxiation from kissing was even possible. His hands roamed my body in the most intimate fashion, as if he were trying to memorize every curvature and muscle line of my body.
Zoro continued to move inside of me, somehow managing to hit my prostate with every thrust. His motions were incredibly fluent, keeping the friction between us alive. Whether it was on purpose or not I didn't know, but the pace the marimo had set for us was truly impeccable. One could liken it to the vivace tempo, the rate was fast and exciting, yet I could easily keep up with him and return every forward push with and upwards force of my own.
Finally I could not take it anymore. My hands shakily wove themselves into his moss-like hair and I pulled as hard as I could, urging the marimo to come up to me and clash our lips together, allowing me to ignite another frantic kiss. I nibbled pleadingly at Zoro's bottom lip, trying desperately to tell him what I wanted, what I needed.
At long last I was rewarded! A sly hand slid down my torso before taking ahold of the most responsive, yet currently most neglected part of my anatomy. He began to pump my length with a pace that completely matched the rate at which he was moving his hips. Having his warm, pre-cum slicked hand wrapped around my erection was the last bit of contact I needed. One simple touch sent my entire being into an absolute frenzy; my movements became faster and uncontrolled.
"Sanji…" He did not need to say more. The beautiful sound of desperation and need rang through my ears clearly, and I realized that Zoro felt the exact same way; he too felt the insatiable need for release that was coursing through my being.
Our eyes locked for the briefest of moments, and I nodded weakly, giving Zoro the approval that we both craved. With one last energetic thrust, he hit my prostate gland with as much force as he possibly could and called out my name one last time in the most passionate, lustful, desire-ridden voice I had ever heard.
"Sanji…"
And suddenly it was gone.
Just like that, it was over.
That euphoric moment of orgasmic bliss that we were about to share with each other was abruptly taken away from us, stolen away with no chance of ever getting it back, ruined with no opportunity for salvation. Instead of receiving indescribable pleasure and sharing this heavenly moment with my partner, a sharp pain that I was unable to ignore shot through the center of my face, ungracefully smashing my nose in and quickly spreading to my forehead. If that wasn't enough, the almost overwhelming discomfort was accompanied with an intense pressure that refused to subside in its assault against me.
I bolted up in an instant, and the realization of what had occurred only seconds came crashing down upon me.
None of it was real; it was just an illusion, a fucking dream.
I groaned softly as I rubbed my still sore nose, trying to comprehend my surroundings. Across the small room, a green-haired figure clad in sweatpants and a form-fitting t-shirt sat at a desk which was illuminated by a small lamp. From the fresh-scented smell of soap and the still damp tresses of green hair, I gathered that he had just recently taken a shower. He looked to be engrossed in a large text book, and every so often he would look over to scribble something down on a piece of loose-leaf paper.
The scene before me was not surprising, I would often wake up to find my roommate buried in homework. The idiot always claimed to be too tired to do anything the night before, so as a result his prime study hours were between four o'clock and eight o'clock in the morning.
The marimo let out an exhausted yawn before pushing his double-bridged glasses back up to the top of his nose before shutting his book and placing to the side to pick up another. My god, only Roronoa Zoro could make such ugly eye-wear look so unbelievably attractive.
Fuck…
Moments ago I had envisioned this man fucking me to complete and total perfection, and now here he sat absorbed with his studies, looking sexy as hell with dripping wet hair and glasses.
Just a few feet away I sat uncomfortably in my bed, still hot and bothered, and completely unnoticed by the one who had caused me to be in such a state.
I shifted in the bed and attempted to stand up so I could quietly make my way to the bathroom. As I brought my leg over the side of the bed, a small, hardback novel fell from the duvet onto the floor. My ears immediately perked up at the sound of a quiet chuckle.
I looked up to see Zoro smirking. He looked at me, then down to the fallen book, than back at me before snickering and returning to his work. He did not utter a word, but at that point he didn't have to. I was more than capable of putting the pieces of this situation together.
I clenched my fists in anger as my state of mind went from solid confusion to total fury. I was seething! That fucking, good-for-nothing bastard! I unkindly picked the book up off the floor and threw it at him in a petty attempt for revenge. I gained a small bit of satisfaction when the poor, beaten up piece of literature hit him in the side of the head. He turned to me, looking thoroughly unamused.
"Oi, what the hell was that for?"
"What the hell was that for? What the hell was that for!?" I mimicked angrily. "That's my fucking line!" I was practically screaming at this point. "Why the fuck did you throw something at me in my sleep, idiot marimo!?"
The current target of my anger only shrugged nonchalantly and gave me an equally indifferent and aggravating response.
"You were groaning and moving around awkwardly in your sleep. I thought you were having a nightmare or something."
A nightmare? I shuddered involuntarily at the horrid inaccuracy in his words. If this were any other circumstance, my roommate's assumption would have been a completely innocent statement. I so badly wanted to believe in that casual and naïve thought. I wished that I could honestly say that what I had just experienced was only a vile, horrific hallucination that haunted my slumber, and in all truthfulness one part of me was genuinely aghast and disgusted with myself for having such disturbing, yet tempting thoughts about him.
However another part, a part that was much bigger than I cared to admit, was supremely agitated that this…dream…was just that, a dream. Moreover, it was a dream that had ended suddenly, with no real conclusion. No matter how obvious the outcome of that situation was, not having that final piece was much more than a little dissatisfying.
I abhorred the fact that a piece of me was dying for sexual release. This was far from alright. He is the absolute last person in the world I would ever want to have erotic fantasies about, and yet here I am, hard as hell with the object of my dream self's desires less than three meters away from me and unable to do a damn thing about it.
The delicate sound of a page turning snapped me out of my confused and indecisive thoughts and back to the matter at hand. I looked up at the source of the noise, and realized that my roommate had apparently decided that the conversation was over and had resumed giving his attentions to whatever bit of last minute homework he still had left. Unfortunately for him, I was not about to let his little misdeed go unpunished.
"And you thought throwing a book at my face was the best way to wake me up, because…?" I practically growled at him. The bastard was damn lucky that in my present condition I could not allow myself to close the physical distance between us and deliver a swift, well-deserved kick to his stupid green head.
Not bothering to turn and look at me, he simply shrugged and replied in an annoyingly aloof manner. "Bad aim, I guess."
I was fuming. That shitty answer was completely unacceptable! "Se-seriously!? What kind of inconsiderate jackass does something like that to someone who's sleeping? I can't imagine a more painful way to wake up!"
My roommate simply gave me one of his trademark smirks that thoroughly succeeded in showing off his cocky and outrageously bold attitude.
"I can." He turned around and picked up the heaviest book off of his desk and turned back to face me. "Could've thrown this at you instead."
As he held up the largest book that he and I collectively owned, I mentally grimaced at the thought of a book that had to weigh at least eight kilograms being thrown at me with the strength that only that damn moss head was capable of. The mere notion of being hit with something like that made the dull ache I was now feeling turn back into the miserable feeling I had been so rudely awakened with.
Even the gleaming letters of the book's title seemed to taunt me. "The Complete Encyclopedia of Medicinal Herbs and other Curative Vegetation for Magically Inflicted Wounds and Injuries", yeah right! More like "The Complete Encyclopedia of Agony and Torture", and I mean that in every way possible. Not only would being struck with a monstrous publication like that be excruciatingly painful and be the cause of at least one or two fractured bones, but actually using that encyclopedia and trying to extract any information out of that damn thing is a bitch to do in itself.
I knew that my simple-minded roommate thought he was being funny, I knew that he wouldn't actually throw something like that at me, but I was not going to put up with any of his shenanigans this morning. It was way too fucking early in the morning for this shit.
"Go right on ahead! And while you're at it, you can explain to all of my adoring ladies why my handsome face is bruised and swollen, and you can have the responsibility of paying for all of my medical bills! How do you like that, you useless moss ball?!"
Not wanting to hear whatever snarky reply that green-haired idiot had for me, I threw my blanket off of me and onto the floor and stomped on it mercilessly, as if it were that jerk's empty skull cavity instead of a thick, enormous piece of wonderfully fuzzy fabric that kept me warm at night as I got up and stormed over to the bathroom that was connected to our room. Thankfully, the "natural treasure" had once again decided that his homework was a more worthy subject of his time, so my little "problem" went completely unnoticed during my short trek.
Unfortunately, I wasn't as quick as I would have liked to be, and I did not escape the irritating sound of that asshole's gruff laughter with the lame response of "Sure, I'll explain the situation, right after you actually get some adoring ladies!" before slamming the wooden door to our shared bathroom shut and pushing the small lock button shut with much more force than necessary.
I know that I should have simply ignored him, but avoiding Roronoa Zoro and his moronic comments, regardless of how ridiculous they are is something I have never been able to accomplish. I've known the guy for two years now and have been living with him for almost a full year, but I never once overlooked what I perceived to be a challenge from that damn marimo. I do not know why or even how I know this for sure, but ignoring even the most nonsensical of gibes from him would be damaging to my pride in some way. That fool that I grudgingly call my roommate is forbidden from having the last laugh in any of our quarrels, no matter how small and insignificant they are.
"Shut the hell up you stupid, directionally-challenged shithead!" Yelling at him, even if it was from another room, made me feel like I had earned a small victory. Feeling somewhat triumphant, I flipped on the lights and stripped down so that I could take a warm and relaxing shower.
To my dismay, once I was completely unclothed I was reminded rather bluntly of the gross evidence my dream had left me with, or nightmare, as I wanted myself to believe.
As much as I hate to admit it, this was not the first time lewd and inappropriate thoughts about that moss-brained idiot have plagued my dreams, and I have to confess that by now I am no stranger to the unwelcomed bitterness and humiliation that accompanies a cold shower. I loathe the feeling of icy droplets of water touching my pale skin, pricking at it, making me feel like I could acquire frostbite. However, exposure to freezing water is the quickest and simplest solution I know of, so for the sake of making my body return to a state of homeostasis, I will yet again endure a frigid shower.
The thought of masturbating instead of taking a cold shower has occurred to me more than once; however I would rather die than ejaculate knowing that Zoro was the cause of my aroused and shameful situation. If I ever allowed that to happen, it would be like I was acknowledging the possibility that I could hold some sort of strange attraction towards him, but that that is a road I will never be prepared to go down. I don't know if I could ever come back, and the thought truly scares me.
After turning the shower dial to its coldest setting, I jumped in and began my daily routine as quickly as I could. I vigorously lathered and scrubbed my hair with the special shampoo and conditioner that gave my blond locks their flawless sheen, thoroughly washed my body, and exposed my tender areas to the cruel spray of arctic water until every last bit of proof that my treacherous subconscious had found obscene and vulgar thoughts of a man to be sexually appealing was gone.
As I washed away the soap bubbles and every trace of my disgraceful state, I couldn't help but blame that stupid marimo for all of this. Who the hell said that he could not only invade my dreams, but also take the place of the beautiful, voluptuous women that should rightfully be consuming my fantasies?
Was it not enough that the majority my waking moments were already spent with that annoying moss ball as my main, if not only source of company? Which god did I piss off in order to receive this as a fitting punishment?
I don't want this. I don't want him.
How many times do I have to say that before it actually comes true?
Author's Notes: Thank you for reading the first chapter of my new story. Commentary of any variety is greatly appreciated. I am always looking to improve my writing, so any suggestions are warmly welcomed. Thank you once again, you all are wonderful!