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Zoro can’t stand the way he’s unable to keep his eyes off the new member of their crew. The sea-crusted wave of the chef’s hair, the way golden strands fall gently over his eye and tickle his cheekbone. The brilliant blue of his eyes that reflect the crest of waves, the swirling depths of the ocean. How easy it ends up being to provoke a smile from Sanji, teeth glinting in the midday sun; and how easy, too, to summon a divot of frustration between his eyebrows, a scowl on his lips. Sanji is nothing but expressive, filled to the brim with all new stories, wounds, raw strength.
Sanji is like no one Zoro has ever met before, and it’s driving him insane; alongside the more… personal desires to either throw him overboard when he’s relentlessly flirtatious, or fuck him silly when he’s being unconsciously, unfairly coy, (neither of which are helping clear his mind) he is still failing to figure out his professional opinion of their new crewmate. Luffy seems to have taken quickly to Sanji, though, hanging onto his shoulder when he’s cooking, stealing bites of meat when Sanji’s too busy doing dishes to notice. Usopp and Nami appear to like him too, trading stories over sampled dishes, startling laughter out of the kitchen that echoes through the ship. Sanji’s especially sweet on Nami, offering her midday snacks cooked especially to her liking. Even though she doesn’t always take Sanji up on his many offers of food and company, Zoro can see he’s growing on her, by the way she unconsciously hands Sanji a tangerine to peel or sticks her tongue out when he ruffles her hair.
He hates these gestures for a reason he doesn’t understand. A brush of fingers against Usopp’s shoulder to gently guide him forward, or a playful tug on Luffy’s hair when he eats too fast. It’s all too familiar for someone who’s a month into being a Strawhat- but still, Zoro just can’t place why the casual touches, the intimate knowledge Sanji stores away, gets so badly under his skin.
He just knows he wants it to stop.
It’s evening on the Going Merry, the smell of oncoming rain whipping through the sails. Zoro’s leaning on the stairs that go up to the ship’s wheel, a half drunk bottle dripping sweat down his fingers. He’s trying to relax, letting his muscles go limp against the wooden steps, head resting on a plank- with his eyes closed, it feels like he’s floating in the middle of the waves, the way the slow rise and fall of the ship jostles him.
Footsteps sound close to his head and he opens his eyes to be met with the bright hair of Nami flaming gold in the fading sunset. She’s tugging on a worn sweater, soft with age, when she notices Zoro resting on the stairs, too familiar a sight to startle. A smile comes to her lips, fond. She moves toward him, settling beside Zoro with the easy comfort of crewmates, of nakama .
“Sanji said dinner’s almost ready.” Nami says, in lieu of a greeting, scooting down further to get comfortable. “He made chili and cornbread.”
“Sounds good,” Zoro responds absently. He’s closed his eyes again, a forearm resting across his face to block out the remaining sun. Sensations of hunger feel far off, his mind bobbing with the ocean, the warm rays of disappearing sun lighting his hair, his face.
Nami turns over, flicking him goodnaturedly on the nose. “So that means you better get up, or he’s gonna cook you for tomorrow’s breakfast.”
Zoro scoffs, already fed up with the cook’s posturing despite the fact he’s not even here. God , the man riles him up in all the worst ways. Sanji knows exactly what buttons to press to piss him off the quickest, and sometimes he doesn’t even need to press them himself- he can get Nami or Luffy to do it for him, and it angers Zoro all the same.
But Zoro’s a decent crewmate, or at least he likes to think so- he doesn’t snore obnoxiously in the sleeping quarters, or take forever in the showers, or even complain about being made to do the brunt of the most difficult jobs. With this role comes the expectation of being on time for dinner, and so despite his baseline cravings to stay and sleep like a cat on a windowsill, Zoro makes his way to his feet and follows Nami down to the dining room, where he can smell the mouthwatering aroma of spices and beef cooking from yards away.
The smell only grows in intensity as he steps inside the kitchen, already a flurry of movement and noise. Luffy’s got his head in the massive chili pot, with Usopp’s hands around his middle trying to pull him out. Sanji is turned to the sink, a huge knife waving around in his hand as he chastises Luffy for being impatient- but the knife and combative demeanor both drop when he sees Nami stick a finger into the steaming pot. Sanji doesn’t even take the time to notice Zoro, who drops onto one of the benches clustered around the dining table. He just beams when Nami tastes the chili, giving an enthusiastic thumbs up before she goes to sit beside Zoro, stealing a taste of his drink without any resistance.
Nami turns to Zoro as he watches the racket and rush of the kitchen unfold, and there’s something of fondness in her voice when she speaks.
“They sure make a mess, don’t they?” she says, quiet enough that Zoro can barely hear her. He sighs, his eyes moving as Sanji flits from station to station, dodging Luffy and Usopp.
“Yeah,” he says, not fully aware of the words coming out of his mouth. His mind is elsewhere when he watches Sanji roll up his sleeves, shooing the crewmates away as he pulls something out of the oven. The way his trousers hug his legs, his ass, when he bends to open the oven door only serve to distract Zoro further.
He hates that his brain focuses on these stupid, perverted details. It’s been happening too much for his comfort, days where he can’t take his eyes off the stupid cook, the subtle definition of his muscles when he goes swimming with Nami and Usopp, the brilliance of his smile when presenting a dish. It’s starting to make him think there’s something wrong with his brain, or that he’s been eating something that’s giving him indigestion.
Nami notices his lack of attention (of course she does) and flicks Zoro’s earrings, watching him startle as the metal rods clink and swing against his skin.
“What’s your problem?” she whispers, close enough that her hair tickles his shoulder.
Zoro would really like that question answered, preferably by someone who knew the truth and could tell him personally. It’s something that’s driving him up the wall trying to figure out. Unfortunately, both the lack of omniscient crew members and personal introspection means he ends up shrugging, taking another sip of the bottle in answer. But Nami’s persistent, not letting this attempt at distraction succeed.
“Is it Sanji?” she asks, and Zoro hates how sharp she is, hates how few details make it past her perceptive eye. “Did you two have another fight?”
“Not exactly,” Zoro scowls into his drink. He can’t bring himself to say any more, a war raging in his chest in which he’s consistently been the loser and will continue to be hopelessly beaten.
“So what? Did he cook eggshells in your omurice on accident? Did he pour salt in your cereal? Or, wait, shit, did he…?” Nami trails off, her eyes suddenly widening as they dart from Zoro to Sanji, who is so involved in pulling Luffy out of the chili pot that he notices none of this.
“Did he figure it out?” she whispers, the first real hint of concern bleeding into her tone. Zoro shoves her away, blustering.
“I told you to forget I ever said that,” he hisses, head darting up to make sure Sanji is catching none of this conversation. When he’s sure of the chef’s oblivious state he turns back to Nami, gritting his teeth.
“I was drunk,” he says.
“Super drunk,” Nami affirms.
“And I was stupid. I should’ve never told you- that in a moment of weakness.”
Nami grins. “Yeah, but you said it anyway,” her voice singsongs. “You said you wanted to, and I quote, “Fuck the chef so hard his stupid dartbrow falls off.””
“SHshshSHH,” Zoro is so alarmed that Nami remembers exactly what he said one drunken gossip session two weeks ago that he nearly drops his bottle, rushing to smack his hand over her mouth. Nami giggles, muffled beneath his death grip. The clatter is enough to get the attention of the crew, who see Zoro wrestling with a howling Nami and almost immediately go back to dinner preparation. The sight is commonplace enough that Luffy doesn’t even bother to yank his head out of the chili pot- he just barks out a laugh that echoes around the pot and draws the attention of Sanji and Usopp back to the battle at hand without a second thought.
Once Zoro is certain Nami isn’t going to blurt out his drunk ramblings for the entire crew to hear, he removes his hand tentatively and scowls, crossing his arms in defense.
“I’m taking that as a no,” Nami sighs after a moment or two of silence, where they both watch in silent amusement as Sanji huffs and throws up his hands after he’s unable to get Luffy from devouring half the meal.
“Obviously it’s a no,” Zoro fires back. “There’s no way in hell I’m telling him a thing about how I feel. He’d just say something pervy and then coincidentally never stay in the same room with me for more than five minutes.”
“Coward.” says Nami.
“Witch.” Zoro responds, with a choice gesture that is more immature than effective. Nami rolls her eyes and slumps to the table, obviously over their childish back and forth. Zoro considers this a win, until he hears a sharp intake of breath and feels Nami at his side, tugging at his earrings.
“I have an idea,” she says, clasping her hands together, suddenly animated. There’s that scheming edge in her voice, the one she gets when tormenting men out of their money, that sends something of a shiver down Zoro’s spine. “Let’s make a bet. I bet you two hundred berry that if you make a move, tonight, Sanji will reciprocate.”
“And when you lose?” Zoro can’t pass up the chance of leveling his debt with the redheaded thief, especially since he knows he’s going to win. He knows Nami can never forgo any monetary deal, even if she’s not the victor. She’s the worst sort of gambler-the hopeful kind.
“Then you get two hundred berry and a bottle of the good sake.” She’s got him there- it would be a cold day in hell when Roronoa Zoro turns down an opportunity for free drink.
He doesn’t even think as they slap their hands together in a handshake. There’s no way he’s going to lose this bet, and he can’t wait to savor the look on Nami’s face when she’s down two hundred berry.
“You’re on,” says Zoro, a spark of competition blazing between the two. Nami just smirks and kicks her feet back, anticipating the evening to come.
“You know what?” he adds, hand still gripped in Nami’s. “I’ll add a week of dish duty, since you’re being generous with that sake.”
Her smile just widens, and Zoro is too confident that he brushes off the jolt of regret that rockets through him at the sight. A swordsman doesn’t doubt himself, though. He knows his path is true.
“A deal’s a deal.” Nami says, and they break apart, both grinning with the confidence of their imminent rewards.
“Dinner’s ready!” calls Sanji from over near the stove, balancing a stack of plates in one hand and silverware in the other. He stops at the table, smiling at Nami.
“What were you two talking about?” Sanji asks, setting each place with a delicate grace. Nami shrugs, looking at Zoro out of the corner of her eye.
“Nothing,” she says, kicking her feet out from under her as she stands, going to fill her glass. “Just a little wager.”
Zoro scowls at her and busies himself with grabbing a bowl of chili, digging in as fast as he can so he doesn’t have to catch any more knowing glances from Nami. He doesn’t even think about the fact that he has to attempt to seduce Sanji, tonight, in a matter of hours, and the fact that he has to be okay with that after a month of pining.
All he can think of is how delicious leftover chili is going to taste with a hot bottle of sake.
After the crazed rush of dinner, the Merry is actually quiet for the first time today. The warm, filling meal has everyone gently dozing, sipping on spiced rum, or talking quietly amongst themselves. The crew still occupies the galley, but now they slump over soft cushions, the dinner dishes long since cleared and currently being scrubbed to sparkling by Sanji. He’s got his jacket slung over a chair, shirtsleeves rolled up as high as they can go, and Zoro can’t take his eyes off of him. There’s something about the way Sanji’s hair drapes down over his eyes, droplets of soap and water dripping down his forearms.
Zoro would blame this kindling desire on a drunken stupor, but he’s only had two beers and the pleasant haze has long since worn off. So there’s nothing to blame except his poor self control while he watches Sanji smile, offering to refill Nami’s wine while his hands are still buried in dishes. That’s the kind of person Sanji is- selfless, faithfully so, always thinking of his crew and never himself. Zoro knows this- he’s seen the callouses and cracking skin on Sanji’s hands, the way he works himself to the bone but shrugs off the suggestion of rest like an ill-fitting jacket. Zoro knows something of sacrifice himself, about giving so much and never taking anything in return. He’ll sacrifice anything for the people in front of him, never giving a second thought. He’s devoted to a fault- to their captain, to their crew, even if he’ll bitch and moan to their faces.
And that crew includes Sanji. That devotion is no less extended to a man he can’t be around for two minutes without fighting, a man who he can’t get out of his head.
So he stands, taking a sip of his drink before wiping his mouth and going to pick up a stack of drying dishes to put away. He feels Nami’s eyes on his back as he reaches up to a shelf, and turns ever so slightly so that they catch eyes. Her expression says, You want us out of here? and his returning nod is firm, despite the scream of nerves he’s keeping in. Nami winks in affirmation and grabs Luffy’s arm in one hand and Usopp’s in the other.
“Who wants to see who can climb the mast in the shortest amount of time?” Nami crows, and the pair are instantly arguing over techniques and what the spoils of victory will look like as she drags them out of the kitchen, flashing a grin to Zoro before she shuts the door behind them.
Zoro can hear the laughter down the hall, until it eventually peters out and he’s left with the silence of an almost empty kitchen. Sanji’s not paying much attention, lost in the world of soap bubbles and sparkling silverware. There’s a soft tune he’s humming to himself, something melodic and distinctly sea shanty in origin. He’s probably not even aware he’s doing it, based on the glaze in his eyes as he stares down at the soapy water, the way he scrubs a mug almost automatically.
Zoro takes this as the best opportunity he’s going to get tonight and leans against the sink basin- close enough to invoke intimacy, but not enough to crowd.
“Take a break,” he says, nodding at the stack of dishes still floating in the sink. “Let someone else take care of them tonight.”
Sanji startles, dropping the now dry mug back into the sink with a loud clunk . He glares at Zoro with a look that could stop a bird mid-flight, but only makes Zoro roll his eyes.
“God, marimo, don’t fucking startle me like that! I could’ve broken something.”
Zoro sighs, knocking into him with his shoulder. “So what? We have plenty of shitty dishes just waiting to chip. Relax for tonight- you’ve done enough.”
Sanji’s shoulders stiffen at the words, a huff of exasperation the only indication that he’s listening. Otherwise, he just continues to dip ceramic wear in and out of the soapy water, scrubbing hard with a sponge.
Maybe it’s the unending sips of alcohol, the late hour, or even just the sheer amount of pent up yearning that does it for him. Zoro thinks Fuck it for a split second and grabs Sanji’s wrist from where it’s submerged in the sink, pulls it up to his mouth, and licks a stripe down his forearm.
Sanji stares at him with wide eyes, his face steadily reddening, but that doesn’t stop Zoro from moving closer, so close he can feel each exhale of breath against his face. The kitchen is silent, the only noise the quiet hitching of Sanji’s chest and the slow creak of the Merry.
Zoro takes Sanji’s other arm, gentle this time, and slides down his hands to where they intertwine with Sanji’s. He looks into the cook’s piercing eye, then down at the dishes, then back. Sanji still hasn’t moved, frozen in place.
“I said,” Zoro whispers against the nape of Sanji’s neck, mouth hovering over the soft skin. “You’ve done enough. Relax for once.”
The fire in Sanji’s eye has reignited, his chest heaving with nerves but a coy smile playing on his lips.
“Oh?” he says, breath ghosting across Zoro’s ear. “And what would I do to relax?”
“I might have something in mind,” Zoro says, stepping back and releasing Sanji’s arms to plant his hands on either side of the sink, effectively communicating his point- I can help you relax .
They stand parallel to each other for an agonizing minute, silent spare the periodic drip of the tap. A trickle of dread begins to crawl down Zoro’s spine, crippling embarrassment coloring his cheeks as Sanji just… stands there, staring at him. He eventually caves to the red in his face, though, dropping his head onto Sanji’s shoulder.
“Is this ok?” Zoro whispers, eyes trained on the floor. He feels Sanji shake and looks up in surprise to see the cook stifling laughter, hand covering his mouth as his eyes narrow into slits.
“Ok?” Sanji chokes out through the shaking of his shoulders. “Fucking hell, marimo, you’ve basically just propositioned me out of nowhere. It’s more than ok. Fuck, I mean- oh, forget it.”
Sanji cups Zoro’s face in his hands, fondly, and kisses him hard. Zoro’s pushed against the sink, a groan snaking from his throat as the once chaste kiss deepens and increases in frantic movement, Sanji’s hot, wet tongue snaking into his mouth. They pull away to catch their breath, both panting- Zoro needs no mirror to feel the flaming blush on his face. Until he realizes something, and he can feel his heart drop.
“Fuck.” he says, to which Sanji’s eyebrows furrow with confusion for a split second before he follows with, “I’m on dish duty for a week.”
Sanji laughs again, his thumb tracing circles on Zoro’s cheek. His other hand has snaked down to Zoro’s waist, and is firm and hot against the thin fabric of his shirt. Everything feels… so much , so warm. Zoro’s never felt like this before outside of a battle. He finds he likes it.
“But if this is what dish duty turns out to be, I’m not too upset about it,” Zoro confesses. He finally looks Sanji in the eye to see a swirl of desire that’s likely reflecting his own, and feels a jolt go through him.
He thinks he would die for Sanji, in this moment. He thinks he would kill for him.
And he thinks Sanji would let him.
They end up in the men’s quarters, door firmly locked and a chair under the knob for extra security- although, privately Zoro’s not concerned about intruders because of Nami’s well known skills of distraction. He elects to keep this from Sanji, though- something about the slim possibility of being caught makes his blood sing, his hands tremble with pure want.
Almost before Sanji takes the key out of the door, Zoro is on him, kissing roughly up his neck, across his jaw, hands buried in silk-soft blonde hair as he presses Sanji against the door. Sanji keeps making these punched out, keening whines as lips turn from tongue to teeth, scraping across his jugular. He’s so overwhelmed with the fervor of Zoro’s hands, lips against him that he doesn’t try to kiss him back, just lets his arms settle draped over Zoro’s shoulders and tilts his head back, panting.
Zoro’s never seen this side of the cook before, the side that shuts up and takes it. Usually Sanji is full of fire, spitting back an insult or kicking out a leg more rapidly than a hurricane.
“You like this, perv cook?” Zoro says between kisses, a gentle tug on the lobe of Sanji’s ear. “Letting me see you get all hot and bothered?”
“Shut the hell up,” Sanji breathes, his face flaming red. He gasps as Zoro sucks a mark beneath his jaw, which is just the reaction Zoro is looking for. He tries again, dipping his head forward into the crook of Zoro’s neck. This time, it seems to lessen the intensity of Zoro’s touches, and he can finally get a good breath in.
Which, of course, Sanji uses to say something smart that just riles up Zoro even more.
“You gonna fuck me like you said you would, or are we just going to stand here?” Sanji smiles, and Zoro can feel the muscles contract through his collarbone.
“I was just trying to be a gentleman,” Zoro teases, his hand ruffling through the short blonde hairs at the nape of Sanji’s neck.
“No time to be a gentleman in a ship full of nosy people,” Sanji retorts, his arm sliding from Zoro’s shoulder to his wrist, where he tugs him towards one of the cots with an almost hurried stride. Zoro follows without hesitation.
Sanji pulls him onto the bed and rolls so he lies under the swordsman, hands intertwined in short, mossy strands of hair. Zoro is left stradling Sanji’s hips, settling down to where he can kiss Sanji, messily and with enough force to knock him straight back onto the mattress. Sanji just takes it with a moan of pleasure, writhing underneath him into a position where those strong, muscled legs wrap around Zoro’s middle.
“You idiot,” Sanji breathes between kisses and caresses, Zoro roaming under his shirt, tugging at his tie. “Why didn’t we do this sooner?”
“Well, other than the fact I thought you were utterly straight, I also thought you would kick my ass for it.” Zoro says, his concentration on getting that stupid tie loosened and off.
“All you had to do was ask,” Sanji says. “Anyway, with the way I dress, do I really look straight to you?”
“Just shut up,” Zoro rolls his eyes, finally throwing the tie somewhere onto the ground, setting his sights on unbuttoning the starched dress shirt beneath him; and shockingly, the cook obeys. Sanji quiets as he gets his hands under Zoro’s haramaki, pushing his shirt up his chest and over his shoulders. There’s a frantic energy they’re both trying to match, almost a challenge to see who can undress the other first. Even fucking, they’re both competing for first place.
Both of their shirts are off, now, and Zoro’s hands are free to roam across the trim waist of the cook, the blonde hairs covering his chest, the subtle dip of muscle in his arms. He buries his head into Sanji’s shoulder, kissing up his neck. He smells like cinnamon, salty air, cigarette smoke, and a combination of spices that’s driving Zoro wild: something of both worlds, wild ocean and domestic kitchen.
His hands drift down towards Sanji’s legs now, massaging the corded muscles that run through his thighs, flexed calves as Sanji wiggles underneath him, face red with the attention so carefully lavished on each part of his body.
Zoro moves up from the cooks neverending legs to his hips, where his thumbs rub circles underneath the waistband of his pants. The message is clear, and Sanji’s hips jerk up unconsciously at each featherlight touch, until he’s panting again, desperate for a heavier sensation.
“This ok?” Zoro asks, softly, hands wrapped around the chef’s waist and slowly moving down, until his fingers drag across the protrusion of Sanji’s hip bones, the wiry trail of hair low on his stomach. Sanji chokes out a laugh, brushing his hand through the messy strands of Zoro’s hair.
“Yes,” he says, taking Zoro’s earrings in his mouth and rolling them around on his tongue, then taking them out to kiss Zoro’s lips, chaste but searching. “More than ok.”
“And this?” Zoro drags the fabric of his trousers down, unbuckling the clasp and pulling down the zipper, lifting Sanji up so that he’s able to drag them off, throwing them in the same vague direction as wherever the tie went. He kicks off his own pants as an afterthought, as his tongue snakes out and wanders, hot stripes of saliva up and down Sanji’s waist, thighs, stomach. He can see the effect this has on Sanji, the way he shudders underneath his mouth. The boxers do little to hide how aroused he is, and even less when Zoro hooks a finger through the soft fabric and tugs with his teeth at the waistband.
“Fuck,” Sanji chants, head thrown back against the pillow. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, just like that you idiot mossball.”
Zoro grins, all sharp teeth and plush lips as he plants kiss after kiss down Sanji’s thigh, teasing. He pauses for a moment, though, looking up at Sanji.
“How do you want it?” Zoro asks, backing off only for a short amount of time. He delights in the way Sanji’s eyes widen and his face flushes, wheels clearly turning in his mind as he thinks. Zoro’s so caught up in watching this internal debate he sees the exact moment the cook decides, a smile curling his lips as he bends towards Zoro, infinitely flexible as he kisses him gently.
“Rough,” Sanji says, a drop of blood trickling from his nose. What’s more, Sanji doesn’t seem to notice, so focused on chasing the promise of pleasure. Fuck , that just serves to make Zoro harder. “Want you to fuck me…” he stops for a moment, embarassed, before desire catches up and overtakes any self consciousness. He clears his throat, averting his eyes when he says, “I want you to fuck me like you love me.”
There’s a moment of silence as Zoro considers the request, the implications of what this means to Sanji clear.
“I don't think that’s going to be difficult,” Zoro confesses softly, suddenly aware of their positions, the compromising situation he’s put them in. It’s not as if he regrets this- he doesn’t, at all, he couldn’t if he tried. He’s just… conscious of how this will change their dynamic- or, even, if it will, and he hates to entertain the idea that this will become something Sanji regrets.
Sanji, the impulsive man he is, grabs Zoro’s chin, shaking him gently to bring him back to their present state, the current desire that thrums through him with wild, reckless abandon. The cook nods, once, and really, that’s all it takes for Zoro’s blood to start running again, the heat building in his chest, and for him to get out of his head and back into bed with a man he’s wanted for an embarrassingly long amount of time.
The swordsman is horribly sentimental, in a way that cripples him to even consider denying Sanji’s request. The sizzle of arousal builds lower in his body, until he’s stradling Sanji in a way so intimate it makes both of their faces burn, and this is when he snakes his hands under the soft fabric of Sanji’s boxers, tugging them off with a slow cascade against his thighs, his legs, his feet, until they’re off and Zoro is painfully aware of the debauched state of the man underneath him. His own cock swells with interest, and Sanji smiles, teasingly, before leaning up for a nip at his throat. Zoro discards of his own boxers with less fanfare, and slowly moves down the sheets until his mouth meets the soft flesh of Sanji’s thigh, the dark blonde hair spread across his lower half. He noses against the skin, peppering soft kisses that make Sanji moan, grasping the sheets with a balled fist.
“Stop fucking teasing me and get on with i- oh, fuck, ” The cook bites off a whine as Zoro licks at the head of his cock, tongue burning against the exposed skin. He touches Sanji with a reverence he’s never felt before, as he moves his mouth up and down against the hot touch of his cock, and dimly thinks that he’s been an absolute idiot for not taking Nami up on this bet earlier.
Sanji chokes back a moan as Zoro takes him in his mouth. The cook is long and exceedingly hard, more focused on length than girth, but something that still has Zoro choking back a cough all the same. He strokes him with his mouth, the slick sensation becoming almost a rhythm as he eases off, then takes Sanji’s length back in, suppressing his alarmingly poor gag reflex. Sanji’s hips cant upward with each movement, almost unconscious as he bucks up into Zoro’s mouth, fingers gripped tight in the short strands of Zoro’s hair. They keep up this rhythm for a few minutes, until Zoro’s hard enough that purely sucking Sanji off isn't sufficient. He wiggles up to where he can kiss bruises into Sanji’s neck, eventually pulling off with a question on his lips.
“You ever taken it before?” Zoro asks, and delights in the way Sanji blusters at his bluntness, his cheeks red as he nods once, resolutely. Zoro snorts, surprised more and more as he discovers the cook isn’t the heterosexual ladies man he so strongly fronts himself to be. There’s a delicacy in how he cups one hand around Sanji’s jaw, spitting into the other to act as a substitute for lube, wandering down to squeeze Sanji’s ass, filthy in a way that makes Sanji hiss with overstimulation. The slick coating of spit over his fingers makes it easier to finger him open, rough one minute, sensitive the next. Sanji’s writhing underneath him, each movement of his hips sparking electricity deep in Zoro’s gut.
It doesn’t take much longer until Sanji is loose enough around his three fingers. He slides them out, punching out a groan from Sanji, and takes his dick in his hand, pumping it once, twice, droplets of precome slicking the length. After that, well, he’s desperate enough to line up his hips, one hand still on his cock, the other squeezing bruises into Sanji’s side.
“All good?” he asks, looking down at Sanji, whose eyes are hooded and nose dripping red with blood. He nods, fervently, blonde fronds of hair splaying across the wrinkled sheets.
“Goddamn, Mossy,” Sanji grits out. “Do you ever shut up? It’s like fucking a- ah, shit, ”
Zoro pushes into Sanji, slowly, the suction hot and wet- they both groan at the new position. Zoro takes a moment to breathe, deep breaths to allow time for both him and Sanji to get used to the sensation. Eventually, though, Sanji gets predictably impatient and flicks Zoro on the chest, shoulders jerking in a way that clearly says get on with it .
So he does, bottoming out and jerking back up, setting a steady rhythm- not slow enough for lovemaking, but too steady for fucking. They’re both panting, Zoro’s thrusts heavy with passion, sliding over a spot he figures out pushes Sanji further to the brink of too much. The bed creaks with each stroke, but over the hot kisses Sanji licks into his mouth and the gasps and moans that rip out from both of them, the noise is a forethought. Chasing his pleasure means that Zoro’s focused in, in the predictable way a swordsman would- which makes Sanji snort a laugh, hooking his ankle over Zoro’s strained thigh.
His movement picks up as the pace he set becomes unsatisfying, until that low, building heat is near unbearable and Zoro knows he’s going to come soon. He tries to pull out of Sanji but the chef just holds him tighter, his legs squeezing against his thighs.
“ Inside,” Sanji moans, and who is Zoro to deny him? The rush of orgasm floods over him and his vision whites out, for long enough that when he comes back to Sanji is finishing beside him, hand stroking his dick violently until a low moan rips out of his chest and Zoro’s stomach is coated in hot ribbons of cum. It’s electric, violent, and something that makes stars pulse behind his eyes.
“Fuck,” Sanji says, burying his head into Zoro’s shoulder. Zoro just settles his weight on top of Sanji, boneless and fuzzy with the high of release. “That was…”
Zoro groans in affirmation, eyes already slipping closed with exhaustion. He can hear Sanji protesting against him about cleaning up, but sleep undertakes him as cum dries sticky across his skin and the surrounding sheets. Sanji huffs out a sigh but follows him shortly after, the enticement of sleep beckoning too persuasively to deny.
Zoro wakes a few hours later, the room still awash with the deep blue of night. The surrounding bunks are empty, clearly illustrating the persuasive success of Nami, who is probably tangled with the rest of the crew up on the deck. He can feel the hot, rhythmic breath of Sanji against his neck and risks a glance at the sleeping cook. His brow is furrowed in sleep, and a rush of fondness runs through Zoro unbiddenly as he looks at the man sleeping beside him, tangled in sheets and limbs both.
He closes his eyes once again and is lulled to sleep by the quiet huff of breath and the rocking crash of ocean waves against the ship’s hull.
Zoro wakes again when the sun has risen and bright lines of sunlight dapple the sheets. The bed is empty- predictably, Sanji has gone to get breakfast started for the rest of the crew, never failing in his duties despite the exhaustion from the previous night. Zoro finds this devotion one of the more beautiful sides of Sanji, one that never fails to stir something in his chest when he sees that familiar apron, the calloused hands of the chef wrapped around a spatula or placing something to cool on the countertops.
He yawns loudly, jaw cracking with the force, and slides out of the sheets, intent to join in the morning rush. Forgoing a shirt, he tugs on his trousers from last night and the comforting familiarity of the haramaki around his middle. The wood creaks softly as he pads through the door and out into the hallway, ears already picking up the sounds of his crewmates further down the hall. Zoro reaches the kitchen to see Usopp balancing a stack of pancakes almost as tall as he is, setting them down shakily as Luffy pounds at the table with a fist, a sunshine bright grin on his face. Sanji is turned to the stove, flipping another batch of pancakes on the stovetop. Making an executive decision before his brain can rationalize it Zoro trails up behind him, hands wrapping around the chef’s waist. His chin settles to Sanji’s shoulder.
“Looks delicious,” he says quietly, surprising a smile out of Sanji, who laughs.
“Take your fill,” Sanji replies, placing a chaste kiss on his cheek as he untangles himself from Zoro’s grip to distribute the new batch of pancakes. There’s syrup on the table, alongside candied tangerine peels, diced strawberries, and enough powdered sugar to make it snow.
Nami fills a glass with orange juice over on the dining table, looking up as Zoro takes the pitcher from her to fill up one of his own. She smiles coyly, eyes darting from Zoro to Sanji, whose cheeks are still pink.
“Success?” she asks quietly, grinning as Zoro colors and drains the orange juice, immediately going to refill it.
“Something like that,” he grunts out, refusing eye contact. Something jolts in him as he remembers the conditions of their bet, what Nami is most certainly digging for. A curse escapes him unbiddenly.
“I’ll have your berry later today,” Zoro grouses, serving to widen Nami’s smile.
She pats his shoulder, moving past him to fill a plate with pancakes. “I don’t think you’re too upset about dish duty, are you?” she asks before she sits down next to Usopp, who is so busy trying to guard his plate from Luffy he’s not paying any attention to their conversation. “If they’re all going to be like last night.”
Zoro’s eyes wander unbiddenly to Sanji, something in his heart panging, something that wasn’t there before. He could get used to this, he thinks- not just the sex,(which is, of course, a phenomenal bonus) but the warmth of encircling limbs, the soft smiles they trade privately, just for them. To know there is a back against his, a permanent seat at the table.
“Yeah,” he says, aloud, and means it. “I don’t mind.”