[ Even as he asks the questions, there's a part of Sanji that's afraid he knows the answer. Not everyone is fortunate enough to have someone from home– someone they can explicitly trust, regardless of circumstance– waiting for them in the lecherous depths of this resort. They aren't odds he'd bet on– not that he bets often– which leaves the options as narrow as the path to fulfilling his dream. For someone who's only been here a few weeks– someone who's as sweet and reserved and clever as Tifa is– the thought that she's stumbled across someone she trusts that completely, that fully, that wholly, well, it seems unlikely to him.
His expectation– his fear, his uncertainty, maybe even his hope– keeps his breath frozen in his chest for a long, quiet moment. Genuinely, he wants her to say yes, to know that she can find comfort in someone else's arms, pleasure in someone else's mouth, relief in someone else's hands. As much as the sight of her makes his breath eager to catch, makes his mouth go a little dry as he catches the way color dusts her cheeks, he's not quite so selfish to wish she has nobody she can trust.
It's enough that he exhales a soft curse when she finally answers, shaking his head, biting his bottom lip as his thoughts churn a mile a minute. ]
Shit– I mean, I had a feeling, but– hoped maybe you'd lucked out or something. [ Every drop of attention he has is focused on her– the rest of the Red Cardinal may as well not exist right now– as he leans forward slightly, fingers squeezing in silent reassurance that they'll find a way to get her the help she needs. Maybe there's someone else here she knows, someone she'd prefer? He's got a gilded tongue, or so someone once accused him of having one, so maybe he can find someone to–
When she looks up at him, something about that smile makes his heart seize. It's a smile that says she's trying too hard, that announces she wants him to think everything will be okay, that screams a need for help that he can't possibly ignore. It's a smile he recognizes because he's worn it before, when the pit of his own self-loathing swells too large to ignore.
His mouth opens, ready to offer up reason and logic, to say that there is no dealing with this on her own, but then she looks and his awareness is so sharp that the course of her gaze is a featherlight touch, a gentle caress he can feel as it slides over his lips and down his neck, so tangible there's no running from the shudder that rushes along his spine. Unlike her, he has no excuse for the thoughts dipped in sin that follow, that wonder how she'd feel beneath him– or in his lap– or clinging to his chest– that want to explore every inch of her, to find every sweet spot that makes her breath hitch and her voice dissolve into a soft, need-filled moan. His eyes flicker down just that once– flicker and see how flattering the little dress she's wearing is, the urge to see everything he couldn't the last time they'd met suddenly burning in his gut– before they meet hers, all storm and sea and smoke and want. ]
Hey. [ His voice is soft– too soft, maybe– as he speaks, fingers suddenly curling around the softness of her cheek in a gentle caress. ] It's okay if you want– [ Even trying to say it makes him shiver. ] –if you want my help. If you want me. [ The smile he gives her is small and genuine– almost shy, if it weren't for the way his eye glimmer with pleasure as he says it– as his thumb gently traces the soft curve of her jaw. ] Don't wanna take advantage of you, lovely, but– I want you. [ It's odd how admitting that makes his mouth go a little dry, makes him swallow and hope she doesn't think too poorly of him for it. ] Wanna help you and make you feel good, if that's what you want.
[ He thinks it is. Knows it is, really, know it well enough that his lips are hovering less than an inch from hers, close enough that when he leans forward slightly, it's enough to brush the gentlest, briefest kiss he can manage against her mouth. ] If, yeah? Just give me the words and I'll take damn good care of you.
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His expectation– his fear, his uncertainty, maybe even his hope– keeps his breath frozen in his chest for a long, quiet moment. Genuinely, he wants her to say yes, to know that she can find comfort in someone else's arms, pleasure in someone else's mouth, relief in someone else's hands. As much as the sight of her makes his breath eager to catch, makes his mouth go a little dry as he catches the way color dusts her cheeks, he's not quite so selfish to wish she has nobody she can trust.
It's enough that he exhales a soft curse when she finally answers, shaking his head, biting his bottom lip as his thoughts churn a mile a minute. ]
Shit– I mean, I had a feeling, but– hoped maybe you'd lucked out or something. [ Every drop of attention he has is focused on her– the rest of the Red Cardinal may as well not exist right now– as he leans forward slightly, fingers squeezing in silent reassurance that they'll find a way to get her the help she needs. Maybe there's someone else here she knows, someone she'd prefer? He's got a gilded tongue, or so someone once accused him of having one, so maybe he can find someone to–
When she looks up at him, something about that smile makes his heart seize. It's a smile that says she's trying too hard, that announces she wants him to think everything will be okay, that screams a need for help that he can't possibly ignore. It's a smile he recognizes because he's worn it before, when the pit of his own self-loathing swells too large to ignore.
His mouth opens, ready to offer up reason and logic, to say that there is no dealing with this on her own, but then she looks and his awareness is so sharp that the course of her gaze is a featherlight touch, a gentle caress he can feel as it slides over his lips and down his neck, so tangible there's no running from the shudder that rushes along his spine. Unlike her, he has no excuse for the thoughts dipped in sin that follow, that wonder how she'd feel beneath him– or in his lap– or clinging to his chest– that want to explore every inch of her, to find every sweet spot that makes her breath hitch and her voice dissolve into a soft, need-filled moan. His eyes flicker down just that once– flicker and see how flattering the little dress she's wearing is, the urge to see everything he couldn't the last time they'd met suddenly burning in his gut– before they meet hers, all storm and sea and smoke and want. ]
Hey. [ His voice is soft– too soft, maybe– as he speaks, fingers suddenly curling around the softness of her cheek in a gentle caress. ] It's okay if you want– [ Even trying to say it makes him shiver. ] –if you want my help. If you want me. [ The smile he gives her is small and genuine– almost shy, if it weren't for the way his eye glimmer with pleasure as he says it– as his thumb gently traces the soft curve of her jaw. ] Don't wanna take advantage of you, lovely, but– I want you. [ It's odd how admitting that makes his mouth go a little dry, makes him swallow and hope she doesn't think too poorly of him for it. ] Wanna help you and make you feel good, if that's what you want.
[ He thinks it is. Knows it is, really, know it well enough that his lips are hovering less than an inch from hers, close enough that when he leans forward slightly, it's enough to brush the gentlest, briefest kiss he can manage against her mouth. ] If, yeah? Just give me the words and I'll take damn good care of you.