inbox for golden peacock

[cartographie]

@nami

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[romancedawn]

Zoro shrugs at Nami's question. "I'm comfortable." Because of course he can stay just like this, on the floor with her legs spread before him. There's a beat of silence while they stare at each other, the softness of her thigh against his cheek inviting him to use tongue or teeth. He doesn't manage a decision between the two before she's pulling on his hair, and he makes a noise of complaint, more out of surprise than pain.

Turns out he likes that, too. And not just because it's proof that he's getting under her skin.

He doesn't bother to watch her dice roll, apparently more interested in observing the pretty flush along her neck, following the path it takes as it disappears down her neckline. It isn't until she declares she's taking half that he stops being distracted, meeting her gaze with mild confusion. "Half? Don't we split with the others?" Maybe he's thinking about this the wrong way. Maybe the others have come to a different arrangement over the last three months that Luffy said he's been here; in this moment, it doesn't occur to Zoro that Nami and Sanji may have been at the Golden Peacock for even longer.

She surprises him for the second time within minutes when she sits on his lap and presses intimately close. He still hasn't looked at the dice, but Nami knows what she's doing, so this has to be on purpose. He can guess where it's going. "I think you should keep it on," he says lightly, pretending his voice doesn't carry any hint of strain even as his cock begins to stir at the simple pressure of her weight.

The proximity feels like permission, so Zoro doesn't resist when his hands want to travel possessively under Nami's skirt. Warm, calloused palms smooth up her thighs and slip under lace to grope at her bare ass, moving with a level of casual comfort that suggests he's done this before.

Which he hasn't, obviously. This is all new between them, and when a tiny voice of reason in the back of his mind speaks up to question the wisdom of getting involved with a crewmate, another tiny voice reminds him of what Luffy said earlier: Well, it's fun!

[cartographie]

"You can split the winnings with the others–" Nami keeps her cut and provides for the crew in other ways; namely, the massive, mostly safe space that is her queen's suite, where the guys are free to stay and spare themselves the House's bullshit. It's how she protects them. Not that she'd really need any justification to holding on to her chips.

But they're leagues away from philosophical conversation at the moment, with her thighs bracketing his lap, squeezing his hips for leverage when she brings their bodies close enough to fulfill her dice roll. Perhaps it's the months of being here that make her surprised when he declines the offer to pull her clothes off, followed by the faintest trace of embarrassment over how easily she'd laid that out for him. The promise of a big payout would have been enough to keep her on task despite that, but when it's coupled with her own stubbornness – her blatant refusal to let Zoro get under her skin – she manages to keep her head in the game.

Then his hands travel up her skirt and under her panties to fan out over the curve of her ass, and Nami responds by laughing quietly before her hips pointedly angle downward, ensuring she's pressed flush against the firming line of his cock, too aware of his body to not keep her voice low when she finally chances speaking again.

"Says the guy who couldn't wait to get half his clothes off." For all that carefully curated quiet, there's no way to mask the breathlessness that hangs on every word, or the way she arches her back just enough to press her ass against his hands while continuing to slowly move against him.

For the sake of the payout, of course.

[romancedawn]

"Okay, greedy." Zoro's voice is teasing. Luffy has told him that everyone stays at Nami's suite, but he hasn't been there yet, and he hasn't even seen Sanji with his own eyes. Therefore he can't fully appreciate how much hustling Nami has done to provide for their crew. And even if he did, he might be contrary anyway, just for fun. "Maybe I don't feel like splitting my winnings, then." As if they aren't squarely earning this together, round by round.

He sees something that might be embarrassment flash through Nami's face, and Zoro almost wants to explain that it isn't a rejection. But what can he say? That he doesn't want the random people around them to see so much of her at the same time he finally gets to? Maybe Nami doesn't care, and he shouldn't either. What are the words for that?

Besides, something about touching her under her clothes is very appealing. The dice haven't told him to do it, and yet here he is—he has no defense if Nami were to call him out on it. He grins when he sees her laugh; she understands, after all, even without a verbal explanation. Good.

Very good, actually. Zoro feels hot all over, and it only takes a few rolls of Nami's hips before he's straining painfully under his pants. "I can put my clothes back on, if you're complaining." He hears how she's breathless, sees the flush on her cheeks, and his fingertips ghost over her pucker, slipping lower until he can feel the slickness between her thighs.

"Does that feel good?" he asks, and now his voice is softer than it was before. It's not a conscious switch; it's simply honest. "I want you to feel good..." His voice lowers into a murmur, right against her ear, lips and teeth grazing along her skin as he speaks. "So good that you make a mess of our clothes." He can't help grinding up against her in return, just once. Or twice. Maybe three times. Just enough to sate himself while he's focused on her pleasure.

He doesn't think it through when he pulls one hand from under her skirt, tasting her slick on his fingers. The flavor makes him moan for the first time since they started this dance, the sound low and wanting, saying without words that this singular taste isn't enough.

[cartographie]

Greedy is right. That trait reveals itself in everything she does in that rush of heated moments, where the hard line of his cock teases her cunt behind too many thin but annoyingly present layers of fabric, and the subtly voracious roll of her hips drives her crazy from the friction that sends pleasure sparking its way through her senses. Under normal circumstances, Nami might have never let herself recognize Zoro for the gorgeous idiot he is. Their lives back home are nowhere near as sordid as existence in the resort is, and while the year she’s spent as the casino’s captive has normalized things that would never be common back home, there is a newness to this.

It’s Zoro.

Zoro with his hands on her ass, one venturing far enough to make her breath catch, leaving Nami grateful he can’t see the way her eyes widen when his fingertip skims over her rim on its way to exploring the slick clinging to the velvet folds of her cunt. She reveals herself in other ways – her hands card through his hair, while her senses reel from the warmth of his breath on her skin.

"Nah, not into clothes like you apparently are." It’s all the rebuff she can muster without her voice trembling as she finds her awareness pinned, caught between the insistent way his cock drags against her heat, and the fingers he plays over her folds. Her knees dig into his hips like the most futile of wordless, half-hearted reprimands as she resists the urge to melt into the softness his voice takes on as he murmurs low against her ear. He isn’t supposed to make her thoughts run together, and her body ache for more this easily, but deep down, Nami isn’t shocked to learn Zoro is capable of exactly that. Despite her best interests and her best efforts, much like Luffy, he started to matter to her long before she could allow herself to openly care.

Without thinking, her hips angle downward, pressing her cunt hard against his cock as she stares, transfixed at the sight of Zoro tasting her wet on his fingers. The way she catches his wrist is equally unconscious, guiding his hand close to her mouth before she slips a fingertip past her lips, sucking her taste off his skin as her eyes blaze into his.

“Come here, you idiot.” The low pitch of her voice leans into a purr as she drops his hand and grips his shoulders instead, kissing him hard as Nami puts her weight into pushing him down onto the floor, her cunt still flush against his cock, her hips grinding needily, like some part of her is bound and determined to wish their clothing away. She’ll close the curtain once should she manage to get Zoro on his back, but for now she lets her mouth claim his, tasting herself when her tongue glides against his, inviting and wanting in equal measure, as beckoning as the pleasured sound she stifles against his lips.

[romancedawn]

It's like being in a fantasy.

Fantasies are safe and private, hidden away in the dark recesses of one's mind, where no one else can see or judge. Zoro has fantasized about Nami before; he’s been drawn to her for so long, a quiet, simmering want that he’s mostly kept leashed, buried under the daily grind of crew life and his own gruff exterior. Zoro wouldn't have known how to broach the topic, anyway; he's had no practice exploring a real connection, having only known the simple, uncomplicated routine of bedding strangers he knew he'd never see again.

Being involved with Nami had been a fantasy, but not one worth risking by bringing it out into the daylight. He's glimpsed how difficult life is for women, much less a woman at sea. And he knows now what Nami has been through, why she dons emotional armor as formidable as his own. He would've been a bad crewmate and friend if he indulged his desire at the expense of her comfort, particularly if she didn't reciprocate. There's nothing more sacred, he thinks, than feeling safe with your own crew.

So, no. Out there in their real life, this may not have happened for years. Hell, it may never have happened at all.

But here, in this mindfuck of an environment, where even the air they're breathing seems to lace their senses with uninhibited desire—here and now it's happening.

And he could question that. He could go through the list of all the reasons it's a bad idea. But his ability to overthink pretty much ends when he watches her suck her own taste off his finger. "Fuck," he remarks quietly, eyes a little glazed by this peek into just how salacious she can be.

A low growl rumbles in his chest when she pushes him down, his back hitting the floor with a muffled thud. He meets her kiss with equal fervor, hands instinctively going to her waist, gripping her hips as fiercely as she's gripping his shoulders. Her weight on him, the insistent friction of her cunt against his clothed cock—it's electrifying, and the feeling shoots straight through him, bypassing thought and going directly to instinct.

He deepens the kiss, his tongue tangling with hers. He imagines that they're both tasting her slick like this, and the primal possessiveness that flares within him is both startling and unstoppable.

When she pulls away to close the curtain, his grip begins to tighten on her hips until he realizes she isn't leaving. No, she's right here, she's back, and he's kissing her again, his hips bucking beneath her, his hands roving and squeezing her ass, pulling her closer. Now he's the greedy one.

Breaking the kiss, his breath comes in ragged gasps. And when he speaks, his voice is rough and lower than usual, tinged with a raw edge of desire he doesn’t bother to hide. "Nami..." It’s more of a breathy sound than a word, laced with a question, an affirmation, and the burgeoning heat inside him ready to explode.

He doesn't mean to, really, but when his hands slip under her skirt to dispose of her panties, he doesn't so much pull them off as... rip them apart. And he just knows, without ever being in this situation before, that it's the kind of thing she'd fuss about, so he pulls her in by the nape to kiss her again, his free hand fumbling to undo his pants because dammit, he's so hard that it hurts. "I need you," he whispers against her lips, teeth catching on her skin, nipping playfully even when all he wants to do is beg for her.

[cartographie]

The air feels warm and charged, imbued with every heartbeat Zoro makes her skip– when he speaks, when he growls, when he moves against her and the pressure of his cock against the wet heat roiling between her thighs make her breath catch and the muscles of her inner thighs twitch. Fresh heat runs through her as he kisses her and lets her push him to lay back, the warm, solid, strength of his shape blotting out any hope of rational thought, lighting her up from within. He's here, and he wants her like she's thought about wanting him more times than she'll ever admit to.

Because Zoro is complicated. For the first time in a long time, she found people she wanted to be her friend, and while Luffy's brand of relentless kindness could win over a Sea King, Zoro made her feel understood. Not that he knew anything about her until the guys turned up at her sister's and Nami's secrets stopped keeping themselves, but he matched her down-to-earth, dry approach. At times (especially during moments of violence against clowns) they've fallen seamlessly into an unspoken accord, like they could exchange nothing more than a pointed glance and understand one another perfectly.

Kissing him for the first time feels like finding that accord all over again, but amplified. There's no hope of evading the rise he gets out of her, or the way it leaves her reeling. He has to be able to hear, if not feel, Nami's heart thudding hard against her ribs, while his hands knead and clutch at her, demanding in the quietly intense way she's learning he is. She meets those demands measure for measure.

The voracity of his touch is mirrored in her hands as they knead his shoulders insistently, before eagerness and impatience wins again, and the flats of her fingers lead the way lower only to curl in his shirt, grasping the fabric as he says her name. Even as the ache burning through her rises, Nami's hips go still in surprise, leaving her pressed flush and needy against him, wet enough to leave a darkened patch on the front of his pants, unwittingly giving him what he asked for. The soft sweetness in his voice leaves her searching his face, her lips parted and already swollen from the force of those kisses, while heavy-lidded eyes search his face, partly concealed behind her lashes. He's beautiful. She missed him.

"Zoro," she answers, as the fingertips of one hand trace his jaw, and the taste of his mouth and her cunt linger on the tip of her tongue. What else could she say in the face of all this? It's beautiful, so beautiful, Nami doesn't realize what's happening when the fabric of her panties goes tight against her body before going slack and falling away as Zoro rips them off, until it happens. He's right to drag her in for another kiss and spare himself from being called an asshole. Not to be outdone, or thwarted, her hands beat his to the front of his pants, swatting his away before those deft, pick pocket's instincts take the lead, unfastening them with almost unsettling speed, her hips lifting away just enough to pull them open. They're his pants, she's just better at taking them off.

A shiver runs up her spine, the anticipation building through her seeming to crackle over her skin, her touch hungry as her hand delves further between their bodies to fist loosely around the base of his cock her tongue licking into his mouth, gliding light against his as she guides him free of his pants. Another breath caught, another chance for something he says to almost give her a heart attack.

Needs her. Needs her. For so much of her life, that was the stupidest thing a person in her path could need, but with his cock hard and heavy in her hand, she thinks she could learn to like being needed.

"Show me how much," she's grinning hard enough that he can likely feel her lips curve as they press against his between giddy breaths, her thighs pressing against his hips as she lifts herself a little more, angling his cock to brush against her folds, aligning their bodies and teasing him at the same time.