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You wake to a soft rain pattering against the window. The morning light is soft and muted, filtered through a cold, grey cloud cover. It’s early still, and you can hear the faint snores of your crew mates filling the cabin around you. You open your eyes slowly, savouring the blissful, heavy fog of sleep that still weighs on your mind. The sight that greets you is one you’re sure you’ll never tire of.
Roronoa Zoro—mouth open, hair tousled with sleep, his one good eye flickering back and forth beneath its lid as dreams flit across his subconscious. He’s kicked off the covers in the night, as usual, and his tanned, powerful chest contrasts pleasantly with the starch white sheets.
You admire him for a moment, tired eyes tracing the lines of his abs to the green treasure trail that disappears beneath the band of his sweat pants. Your fingers ache to follow, but your eyelids are heavy and your mind in a pleasant haze you’re reluctant to dispel. So, with a smile, you roll over and settle back in, eager for just a few more hours of precious sleep before the pandemonium that is breakfast with the Straw Hats made it impossible.
But of course, Zoro has other ideas.
You hear the break in his breathing as he wakes but you keep your own eyes closed and your breathing deep in feigned sleep. You feel him shift, sheets rustling as he turns to you, feel the weight of his gaze on your shoulder where your hair has fallen away from the skin. He exhales and you can feel the light puff of air against the back of your neck.
Goose bumps break out over your skin and a shiver rolls through you. Unconsciously, you find yourself arching your neck, baring the tender skin beneath your ear to him in a silent plea. This time, he exhales with purpose, blowing a stream of warm air that rustles your hair and prompts a sleepy groan of protest from your throat.
He chuckles. “Mm, good morning,” he says, voice deep and husky with sleep. The sound of it sends shudders through you and heat pooling between your legs. “Sleep well?”
Calloused fingers skate down your bare arm, dragging the strap of your night gown with them and you can feel your skin ripple in response, craving his touch. He dips his head and nuzzles the junction of your neck and shoulder.
You hum an affirmative, mind still too foggy to form a coherent sentence, and snuggle closer to his warmth.
He chuckles again. One strong arm snakes around your waist and a hard body envelops yours. His arousal is evident and demanding against the small of your back, but he takes his time with you. Feather-light kisses tickle your neck as his hands begin to wander, gently cupping your breast before trailing down your side to your waist where he stops momentarily to gauge your reaction.
You can feel the heat of his palm seep through the thin fabric of your gown. You swat at his hand half-heartedly, torn between wanting to continue and needing to sleep just a little longer. His hand only slips lower, squeezing gently at the flesh of your thigh. He toys with the hem of your night gown briefly before slipping beneath it to caress the curve of your ass. You revel in his low groan of appreciation as he discovers you’re wearing nothing underneath.
“God, the things you do to me,” he growls, voice muffled slightly as he buries his face in your hair and breathes your scent. “I want you.”
“But, the others…”
“We’ll just have to be quiet then, won’t we?” You can almost hear the smirk on his face. He lowers his lips to your ear. “Part your legs for me, just a little.”
You do as he says, and suddenly you go from pushing his hand away to gripping his arm hard, holding him in place as his fingers move in slow, tight circles over your clit. Your lips part, breath coming in gasps and quiet moans. His hips grind against you slowly, in time with his fingers and as your gown rides up around your waist, you can feel all of him and suddenly his fingers just aren’t enough.
“Zoro,” you gasp. “Please.” You bite down on your lip to dampen the whimper as his fingers leave you all too soon.
“Can you keep quiet?” he whispers, hand sliding down your thigh to the tender flesh behind your knee.
Wordlessly, you nod and he wastes no time. He pulls the covers up, hiding your bodies from prying eyes that might wake at any moment. He parts your thighs gently with one calloused hand and hooks your leg behind his knee, careful that his movements don’t cause the others to stir. You’re completely open to him now, unable to close your thighs as he continues his slow, torturous circles with one hand while the other fumbles with the drawstring of his sweatpants.
Then he’s filling you, a firm hand on your hip to guide you back onto his length. You feel his grip tighten when he’s fully seated, a low, satisfied groan rumbling through his chest that gets lost in your hair. When he’s gathered himself, he begins to move, a leisurely pace just like before, the two of you swaying together in time with the rocking of the ship in the waves.
You’re not used to this lazy, careful lovemaking. Zoro is all sharp thrusts and hard lines, raw and rough and you love it. But this… this is something you never thought possible from him, and despite the measured pace, you feel the slow build of your climax, like a cluster of coals in your belly spreading a pleasant warmth to every extremity.
His hand on your hip slides down your thigh and hitches it higher, letting him thrust longer, deeper, until you have to bite down hard on your lower lip to stifle your noises of pleasure. His own voice is muffled into the back of your neck where his lips leave burning trails across your skin and his teeth paint a canvas of red and purple and blue.
When you’re both nearing breaking point, his mouth seeks out yours and you turn your head, just managing to catch the corner of his lips. Unsatisfied, you reach around his neck and entwine your fingers into the coarse strands of his hair, tugging him down to meet you. He swallows your moans as your climax hits, washing over you in slow pulses of heat that seem to go on forever. He keeps pace even through his own orgasm, extending yours until you physically can’t take any more.
When he finally stills, the rest of the world comes back into focus. The rain is still falling and above your laboured breathing, the snores of your crew mates still echo through the cabin. It’s as if no time has passed at all, the stillness of the morning holding everything in a suspended animation. All but the two of you.
You turn over to face him, whimpering at the loss of his heat from inside you. A light dusting of pink colours his cheeks and a yawn splits his satisfied smirk. It’s contagious, and soon you find yourself yawning as well.
He chuckles, fixing your clothes and then his own before pulling you against his chest. “Go back to sleep,” he mutters into your hair. “We still have an hour until the others wake up.”
Gratefully, you fold into his arms, into the embrace of sleep, and let the stillness of the morning envelop you.