Archive of Our Own ^beta

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Zoro’s thumbs dig into Sanji’s inner thighs, keeping them spread as he moves between them. His mouth is so damn hot, lips dragging over the length of Sanji’s cock, tongue swirling around the head, getting him wet and driving him crazy. Flutter of breath against the slit, and Sanji hisses, fingers tugging at Zoro’s hair, already strung out and close to the edge.

Because the asshole is talking.

Even with his mouth so busy, Zoro’s still managing to mutter a long string of filth, murmuring about all the ways he wants to fuck Sanji, all the ways he wants to make him scream and cry and beg for more. Tongue flicking along the underside of Sanji’s cock as he forms the words, and Sanji grits his teeth and tries not to embarrass himself, because this really isn’t fair.

He’s always known Zoro could talk around a mouthful of sword-hilt, and he’s honestly kind of surprised that it never occurred to him that Zoro would be able to keep talking around other things. It has no right to be as sexy as it is, and the worse part is Zoro knows it and is clearly enjoying the effect it has on Sanji.

“Fucking show-off,” Sanji moans, hips bucking up, cock thrusting between lips that are still talking, every word vibrating against Sanji’s skin.

He feels the pull of Zoro’s mouth, the tightening of his lips around the base of his dick that means Zoro’s smirking at him, and that’s it, he’s going to have to put the bastard in his place. There’s no way he’s letting the shithead think he has the upper hand or anything, and Sanji can already think of several ways he can get his revenge by showing off some of his own talents.

Even with everything they’ve done together already, Sanji’s never let Zoro see just how flexible he truly is, and he’s already anticipating making the marimo’s eyes cross in the near future.

But for now he contents himself with throwing his head back and fucking that oh-so talkative mouth.

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Nami sighed and shook her head, looking thoughtful. “That’s not quite it,” she explained, tapping at her lower lip with her finger. “It was more … more cat-like.”

Luffy also looked thoughtful, and that was enough to make Zoro tense in suspicion.

“Oi,” he called to Usopp, who was lining up his fishing rod nearby. “What are they up to?”

Usopp glanced over his shoulder to where Nami was still shaking her head and Luffy was frowning in concentration, and shrugged with an easy smile. “Nami wants Luffy to growl again,” he said simply. “Like he did when that weirdo hypnotised him.”

Zoro scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Why would she want him to do that?”

“Who knows?” Usopp replied, turning his attention back to his fishing line.

“That’s it!” Nami squealed, and Luffy beamed with pride.

Zoro watched as her expression turned from overjoyed to devious in less than a second.

“Now go show Zoro,” she murmured, and her voice was low and rough and Zoro found his fingers wrapping around the hilt of his katana out of instinct.

“Okay,” Luffy said with a wide grin, and then turned in Zoro’s direction.

And then he wasn’t grinning any more, and his eyes were slitted and dark, hands fisting and teeth bared, and that familiar growl was swirling through the air.

“O-oi, what is this?” Zoro grumbled, trying to move backwards and realising he was already backed against the railing. “You don’t have to do everything she tells you!”

Luffy only growled with more menace and started advancing, and Zoro had absolutely no idea why but he could feel himself blushing.

Usopp quietly retreated to Nami’s side. “Uh, should we leave them alone?” he muttered out of the corner of his mouth as Luffy loomed over a wide-eyed Zoro.

Zoro let out a less than manly noise as Luffy pounced.

“Are you kidding me?” Nami snapped. “Go get the camera.”

Luffy didn’t stop growling, even as his teeth pressed against Zoro’s throat.

“Did you know he’d react like that?” Usopp asked, and he sounded half-frightened, half-impressed.

Luffy’s tongue started soothing over the bite marks, and the growling still hadn’t stopped, and Zoro’s eyes were beginning to roll into the back of his head, lips parted and fingers clawing at the deck.

Nami smiled to herself, and Usopp felt a shiver of fear. “Get the camera,” she said again.

Usopp didn’t need telling thrice.

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Sometimes Sanji wonders what it might have been like if Usopp really had left them.

He wonders if Usopp would have gone out to sea, but that seems impossible. Merry couldn’t carry him, and then Usopp would be alone to see Merry gasp and stutter and begin to sink.

Sanji can’t even think about that, so he doesn’t.

Usopp could have been a shipwright, and that doesn’t seem quite so bad, which probably just makes it worse. Because Usopp wouldn’t have been as strong as the other shipwrights, but he would be as dedicated, as talented. This was a man who had no real carpentry experience, and yet had managed to keep Merry together through sheer force of will. He’d be a quick learner. They’d like him.

Yeah, Usopp could have stayed at Water 7, and at least Sanji would have known Iceburg was there to take care of him, because even before he’d met him, Sanji could see the Galley-La President was a good man and a strong leader.

Usopp could have been a shipwright, if Robin hadn’t left them, if CP9 hadn’t been the deceptive bastards they were, if the world turned upside down and the Straw Hats had been content to fall to pieces.

Too many ‘ifs’ for something that was never a possibility to begin with, and Sanji feels ill just thinking about it, so in his mind he lets the door close on the idea. A huge door, cast iron, with a large number one etched into it. A door that needs two people to open it, but only Usopp’s presence, sleeping quietly and warm at his side, to close it tight.

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The morning light is weak, and the air smells like gunpowder. Sanji’s eyes don’t seem to want to open any more than his head wants to stop shrieking in pain.

He doesn’t remember much of the night before, beyond alcohol and dancing and more alcohol and a fair bit of shouting, which might explain why his throat feels dry and raw.

When he finally wills his eyes to open, squinting around him, he manages to place himself in the Merry’s cannon deck. The air is chill, yet he feels oddly warm.

It takes a moment to realise there’s an arm slung over his chest, a warm body pressed to his back.

Sanji’s brain decides to shut down for a moment after that realisation, so it takes even longer to realise he’s naked, not even a sheet for modesty.

And he doesn’t want to know, yet he does, and, in a way, he already knows, because there’s only one person that tanned skin could belong to, only one person on the crew with such thick, strong arms and calloused fingers.

But he turns around anyway.

Zoro’s already awake. Sanji can’t imagine what his own expression must look like, but Zoro’s eyes are wide with surprise, and dark with something Sanji can’t quite place.

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He’s been expecting Portgas since he heard the news of Blackbeard’s latest rampage. Another innocent island destroyed, lives lost to a pirate’s whim, and Smoker’s teeth grind over his cigars just to think of it.

It hadn’t made sense, at first, that Portgas would come to him for this. The kid has friends, a crew who’d no doubt forgive him anything, countless people he can go to for comfort. But Smoker’s learnt that’s exactly why Portgas shows up on his ship every time Blackbeard’s carnage gets out of hand.

Portgas isn’t looking for comfort. He blames himself for Blackbeard’s actions, his inability to keep the bastard under control.

Portgas is looking for penance.

Portgas is looking to be punished.

And that’s just fine with Smoker. He’s not looking to coddle the brat, not with photos of the destruction left in Blackbeard’s wake still burned across the backs of his eyelids. Just another pirate, same as the rest of them, and he should lock Portgas up, throw away the key, except he never does.

He knows how it’s going to be, when Portgas shows up with downcast eyes instead of his usual cocky smirk. Instantly falling into the familiar pattern of it, hand at the back of the kid’s neck, throwing him down, and Portgas doesn’t even try to flicker into flame. Just takes the rough treatment, letting Smoker pin him facedown, gasping as blunt fingernails rake over the tattoo that stretches across his back.

Glassy eyes, like Portgas isn’t quite there, letting himself be stripped down, letting himself be bent over Smoker’s knee, and it’s only with the first hard smack of Smoker’s hand across his ass that Portgas seems to come back to life. Writhing and bucking with every heavy slap, making hurt and choked off noises, leaking all over Smoker’s lap as his skin reddens under the wideness of Smoker’s palm. Shaking desperately as he claws at Smoker’s thighs, tossing his head, and the noise he makes when he comes always makes the hair on the back of Smoker’s neck stand on end.

Rolling Portgas off, holding him down on the floor or the bed or whatever surface is most convenient. Knowing that Portgas will be compliant beneath him, wrapping his arms around Smoker’s neck and crooning whilst Smoker fucks into him in hard, angry movements. Glaring at a point just beside Portgas’ head, because he hates the way there’s a part of him that aches to see the brat look so wrecked, exhausted from tracking a man who doesn’t deserve the attention.

The next time they meet, it’ll be back to normal, playful words and teasing looks. But for now Portgas clings to him, and Smoker allows it, their lips not quite meeting but breath a scorching fog burning between them.

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Luffy talks in his sleep. Mostly it’s random words, snatches of imaginary conversation. Laughing at Usopp’s jokes, begging Sanji for food. Growling at some mysterious villain who could only ever threaten Luffy in sleep.

Chopper doesn’t like to see his Captain suffering through nightmares, but a secret part of him enjoys it.

He enjoys the way Luffy frowns, the flash of severity on an always cheerful face. Mostly he enjoys the way Luffy pulls him closer, hugging Chopper tightly to his chest. Protecting him, and Chopper blushes and allows himself to be, well, cuddled and grins as Luffy murmurs, “Nakama!”

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Zoro hadn’t woken up in the greatest of moods. This was to expected when the sight he awoke to was a black shoe flying towards his face, and he’d managed to roll out of the way just in time, grogginess shaken in the face of danger, but that didn’t make it any less of a hell of a shitty way to wake up.

He’d distantly heard Usopp’s despondent wail as the sound of wood splintering directly behind where Zoro’s head had been only moments before filled the air, but he hadn’t particularly cared.

He was more focused on looking past the endlessly long leg, and up to Sanji’s face, wondering what the fuck he’d done that warranted such a violent wake-up call.

Sanji looked pissy, which wasn’t really anything new, but he certainly didn’t look furious or anything that justified disturbing Zoro’s midday sleep.

“What?” Zoro growled, hand curling around Wadou’s hilt as he stood. “Bastard,” he added as an afterthought.

A tankard was shoved roughly towards him, the liquid inside somehow not spilling over the sides.

“Nami-san says we’ll reach the next island tomorrow night at the latest,” Sanji grunted, eyes fixed on a point just beyond Zoro’s head. “Until then, this is the last of the rum.”

Zoro blinked at the tankard, and then at Sanji’s scowling face.

“Are you going to take it, or should I just leave it for the others?” Sanji snapped, still not quite looking at Zoro. “I’m sure Luffy and Usopp will split it if you don’t want it.”

Zoro reached out without a word, taking the tankard and distractedly watching the way Sanji moved it so their fingers wouldn’t touch.

Sanji clicked his tongue in annoyance, hands fisting in his pockets, and slouched away.

It was a Tuesday. The weather was fine. It was a perfectly normal afternoon.

Except for the fact that Sanji had apparently just done him a favour. Without even being asked, at that.

Zoro was pretty sure he wasn’t still dreaming, because the rum tasted good, and burned his throat in the way it was supposed to.

Still, a dream seemed like the only logical explanation, because Sanji never, never blushed like that in the waking world.

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The crew’s been teasing him mercilessly, of course. Lucky Roo has even been cutting up Shanks’ food for him, making a great show of it, never mind that the man eats his own meat straight off the bone. Every one-handed joke imaginable, he’s pretty sure he’s heard them all by now, and Shanks laughs along with them, because it’s damn ridiculous that for everything he’s been through, he lost his arm to an oversized eel.

The only one who doesn’t laugh is Benn. He just rolls his eyes and ignores every bad pun, cigarette hanging between his teeth and rifle slung over his shoulder.

Of course, that doesn’t mean he isn’t paying attention to Shanks’ situation.

He’s probably paying the most attention out of all of them.

Shanks appreciates it, he really does, but the thing is that Benn strokes him so slow, never as fast as Shanks needs it. His hand grips Shanks’ cock tight and firm, and when Shanks tries to buck his hips up, tries to force the pace, Benn responds by slowing down, which is so damn evil Shanks is starting to worry about the man’s morality.

Shanks grumbles as his latest attempt at getting Benn to speed up fails, sinking down petulantly in the circle of Benn’s arms. His back to Benn’s chest and stomach, getting a little bit lost in the way Benn’s fingers are longer than his own, in the way his calluses are in different places.

Benn’s thumb presses down against his slit, making Shanks moan, getting him nice and wet. Twisting his wrist now on every upstroke, and Shanks pants and murmurs encouragement. Reaching his good hand out to lace through the fingers of the hand that isn’t working him expertly, letting his head fall back against Benn’s shoulder, feeling the curve of Benn’s smirk against his neck.

“You know you don’t have to do this, right?” he offers, merely a token protest because there’s no way he’s going to survive Benn stopping.

“I know,” Benn replies easily, voice a deep rumble. “But I want to.”

Shanks chuckles, low and throaty, tilting his head until he can press his lips to Benn’s cheek. “Taking advantage of an invalid,” he mutters, and Benn laughs, clever fingers making Shanks groan and gasp, lost arm forgotten to the waves of pleasure.

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Smiling was a work of muscle and movement, of skin and sensation.

It wasn’t something that was exclusively the right of man. Franky was a cyborg, after all, and a pretty damn super one at that, and he was perfectly capable of smiling. And, while he was thinking about it, Chopper smiled all the time, and he was a man, yes, but he was also a reindeer.

Any living creature seemed capable of smiling.

Which was the problem, since Brook wasn’t a living creature. Not in a way that Franky could get his head around.

Could skeletons actually smile?

Franky wasn’t sure of that, but he was pretty sure Brook was smiling at him. And staring. Like he had been since they’d left Thriller Bark.

It was starting to get annoying. Mostly because Brook was incapable of blinking.

“Oi, you looking for a fight?” he growled, rounding on Brook who was, surprise surprise, staring at him.

Brook’s laughter filled the room, and he always sounded so shocked to hear himself so joyful. “Of course not!” he exclaimed, waving a bony hand at Franky. “I don’t want to fight you. You’re my favourite, after all.”

Franky had made a lot of hasty decisions in his life, some that he regretted more than others. He trusted his instincts, allowed them to guide him, even if it was into trouble.

Every one of Franky’s instincts was telling him to shut up and walk away. Every one of Franky’s instincts was telling him not to ask.

“Why am I your favourite?” he asked.

Apparently skeletons could smile, and even grin in a way that could raise the hair on a man, or cyborg’s, arms.

“Because I don’t even have to ask to see your panties.”

Nami glanced up from her book at the roar of “Weapons Right”, followed by what sounded like an impressive explosion.

Luffy took the opportunity to steal her snack.

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It’s not right. Watching those curved lips move, hearing words roll off that tongue. Lucci is talking, and that isn’t the most disturbing thing Paulie’s found out in the past few minutes, not the most disturbing thing by far, but it’s all his mind can focus on.

It hurts him to hear that voice, because it’s not Hattori’s voice.

Iceburg is bleeding, the Straw Hats aren’t their enemies, his closest friends have been lying to him since they met.

Yet all Paulie can think about are those nights they spent together, how Lucci never cried out, and he feels sick.

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Sanji may be trying to talk. It makes sense, because Sanji very rarely shuts up, but Zoro’s really not in the mood to listen.

Sanji’s voice usually makes him want to hurt things, mostly Sanji, and he’s a little too preoccupied with what they’re currently doing to allow his mood to turn violent.

Sanji makes an angry noise which is probably an insult, or at least a very creative curse, but it’s satisfyingly muffled around the three fingers Zoro all but shoves into his mouth.

He may not like his voice, but there are things that Zoro does like about Sanji. Like the way he’s so ridiculously flexible that he doesn’t even tremble when he turns just enough to glare at Zoro, tongue working over the fingers pressed between his lips. Like the way he can easily balance on one foot, while Zoro holds the other leg up with a large palm wrapped around his thigh, holding Sanji’s knee pressed between the wall and his own chest. Like the way his back arches, sweat slick skin rubbing over Zoro’s front, head lolling back to rest on Zoro’s shoulder.

He’ll never tell Sanji that there things he likes about him, and certainly never how much.

Especially not how good Sanji feels, all around him, gripping him, squirming and gasping around his fingers.

Sanji doesn’t need to know how much Zoro enjoys fucking him. And he doesn’t need to know how good he looks when he’s being fucked, and when he keeps his damn mouth shut for more than a few seconds.

Sanji would never ask, of course. Not because he doesn’t want to know when people like something about him, Zoro’s sure Sanji’s ego wouldn’t mind knowing that at all. But because Sanji’s not stupid enough to ask for that kind of appreciation from Zoro, and he can definitely be grateful for that.

Because having to tell Sanji how much he likes fucking him would be almost as bad as not fucking him at all.

Almost.