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Zoro can't help but laugh when he sees the cook draped over their table in the corner, chin resting on his folded arms as he levels his fiercest pout at anyone who dares to cross his line of sight. For someone who can shatter a man’s spine with one well-placed kick, he's ungodly cute when he gets grumpy.
Grumpy and tipsy, he corrects himself as he makes his way back to the table with his own drinks in hand. There are two wine glasses next to the cook’s head—one empty, one two thirds of the way there. A real wild night for their resident lightweight, then.
“What are you so pissy about?” he asks, amused. Sanji turns his scowl on him as he drops into the booth next to him.
“You wouldn't get it,” he grumbles. “Stupid moss. Stupid lucky moss.”
Zoro snickers into his pint. Last time he looked over, Sanji was sitting half in the lap of some local villager, but he’s nowhere to be seen now. “You get shot down?”
“I shot him down, thank you,” Sanji says with a huff. “Wha’s the point. Wouldn't even work.”
“Whiskey dick?”
He probably deserves the kick, so he doesn't try to dodge it. “Sorry it didn't work out,” he says instead, mostly genuine. And then, because he does feel a little bad for making fun when Sanji looks so miserable, “Want me to wingman for you?”
“Doesn't matter,” Sanji moans. “S’not gonna go any better.”
“Aw, come on,” Zoro cajoles, jostling his shoulder. “Not with that attitude. I'll go drop something in front of someone, and you can do your little bendy thing to pick it up. Guys love that shit.”
Sanji buries his face in his arms and groans. While he's looking away, Zoro picks up his mostly-empty glass and drains the rest of it. Sanji will inevitably try to finish it off when he remembers it’s there, and Zoro doesn't want to be stuck babysitting if he starts crying.
“Snobfuthafh,” Sanji mumbles. Zoro pats his shoulder.
“Try again. Not face down this time.”
Sanji obligingly lifts his head just enough to groan, “S’not about that. Yeah, I could, and someone’d wanna fuck me, probably, but then we'd go and– and he'd get all– and you don't even get it ‘cause you're a man–”
Zoro flicks Sanji’s ear. Sanji tries and fails to bat his hand away. “You're a man too, genius.”
“But you're a real man,” Sanji complains, and Zoro feels his smile fade.
“Hey,” he says, scooting a little closer and wrapping an arm around his shoulders. Sanji leans against him, still scowling about as fiercely as a wet kitten. “That's not true, cook. Did that guy you were talking to say something? We can go kick his ass together. That'll cheer you up.”
“Fuck off,” Sanji grumbles. “We didn't even get that far; he prolly still thinks I have a dick. Ugh, I fuckin’ wish.”
“They're really just okay,” Zoro tries.
“Okay!” Sanji repeats hysterically, finally sitting up just to slump backwards. Zoro gets pulled back with him, arm pinned under Sanji’s weight while Sanji drops his head onto his shoulder. He doesn't weigh that much, really; Zoro could knock him off easily.
He stays where he is.
“‘They're okay,’ he says,” Sanji mutters. “S’like telling someone who's starving that your sandwich is just okay, you know that? You sound like a idiot.”
He splutters as some of his own hair falls in his mouth where he's half collapsed on Zoro’s chest. Zoro snorts and gingerly pushes his hair back so he doesn't choke to death on his own bangs. “I've literally never seen you go home alone when we go out,” he points out. “You're hardly starving just ‘cause one guy didn't work out.”
“But I can't come,” Sanji whines. “‘Cause of my dick’s not a dick.”
Zoro blinks. Sanji sighs morosely. “What size is your chest, anyways?” he asks, rubbing his cheek against Zoro’s shirt like a cat. “Y’r tits are so soft.”
“Thanks,” Zoro says. “What do you mean you can't come?”
Sanji glares up at him. “What I said, jackass. Don't rub it in.”
“Why can't you– what, like ever?” Zoro asks. He feels flabbergasted. Aghast. Some other fancier words. “But you fuck everything that moves!”
“Yeah, ‘cause sex is fun,” Sanji shrugs. “I like that part. Just gets old sometimes. All the buildup and no payoff.” His eyes are drifting shut. “If I’d a dick I could. But girls can't. Everyone knows that.”
“You're not a girl,” Zoro says. He's impressed when his voice only comes out a little strangled.
“Okay, pussy havers,” Sanji corrects. “You get a vagina, or you get orgasms. Not both.” His eyes are fully closed now. He's curled against Zoro’s chest like he means to stay there forever. “So soft,” he breathes, slinging an arm across Zoro's middle. “Ser’sly, you got great tits.”
“Thanks,” Zoro squeaks out. “So you've never gotten off? Even once?”
“Is it nice?” Sanji asks wistfully. “I bet it's nice.”
“Cook. Curly brow. Curly cook, Sanji, oh my god.”
He finally pushes Sanji off of him, just so that he can grab his face with both hands to make sure he's looking at him.
Sanji’s visible eye seems focused on his own nose, so Zoro pushes his bangs back to reveal the other. It doesn't look much clearer, but maybe combined they'll do the trick.
“Sanji,” he says again. “You gotta let me fuck you.”
Sanji squints. “But you said no.”
Which. Okay, yeah, they'd been all of an hour away from Cocoyashi when Sanji had pulled Zoro into the pantry, and Zoro had turned him down. Not like he didn't want to (because goddamn, did he want to) but he doesn't shit where he eats. The Merry was a small ship, and they were a small crew. He didn't want to risk complicating things.
Sanji took it well. He hadn't been embarrassed or resentful at being turned down; he had simply nodded, unwrapped his legs from around Zoro’s waist, and said he'd be happy to play wingman if Zoro was willing to return the favor.
In fairness, fucking is probably still a bad idea, and normally he would stick to that rule. But he didn't know the situation was this dire! He can’t in good conscience let the cook go on this way. That would make him a terrible friend, and a worse first mate. It's his job to look out for the crew.
“I can get you off,” he says. Sanji squints harder. “I'm serious. More than once. As many times as you want.”
“Nuh uh,” Sanji says. “Cocky dumbass. No, you can't.”
“Yes I can!” He feels almost feverish. He holds Sanji’s face a little tighter. “I mean it. Everyone else you've been fucking sucks.”
“No, they don't,” Sanji says. His slurring voice is even more muffled by the way Zoro’s squishing his cheeks. He makes no attempt to extricate himself. “I do that part.”
“No one's ever even eaten you out?”
He hears a startled bark of laughter from the booth next to them before it's quickly stifled. Oops, he maybe said that too loud.
“For what?” Sanji asks, curly brows knitting together as he puzzles that over. “I get plenty wet. Don't need spit or anything.”
Zoro wheezes. “This is painful,” he manages to say. “This actually hurts.”
“Does not!” Sanji protests. “I just said I get wet–”
“For fuck’s sake, cook, you gotta let me fix this. Did the witch give you room money?”
“Nope,” Sanji says. “Said I should just bat my pretty eyes.” He sighs, dreamy. “She thinks my eyes are pretty.”
“She thinks you're a slut,” Zoro corrects, and Sanji nods agreeably.
“She's so smart.”
“All right, we're going back to the ship,” Zoro says, starting to awkwardly scoot his way out of the booth and dragging Sanji along with him. “This is ridiculous.”
“You're ridiculous,” Sanji says, but it sounds more like habit than actual annoyance. “Just gonna be disappointed,” he says as Zoro stands, pulls his drunken idiotic orgasm-less crewmate up after him, and begins half-carrying him out of the bar.
“Are not,” Zoro says. “You're gonna feel amazing.”
“Not me,” Sanji says with an explosive sigh. “Can't be disappointed when y’know what's coming. You're gonna be all pouty about it, ‘cause you always get mad when obvious things happen. ‘Oh, I can't walk ‘cause I tried to cut my feet off, I can't eat nothing but rice and sake for a month straight without throwing up, I can't make Sanji come ‘cause Sanji can't come–’”
“Sanji hasn't come yet,” Zoro corrects, situating Sanji’s arm over his shoulder as they stagger out of the bar. “Sanji's gonna come his brains out pretty soon.”
“Sanji’s gonna die in an alley ‘cause Zoro can't find the ship,” Sanji says mournfully. “Left, mossy. Yer other left.”
Sanji’s having a rough night, so Zoro obliges him and follows his ridiculous drunken directions. It is, of course, pure chance that Sanji happens to lead them back to the ship so quickly.
“Rough night?” Usopp asks as they make their way up the gangplank. Sanji waves at him.
“I drank a lot,” he says brightly.
“Almost two whole glasses,” Zoro confirms, and Usopp whistles.
“Going for a record?”
“Zoro seems to think so,” Sanji says with a sage nod, and Zoro hustles him towards the bunk room before he blabs too much.
Getting him in a hammock seems an impossible task, so he dumps him on the sofa instead. Sanji sprawls out comfortably, all gangly arms and ridiculously long legs, and unsubtly tilts his hips up. “Startin’ now?” he asks, flushed and hopeful.
Zoro’s dick would love to say yes, but Zoro’s annoying brain points out that Sanji’s eyes have yet to focus on him. “When you sober up,” he promises. “Come find me tomorrow, okay? I'm serious. I can do it.”
“Promises, promises,” Sanji drawls. “Gimme a blanket.”
Zoro chucks one at his head, along with a pillow. Sanji gets himself more or less underneath it, and is asleep almost immediately. Zoro stares at him for a while, realizes he's staring, and then makes himself climb into his own hammock.
He's not much for prayer, but if there was ever a situation that warranted some divine help, it's this one.
Dear god, he starts, then hesitates because he'd hate to waste his first ever prayer on someone who might not exist. Dear Wado, he tries, but that feels a little disrespectful. He mulls it over, beer sloshing in his stomach in time with the waves underneath him, until he settles on the most appropriate recipient.
Dear Mihawk, he prays, one day I will kill you. Until then, please let me make the cook orgasm good enough that he raises his standards about who he fucks. Amen.
Content that he's done all he can do, he rolls over and is asleep within minutes.
***
He wakes up when the jackass who Zoro very kindly helped back to the ship last night—he basically tucked him in and everything—kicks him so hard he topples out of the hammock and face plants on the floor.
“Th’fuck, cook?” he groans, peeling himself out of the Zoro-shaped indentation in the planks. “What was that for?”
Sanji tries to kick him again. Zoro doesn't roll out of the way so much as flop gracelessly onto his back to avoid it.
“You fucking freak,” Sanji seethes. “You can't talk to me when I'm drunk! That was none of your business!”
“You brought it up yourself,” Zoro points out. He makes no move to sit up. The floor's not all that uncomfortable, and besides, he hasn't had breakfast or his morning beer yet. He can't be expected to do things like stand up and move around under these conditions. “It’s not like I asked.”
“I was drunk,” Sanji insists. “You're such a pig! Why didn't you just change the subject?!”
He lifts his foot again, clearly preparing to bring it down on Zoro’s skull.
“Offer’s still open,” Zoro says, and Sanji freezes.
“The– what? What offer?”
Zoro glances around the bunkroom. It looks like everyone else is gone or still asleep. “To make you come,” he says. “It's really not that hard. I'm actually surprised no one’s managed it.”
Sanji slowly lowers his leg. He slowly sits down on the floor next to Zoro’s head. He slowly, tenderly cups the side of his face.
And then he bends and blows as hard as he can directly into Zoro’s ear.
“Ack,” Zoro yelps, flailing away. Sanji drops his chin in his hand as he watches him finally scramble up to a sitting position. “Fuck was that for?”
“I wanted to see if I blow in one ear, it would come out the other,” Sanji says. “But I didn't feel anything. Something must be blocking it.”
“Yeah, my brain.”
“Can't be that,” Sanji says. “Otherwise you'd know that it's literally, biologically impossible. I know you're a stubborn little moss, but the world doesn't actually bend to your will.”
“Who told you that girls can't come, anyways?” Zoro asks. “And why didn't you get a second opinion? Go ask the witch if she ever has. She'll tell you.”
“I would never ask a lady about her love life,” Sanji says. Dumbass sounds properly scandalized. “That's private. As is mine, so you need to drop it.”
“I can ask her for you if you're embarrassed,” Zoro asks, mostly because the way Sanji’s legs are criss-crossed underneath him means he won't be able to kick him for it.
Sanji still manages to knee him in the thigh, but he can't get up the usual force behind it, so Zoro will probably only have a bruise later. “You're fucking disgusting,” he mutters. “You know, if you wanted in my pants, you just have to ask. You don't have to pretend it's for my benefit.”
“It is for your benefit,” Zoro says, exasperated. “It's fucked up that no one's gotten you off before. You deserve better.”
“And you want to show me ‘better’ with your dick,” Sanji says dryly. “How magnanimous of you.”
“I don't have to use my dick,” Zoro says. “Hell, I can keep my clothes on the whole time if you want.”
“How the fuck would you get me off, then?” Sanji asks, rolling his eyes. “Telekinesis?”
Zoro makes a V of his fingers, holds them up to his mouth, and flicks his tongue between them. Sanji wrinkles his nose.
“Well aren't you classy.”
But Zoro can see the interest in his eyes. The cook might not believe him, but he's curious—maybe even hopeful. Besides, he clearly likes sex, even without what Zoro would consider the main event. Even if Zoro somehow can't get him off, he can still show him a good time.
“If I can't get you off, I'll do the dishes for a week,” he offers.
“Six months,” Sanji counters immediately.
“Two weeks.”
“Three months.”
“One.”
“Ugh, fine, you horny fuck.” Sanji holds out a hand, scowling. Zoro shakes it to seal the deal, and doesn't argue when Sanji stands and uses his grip to yank Zoro none-too-gently to his feet.
Sanji frowns at their clasped hands. “Wait. What do you get if you win?”
“I get to make you come for the first time, cook,” Zoro grins. “Good enough for me.”
Sanji drops his hand with a disgusted noise. “God, I can't believe I agreed to this. Fine, then, we'll get a room in town tonight. And since this whole mess was your idea, I'll leave it up to you to sweet talk the money out of Nami.”
“On it,” Zoro says.
“I need to rent a room tonight for me and the cook to have sex in,” he tells Nami later.
She shoves a handful of bills at him. “Four hundred percent interest. Three hundred if you never, ever tell me about it.” She thinks it over for a second, then amends, “Two hundred if you make sure he has a nice time.”
“How would you know that without me telling you about it?” Zoro asks, and Nami smiles and pats his cheek.
“Life sure is complicated sometimes, huh?”
He keeps half an eye on Sanji during the day, helping around the ship with minor repairs and supplies as they wait for the log pose to reset. Sanji ignores him all day, so deliberately and staunchly that Zoro actually has to hunt him down after dinner.
“You don't have to if you don't want to,” he says. “It's not a big deal.”
Sanji glares at his own hands as he aggressively scrubs an already-clean dish. “You're the only one making a big deal out of it. No one else has ever given a shit.”
“People should give a shit, cook,” Zoro says, exasperated. “You've been fucking a bunch of selfish assholes. Just gonna show you what you've been missing so you know to be a little more choosy from now on.”
Sanji’s scowl deepens. “I'm not easy.”
“Yes, you are.”
“Okay, I am, but– ugh. Fine, fuck it, whatever. Let's just get this over with. Least I won't have to do these again for the next month.”
Zoro generally prefers his partners to be more enthusiastic than resigned, but he'll take what he can get. This is about the cook, after all, not him.
(If he has to angle his swords awkwardly in front of himself to hide his boner as the walk to the tavern, well. That really just shows what a good crewmate he is, doesn't it?)
They walk to the tavern in silence. They pay for the room in silence. They walk into the room in silence, and Sanji promptly undoes his belt and begins to shimmy out of his pants in silence.
“Woah, cook,” Zoro says. “Slow down.”
Sanji throws him an exasperated look. “The faster you get it through your head this can't happen, the faster I can go downstairs and find someone to fuck me who won't get all hung up on it. Now take your pants off. Chop, chop.”
Zoro snorts and lays his swords out carefully on the small dresser. “I didn't think I'd have to explain foreplay to you, of all people.”
“Well I didn't think you of all people would care about it,” Sanji says crossly. “Are we gonna do this, or what?”
“Leave your panties on,” Zoro says, and Sanji arches an eyebrow.
“You know how sex works, right?” he asks dryly. “You have to– oh, shit, do you actually know? Do I need to explain vaginas to you?”
“Shut up,” Zoro groans. “I've slept with women before, dart brow. I know you're not,” he adds when Sanji opens his mouth to argue. “But the equipment’s the same, right?”
“You know some women fake orgasms,” Sanji says instead of answering, because he's an idiot. “Is that where you got this idea from? Someone moaned a little louder than usual and you started thinking women can come and pigs can fly?”
“Why does this bother you so much?” Zoro asks, both because he's genuinely curious, and because getting Sanji unbothered seems like the fastest way to get him hot and bothered, instead.
“It doesn't!” Sanji insists. “It's just– you're all–” He gestures vaguely. Zoro raises his eyebrows. “I don't know. I've never thought this was a problem, but you're acting like I've been doing it wrong all this time.”
“You haven't,” Zoro says. “Think of it like, uh…” He frowns as he tries to come up with a metaphor that will make sense to the idiot in front of him. “It's like finding out someone's never had desert,” he settles on. “They get plenty of food, but then when the dessert comes out, everyone else at the table gets some, and they don't.”
“Is this about the cookies?” Sanji asks suspiciously. “Because you don't even like sweets. You're the one who just wanted more sake.”
“This isn't about me,” Zoro says for the tenth time—it sure feels like it, anyways—and probably not the last. “Or about the cookies.”
Sanji’s visible eye is visibly twitching. “Sex isn't food, moss for brains,” he grits out. “And cookies aren't orgasms.”
“You're being stupid on purpose,” Zoro decides, tired of arguing. “Just get on the bed, asshole.”
Sanji flips him off, finishes the last button on his shirt, and crawls onto the bed on his hands and knees. He's hiding his face now, but the back of his neck and the tips of his ears are bright red. “Cocky asshole,” he grumbles. “If you haven't gotten me off in half an hour, I'm leaving. Not about to waste my whole night here.”
God, he's annoying. Zoro takes a deep breath, kicks off his shoes, and climbs onto the bed behind him.
He keeps his clothes on. He said he would, after all.
“I'll start easy,” he tells him. “How do you jerk off, normally?”
“I don't,” Sanji grits out.
It's like he's determined to make Zoro’s brain bleed. “At all?”
“Well it's not like I can get off!” Sanji snaps. “And I can't exactly hold myself down when I'm alone.”
Zoro's brain might be safe after all, because all the blood just rushed to his dick. It's not like Sanji’s quiet about what he likes, but goddamn.
“Square one, then,” he says. “Flip over, cook.”
“Bossy,” Sanji grumbles, but he rolls onto his back. Zoro called it; he's bright red. He couldn't say if it's embarrassment or anger, but it doesn't really matter. If this goes according to plan, Sanji won't be feeling either soon.
Zoro strokes a hand between his legs, over the thin fabric of his panties. He's not expecting anything, but– “Oh my god, how are you this wet already?”
Sanji goes impossibly redder. “Shut the fuck up.”
“Is this just from arguing?” Zoro grins, petting him again more firmly. Sanji’s hips twitch. “Seriously?”
“You're one to talk,” Sanji hisses. “I can see your cock, pervert!”
Which. Okay, yeah, he's not wrong. It's quickly going from uncomfortable to outright painful to keep his pants on, but Zoro is committed. “You gonna stop pretending you're not into it?” he asks. He keeps moving his hand. Sanji keeps rolling his hips in tandem with him, chasing the fleeting touches.
“I'm into you doing the dishes for the next month,” Sanji counters.
“Mm.” Zoro crawls down the bed, making enough space to lie down with his head between the cook’s legs. Sanji doesn't argue when he places a hand on each thigh to spread them, but he does gasp so loudly he seems to startle himself when Zoro ducks his head to kiss his clit through his panties.
“The fuck,” he wheezes. “Do that again.”
Zoro grins, and does as he's told. Sanji wasn't wrong about Zoro having a preference, and he might be a touch out of practice, but it's easy enough to fall back into habit when Sanji is so vocal. He can't believe no one’s done this for him before. A goddamn shame, that's what it is. Those idiots don't know what they're missing out on.
When Sanji’s cries take on a more desperate pitch, Zoro pulls back. When he glances up, he sees the cook’s face go from twisted up in pleasure to falling in disappointment.
“See?” he asks, panting, as Zoro works his panties down his thighs and tosses them more or less in the direction of the rest of the cook’s clothes. “I told you, it's a lot of buildup and no–”
With no fabric in the way, Zoro latches his mouth directly over Sanji’s clit and sucks. Sanji slaps a hand over his own mouth to mute his screech.
Zoro can still hear him, muffled and half-coherent: “Oh god oh god fuckfuckFUCK ah ah ah ah ah–”
It's only when the cook’s legs are trembling under his hands and he starts clumsily trying to push Zoro’s head away that Zoro finally pulls off with one last parting kiss. Sanji, braced on his elbows, collapses flat onto his back, chest rising and falling as he gasps for breath.
“What,” he pants, “the actual fuck?”
Zoro crosses his legs underneath himself. “So, that's an orgasm.”
“What the fuck,” Sanji repeats. “Do you know how many guys I've fucked since we set out?!”
“No,” Zoro lies.
“So many!!”
“I haven't been keeping track,” Zoro lies again.
“And not one of them could do that?!”
“Well, I've had some practice,” Zoro says, as humbly as he can.
“Fuck,” Sanji breathes. “I'm gonna have to do the dishes.”
He stretches, languid, and goes to sit up. “Well, fuck me, I guess,” he says. “I'm not even mad. Thanks, Mossy.”
He swings his legs over the side of the bed, but Zoro catches his wrist before he can stand. “Where are you going?” he asks, frowning.
“Back to the ship to rethink my life choices,” Sanji says.
“Cook,” Zoro says slowly, “did you think we were gonna stop at one?”
Sanji blinks. “Come again?”
“Exactly. Get back on the bed.”
Sanji’s eyes go dark. “You can do that?”
“I can't,” Zoro admits. “At least not back to back. You almost definitely can.”
“Well, fuck,” Sanji says, and promptly lies back down and spreads his legs. “Might as well get my money’s worth. Take your pants off, mosshead. You're overdressed.”
Zoro gets off the bed, strips in record time, and then jumps back on so enthusiastically that Sanji bounces up the mattress. Sanji laughs and hooks a hand around his neck to tug him closer, and Zoro doesn't argue when he’s pulled down for a kiss. They make out languidly for a minute, only breaking apart when Zoro slips his fingers between Sanji’s wet folds and the cook starts moaning too much to focus.
His fingers. His mouth, again. His cock, with Sanji flat on his back, on his hands and knees, and then again riding him. His mouth a third time, cleaning up the mess he left when Zoro finally came, too.
Sanji’s legs are trembling too hard to stand by the time he taps out. This is maybe a cause for concern, because there's no telling when they'll be attacked and Zoro just effectively took out one of their front line fighters, but he can't find it in himself to feel bad about it.
Sanji whines mournfully when Zoro pulls away from his cunt. “‘M gonna die,” he says dizzily. “What the fuck.”
“You're not gonna die,” Zoro says fondly, standing and shuffling the cook into a more comfortable position, since Sanji seems content to keep lying there half on the mattress with his legs dangling over the edge of the bed. Sanji lets himself be moved without protest, flopping boneless where Zoro arranges him.
“I might,” Sanji says. “That was crazy. What the fuck. I think you broke me.” He points an accusing finger at Zoro. (Well, more or less in Zoro’s direction at least; his whole arm is shaking.) “You might have just ruined me, mosshead. I can't go back to fucking random men that don't know how to use their dick now, what the fuck?”
Zoro hesitates. That was, technically, the whole point of this: for Sanji to figure out what he actually likes in the bedroom, what he deserves. To learn how to tell his partners that instead of just taking what he could get and letting his own pleasure be an afterthought, if that.
He thinks of that day in the Merry’s pantry, with Sanji climbing him like a tree and asking Zoro wanted to fuck. He probably could have saved him some heartache if he'd said yes back then, instead of making him wait all this time.
(Well, not heartache. Cunt-ache? Clit-ache? Whatever. Zoro is a swordsman, not a wordsmith.)
“So don't,” he says. Sanji’s eyes had drifted shut, but he cracks them open now.
“Huh?”
“Don't fuck random guys,” Zoro says with a shrug. “I had fun tonight. You definitely had fun. We should do this again.”
Sanji watches him consideringly for a moment. “You mean that?”
“I don't say things I don't mean, curly brow.”
“Yeah, all right, mosshead,” Sanji breathes, closing his eyes again. “We can do this again, then. Since you're so desperate.”
His eyes pop open again, wide and concerned. “You'll make me come like that every time, right?”
Zoro grins and climbs into the bed next to him. Sanji snuggles close immediately, resting his head on Zoro's shoulder and draping one leg over Zoro's. Zoro can feel his cunt, hot and wet and no-doubt sore, pressed against thigh.
“Yeah,” he says, and Sanji makes a pleased noise and absently rocks his hips against Zoro's leg. “Since I'm so desperate.”