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The worst of the storm had passed, and the sky was still shrouded in a bleak grey as the sunny sailed north with no island in sight. The weather was cool enough for the windows to be left open, allowing the occasional sea breeze to sweep into the kitchen as Sanji worked on prep for next morning’s breakfast. He quite liked the peace that came after storms like these, where everyone either retired to their rooms to sleep or went about their evening routine.
Well, not everyone.
Zoro sat at the head of the dinner table, slouched over the surface with the bottom half of his face buried into the crook of his elbow. There was a half-empty bottle of whiskey in his other outstretched hand that he had picked up from the last island they set sail from. It was pretty strong, if the slight flush dusting his cheeks was anything to go by, but they also just had wine for dinner, so maybe it wasn’t as strong as he thought.
Another thing Sanji liked about the aftermath of heavy thunderstorms was that they tended to send the swordsman into an almost trance-like state. Cloud mode, as he had taken to calling it. It was a very fascinating phenomenon Sanji had discovered a long time ago—how he seemed to be lulled by rumbling thunder and gentle wind rather than be discomforted, the usual harsh and tense outline of his figure melting into whatever surface he was leaning on or against. Not unlike a house cat basking under sunlight, much to his amusement. It made him seem far less terrifying and unapproachable than he normally was.
Then again, Sanji had long stopped associating such words with Zoro, long ceased to see him in that kind of light. The man was only ever as hellish and demonic as he needed himself to be. Any other time, he was just…plain ol’ Zoro.
“Whiskey’s good?” He found himself saying, well aware of the other man’s eye trained on him as he worked.
Zoro blinked, syrup slow, nodding into his arm as he processed the question meant for him. Then he quickly realised that Sanji wasn’t looking at him.
“Yeah.”
“Thought you’d grab more. One’s never enough for you,” Sanji replied easily, mixing the soy marinade for the soft boiled eggs he had learned from a restaurant a few islands back. When there came no reply, he glanced up to find him silently watching, eye lidded and drowsy. “Never mind.”
They stayed like that for a while, Sanji rotating between the bar and the fridge and Zoro slumped on the table, tipsy and docile. When he finished the last of his clean-up there was barely a fifth of the liquor left in Zoro’s hand. Sliding off his apron, he grabbed a glass and plopped himself into the seat closest to Zoro, wringing the bottle out from his grasp and pouring himself one.
Zoro’s focus zeroed in on the glass and he scoffed. “Flashy bastard.”
“Classy,” Sanji corrected, pressing the glass to his lips and relishing the burn down the back of his throat. It was, indeed, rather strong. And very delicious. Perhaps it was a mistake to have only snagged one on board. He quietly downed the rest of the alcohol and poured the remaining of the bottle into his glass. Zoro frowned lightly, lifting his head to sit up halfway, the side of his face pressed into his arm turning red.
“I didn’t say you could finish my whiskey.”
“I didn’t recall ever needing your permission.” Sanji shot back, and immediately washed down half of it as he watched a vein throb in Zoro’s forehead, returning his glare with a taunting grin. The heat left him pretty quickly, though; he eased back down and resumed squishing his face against his arm like he was spineless. House cat, Sanji thought, and grinned wider.
He dragged his chair closer to him, the inside of his knee brushing against the swordsman’s thigh, and raised the rim of the glass to Zoro’s lips, waiting. He lifted his head again but didn’t open his mouth, doubt smearing across his expression. Sanji nodded toward the glass. “Go on. I didn’t spit in it, if you were scared.”
“Oh, fuck off,” Zoro barked out, and Sanji used the chance to tilt the glass a little too high, the liquid splashing down his throat far too fast for him to swallow. He choked instantly, jerking away from him as he coughed. Most of it slid down the corners of his mouth and beneath his chin, sadly, dripping onto the ground and seeping into the wood. What a shame. It was probably really expensive, too. He briefly thought about making Zoro lick it off the floor, but quickly pushed that thought aside. Perhaps another day, when he was sure he could handle it.
Zoro had finished his hacking fit and was now truly glaring daggers at Sanji, though the intended effect was offset by the unshed tears in his eye and his splotchy face.
“What the hell is your damn fucking problem, cook.”
Sanji blinked at him, then slowly set the glass down and stood up, pressing one hand to the back of Zoro’s chair and one on the table, towering over him. Caging him in. He bit back a smile when Zoro didn’t immediately try to slice him in half. Half the battle won, I guess.
“Since you’ve been nothing but sweet and quiet today, mosshead, I’ve been thinking,” he began, pausing just for the theatrics, “that we’d play along with your little request. Y’know, mess around a little harder. Figure out your boundaries, spoil you a bit. But I’ve got one teeny, tiny problem.”
He bent forward and leaned right into Zoro’s personal space until he could smell the alcohol from his breath, then, without warning, stuffed three fingers into his mouth. The effect was instantaneous, Zoro’s eye watering as he flinched and gagged around the sudden intrusion, breath stuttering. Sanji hurriedly hooked a thumb under his chin to drag him back and narrowed his eyes.
“That is your mouth,” he rasped, equally calm but much deeper than before. “It’s running a little loose. I don’t like that. Gonna have to shut you up and make you learn how to talk nice.”
He pressed in deeper, enough to be uncomfortable, and delighted in the way Zoro’s eye widened as he tried to swallow around him, a little breathy noise escaping his throat. Then he pulled out just as quick, leaving the mosshead to gasp lightly as he tossed his jacket onto the floor and headed back behind the bar to grab some oil and a damp cloth.
“Go lie on that, and take your pants off.”
Zoro stared blankly at him. “We’re…here?”
“Do you wanna do it on deck, then?” Sanji quipped, turning around just in time to see a new flush spread across Zoro’s face as he dropped onto the floor, chucking off his pants and haramaki. Hm. Interesting. He filed the reaction away and made his way back out, settling onto his knees in front of him. Gently, he pried Zoro’s legs apart so he could slot himself between them, not missing the way he tilted his head to the left in embarrassment. It was very cute, how he flustered at the smallest of things. Gap moe, Sanji believed that was the term to describe it. It amused him every time.
“You only have one thing to do,” he said instead, popping the cap open and spreading a copious amount over his fingers. “Lie pretty and take it. You can cum, you can beg, cry and plead as much as you want, but I’m not stopping until I'm satisfied with you, or unless you explicitly use the safe word. That is a warning. I trust you’ll learn to speak nicely after we’re done. Sound good?”
He paused, eyeing Zoro for any hints of true discomfort. The only reaction he got was another frown and a low: “do whatever.”
Oh well, that was the most consent he was expecting to get anyway. He pressed a light kiss to his right knee, which was all the warning he got, then pushed an oiled finger into him. Zoro hissed and tensed, and Sanji slid his other hand along his thigh to get him to relax. It didn’t take more than a few minutes to work him up to three fingers, purposely angled away from that set of nerves as he stretched and twisted his fingers, feeling him out.
Zoro, unexpectedly, was all sweaty and panting already, breaths coming out slightly quicker than normal. He angled his hips in a vain attempt to get Sanji to nail his prostate, sighing in frustration when he merely stopped moving his fingers. He was, otherwise, lying quite still. Heat pooled low in his gut when he realized Zoro had his arms locked beneath his back. He had never told him to do that.
“The fuck, cook, thought you said I could cum.” The swordsman grunted, lightly shifting around still. Sanji had a good guess it was subconscious.
“I did.” Sanji agreed, then leered down at him. “Just didn't say when.”
He saw the anger that flashed across his face, but before he could hurl out any colorful expletive, Sanji crooked all three fingers against his prostate. It shocked a delicious keen out of Zoro, who dropped his head back down with a painful sounding thump, hips jerking and jostling him. He stuck to the same angle after that, keeping to light, repetitive brushes and drawing everything out until Zoro was squirming restlessly, little pitched noises falling from his open mouth.
“Cook, cook,” he gasped, every single muscle straining prettily against the hardwood. Sanji hummed, felt his own dick pressed too tight against his slacks. It didn’t matter. They could get round with that later.
“Not- s’ not enough,” Zoro slurred, breathy and weak. “Not enough. I…”
“What?”
“M’ gonna cum, I- fuck, s’ not enough,” he gritted out, voice breaking, sounding so near tears Sanji nearly caved and gave it to him. He was still coherent, though. They were nowhere near the end goal—Sanji needed him fucked out beyond words. He slowed his fingers instead so he could get his point across, just enough for Zoro to squeeze out another frustrated sound before he soothed him. “I know, but you’re going to come like this, yeah? I know you can.”
“Shittycook,” the mosshead hissed, lacking actual heat. Yes. Nowhere near the end goal. Sanji hummed again and splayed his unoccupied hand across the front of Zoro’s lower belly, putting enough force to stop all his mindless fidgeting. He sped up once more, adding only a little more pressure than before, not nearly enough to immediately send him over the edge, but enough for him to go all taut again, whining harshly. If Zoro didn’t believe in himself, he would just have to get him there.
Sure enough, the swordsman's voice took on a kind of confused panic as his orgasm crept up, legs tightening around Sanji for a different reason. A wide eye shot up to his face, but his hands firmly remained behind his back. “Wait-”
Sanji shushed him and steadfastly maintained his pace despite the burn in his arm. Poor thing probably didn’t even know what was happening to him, being driven to orgasm like that. That was alright. Sanji was there to teach him, make him feel good, like he was now.
He increased his speed, quietly breaching a fourth finger into him. It only took another firm brush of all four fingers against his prostate, and then Zoro thrashed and arched off the floor so high Sanji had to hold him down, jaw gone slack around a silent cry. But nothing spilled. Not a drop of come left his dick even as he slumped back down with a punched out gasp and trembled, yukata sliding off his shoulders, and- fuck. Fuck.
Sanji removed his fingers and shoved his slacks just far down enough to get his dick out with one shaky hand, slathered more oil and lined himself up and fucked into Zoro in one steady thrust. Kept going and going until he was flush against the back of Zoro’s plush thighs and his head spun from the overwhelming burn around his cock, forcing out his own breathless groan.
Zoro was all strung up beneath him, unmoving, not breathing, face scrunched so prettily in a mix of pain-pleasure. Like a goddamn wet dream, biting his lips like that, yukata splayed around him and exposing his Godlike physique.
Sanji eased his arms out from under his back and guided them to wrap loosely around his own shoulders, the swordsman easily going with it.
“That’s it, sweet, taking me so well," he murmured, brushing green hair back, “I’m gonna move now.”
And he did, snapped his hips with a merciless strength that had Zoro crying out softly into the shared space between them in no time, eye glazed over and welling with tears. Sanji loved it, loved taking him apart like this and watching him come undone, all the tension dissipating from every inch of him as he took whatever Sanji gave, and he always took it well. It was a side of him only Sanji had the honour of viewing and he damn well treasured it.
“Cook, please, please,” Zoro mewled, the sudden plea going straight to Sanji's dick as he panted, open-mouthed and wanton, flushed head to chest in the most stunning shade of red Sanji had ever laid his eyes on. Shit. He could hold it out. He would. He absolutely would.
“Yeah? Now you learn,” he grunted, rolled his hips a little faster nonetheless. “You’ll be good?”
Zoro screwed his eye shut, taking on an expression that could only be described as flustered, and gasped out brokenly: “Please, fuck- please.”
It wasn’t really an answer, but Zoro did beg pretty, all soft and needy. Sanji was a real sucker for him.
“Cook.”
“What do you need?” Sanji whispered, dipped his head so he could nip and lap at the skin of his neck, tasting salt, and Zoro whimpered, hands falling uselessly to his sides. “Go- wanna cum, need it. need- I need it-”
“Okay, okay,” Sanji hushed. He sat up so he could press Zoro’s knees to his chest, folding him in half, and leaned back down, immediately hitting his prostate dead on. Zoro keened, and to Sanji's complete surprise, he started to sob, the first tears sliding down his sweat soaked skin. Sanji barely had time to brush them away before he tensed again, eye falling shut as he shuddered violently through what must be another painful dry orgasm, clenching tight around his cock.
"Okay. Wow. Oh fuck," Sanji gasped out, feeling his brain go into overdrive. He glanced down at winced at the pathetic sight of Zoro's dick, red and angry and leaking all over. But he didn’t stop, planted his palms to the ground and pounded into him until Zoro was pushing his hands weakly against his chest, the same panic seeping back into his broken voice.
“Fuck- fuck what- s’not stopping! What, I- please no, Sanji, Sanji-”
“Hey, you’re okay, chéri. You can take it, just a little more, c'mon,” Sanji gentled, silenced him by peppering kisses all over his face. He trailed downwards, sloppy and wet until he reached the broad expense of his chest, licking a part of the pale scar that was carved across his entire torso.
It was a little awkward to be bent at such an angle while thrusting ruthlessly, but Sanji was a man on a mission and he could really care less about mild discomfort. He closed his teeth around one nipple just as he wrapped a loose fist around Zoro’s neglected cock, ripping another pitiful sob out of him while he bucked into his touch. He pumped, once, twice, thrice, flicked his tongue and bit.
Zoro’s hips stuttered, and then he was properly coming, making a mess all over his hand, spasming and silent and holy fucking shit it was all so much, so tight and good Sanji might’ve actually blacked out then and there. But he didn’t, fucked him through it like a gentleman and pumped his fist until Zoro was sharply twisting away, a whine stuck in his throat as he cried.
Sanji was distantly aware of the litter of praises falling nonsensically from his lips as he squeezed Zoro’s hips with both hands and finally chased after his own orgasm, zeroing in on the tightening pleasure bubbling over and exploding into thick, liquid lava. He gave one final thrust before he spilled, completely fucked out of his mind, into Zoro, lightning coursing through his veins and fraying every last nerve in him.
It took all of his remaining willpower to pull himself above water, regain his bearing, panting into the crook of the swordsman’s neck. Zoro barely reacted when he pulled out, while Sanji hissed at the sharp drop in temperature around his oversensitive cock. Shit. He might actually lose his soul if they carried on, but he wasn’t done with him. Not yet.
Pushing boundaries, getting to the end goal. That was what he was here for. He heaved himself up to the side and gingerly brushed away the tears from Zoro’s waterline.
There was a fogged haze to his eye that Sanji took immense pride in, sweet and malleable just for him. It made Sanji almost take mercy on him, thinking twice about attempting his next move. But he needed him fully under like Zoro had wanted, so he wrapped his jizz-stained hand around Zoro’s half-hard cock again, whose legs immediately clamped together as he jerked with a stuttered gasp.
Oh. That can’t do. He pushed his thighs apart and locked one leg down with his own even as Zoro tensed and backed away as far as he possibly could, whining pathetically in protest.
“I know, I know, it’s the last one, I promise, last one,” Sanji reassured, voice low in his ear. He pulled his earrings between his teeth and stroked the entire length of him. It was controlled and light, but Zoro made a high noise like he was truly being tortured. His hips snapped and spasmed in some odd manner that Sanji took a moment to realize he was trying to buck into his fist and pull away at the same time, which....was very fucking hot. But he couldn't get his dick up again even if he tried.
He was full-on in tears now, uselessly tugging at Sanji's wrist with his face smushed into Sanji’s shoulder, ruined beyond words. Gorgeous. It was truly a gorgeous sight, to have such an unstoppable man be reduced to nothing more than a shaking, blubbering mess by his own hands.
“Just one more, for me, Zoro, please? Just one more, and we’re done. No more after that, sweet.”
Zoro harshly shook his head and trembled in his arms, gasping desperately, but he had yet to use the safe word, which meant Sanji had no reason to stop. He curled his fingers and swiped viciously at the underside of the tip, bullying the sensitive head with the rough palm of his hand.
It was nothing more than faint pressure, but it took less than a minute before Zoro was pulled taut and coming again, high and desperate whines leaving him as cum spilled out of his cock in weak spurts. Sanji brutally tightened his fist and milked him through it until Zoro was gripping firmly at his hands, fucked out little whimpers escaping him. Sanji eased his hand off. Then, as if the strings had been cut from him, he went completely lax, wet eye thoroughly unfocused while he gazed at the ceiling.
Sanji was all over him in an instant, whispering into his skin how good he was, how sweet, such a precious thing, there we go, did so well, so pretty for him, his chéri. Running his hands along his torso and his arms, threading through tufts of choppy green hair, kissing every inch of skin he could get. He went at it for a good while, gently cradling the mosshead till he was blinking some semblance of clarity back into his steel colored orb.
Pulling away, he reached for the rag that he had tossed aside and began to wipe him down, careful to clean his spent cock last. Even then, Zoro mewled when he touched him, causing Sanji to throw out another long litany of apology and the cloying promise of a crate of alcohol just for him.
“Really?” Zoro asked, still mostly out of it. He looked and sounded so utterly gone it shot another spark of heat up Sanji's spine. He quickly tamped it down, pressing his lips to his temple.
“Of course, precious, I’ll get it when we dock.” Who was he to deny such a sweet man, really.
“Okay,” Zoro agreed, eye fluttering shut while he let Sanji fuss over and care for him. Maybe he wouldn’t remember all of it when Sanji kicked him awake hours later to get him to shower, but for now, he cherished every second of this Zoro he got, burned the sight of him into the back of his eyelids so he would not forget. Uncharacteristically pliant. Endearing.
At ease, like a house cat after a thunderstorm.