Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

As the Going Merry disappears into the distance, the Watershed pirate fleet hot on its tail, something like dread claws up Sanji’s throat.

Sanji turns to look at the passed out swordsman on the rocky shoreline behind him and takes in his injuries. There's a bruise on his brow and his right arm is bloodied. Somehow he is missing his left boot and his pant leg is torn but that doesn't worry Sanji as much as the angle of his leg. His swords are a tangled mess at his side and Sanji is surprised they even made it on land with them.

Moving closer to Zoro, Sanji tugs at the hem of his trousers and the dread claws ever higher when the leg just moves wrong. He pulls up the fabric and the mess of blood from an abrasion on his knee isn’t as worrying as the place where bone has started to break through the skin.

“Why'd I have to get stranded with a broken marimo?” Sanji says, scraping a hand over his face and getting to his feet. The treeline isn't far and he imagines he might be able to find something to brace the break with. 

Sanji marches up the shore, over a small hill covered in beach grass and into the line of trees beat into odd shapes by the coastal wind. The terrain of this island is more rugged than some of the other islands they have run into and not far ahead he can see the incline of a hill that’s so sharp it might as well be a cliff. 

Part of him knows it's his fault. He shouldn't have tried to take on that stupid sea monster that had inserted itself into their clash with the other pirate crew. They should have just made a run for it. If he hadn't gotten involved, he wouldn't have been chucked overboard and pulled away by whatever nasty whirlpool-like current surrounded this island. He certainly wouldn't have been knocked out and stranded onto the shore. He tugs down one of the straighter sticks in front of him and glances back at Zoro. The shitty swordsman must have jumped in after him. He feels a rush of shame at the realization one of his crewmates got injured because of him.

Frustrated, he tears down another stick before returning to Zoro who he, luckily, finds sitting up and gingerly touching the spot on his hairline where blood has trickled down. There's a nasty bruise starting to bloom beneath the blood but Sanji is more concerned by the injury to Zoro's limb to focus on it.

“I think your leg is broken.”

Zoro flexes his leg. He grunts. “It's fine.”

“The bone is sticking out,” Sanji points out.

“Put it back in and I'll be fine,” Zoro insists.

“That's not how it works, you idiot,” he replies but Zoro has already peeled back the fabric and is poking at the break. He reaches down and tears off the bottom half of his pant leg. He ignores the sticks that Sanji brought and just rips the fabric into strips which he ties tight around his shin. It all looks like a very bad idea to Sanji.

“We need to find a doctor,” Sanji says. He hadn't exactly had the presence of mind to look for signs of cities while they were at sea fighting for their lives but the island is large enough that it's likely inhabited. They just have to explore.

Zoro frowns at him. “No. We should wait for Luffy and the others to come back.”

“Do you want to lose a leg? You need to get that looked at before it rots off.”

“Chopper can handle it.”

“What if they can't make it back here for days? Weeks?”

Zoro hauls himself to his feet and then promptly almost falls over, forcing Sanji to catch his weight. He growls and shoves him off. “Give it a day. They’ll be back.”

Sanji lets out a breath and pats himself down, looking for his cigarettes before realizing that, first of all, they are soaked, and second of all, he has no idea when he might be able to get more. He'll need to ration them. He's already itching just thinking about it.

“Fine,” Sanji says, relenting. “We should move inland and make a fire.”

Just saying it eases the tension in his throat, reminding him that despite being stranded, this isn't some desolate rock. He isn't stuck with a bag of food for fuck knows how long with no one out there looking for him. There are animals. Vegetation. Even if they search and can't find people, they can build a fire. They can fish. And most importantly of all, Luffy is coming back for them. Of course Luffy will come back.

“Come on.” Sanji leans down to hoist Zoro onto his back and Zoro immediately knocks his hands away.

“I can walk.”

Sanji eyes him. “Don't be an idiot. Let me carry you.”

Zoro huffs and hauls himself to his feet, immediately faltering once more when he puts weight on his bad leg. Sanji dips in under him and ignores his protests as he pulls him up onto his back. He starts walking away from the shoreline. With unnecessary force, Zoro wraps his arms around Sanji's neck.

“You're such a dick,” Zoro complains as he halfheartedly chokes him. They've played out this move during their fights on the ship and Sanji can tell he’s not putting his back into it.

“Empty-headed marimo,” Sanji fires back without much heat. Zoro is heavy on his back and he’s glad that he won't have to carry him far. Sanji's legs are strong,  and that's not so much the issue. It’s more that Zoro's breath is tickling his ear and it's irritating as fuck.

He lets Zoro slide down onto the sand after the short jaunt up the shore and Zoro plops onto his ass. Sanji leaves him there, hoping he won’t do anything too stupid, and goes to explore beyond the treeline where he can kick down some branches for a fire.

Not too far from where he left Zoro, he runs into a small stream in the sand. The water is brackish and Sanji is forced to walk a significant distance inland before it turns fresh and clear and deep enough for him to cup it in his hands. He wonders if he can convince Zoro to whittle them a bowl of some sort or if he’ll whine about using his swords for something like that.

When Sanji returns with his pile of firewood, Zoro scoffs at him. “Is that all you managed to get, shit cook?”

“People who can't help don't get to have an opinion,” Sanji says and Zoro just eyes him. It's an improvement from the usual vitriol he spits but as Sanji looks at him, he notes the ashen color of his face and how much blood is smeared over his temple. Sanji can see the deep red flush of a new bruise on his forehead.

“Are you sure you're alright?” He might not get along with Zoro at the best of times but they are crewmates nonetheless. And as awful as it is to admit, they do support each other when times get tough. The least Sanji can do is return the favor when they only have each other.

Zoro rolls his eyes. “Why wouldn't I be?”

“I don't know!” Sanji replies, unable to hold back his irritation. “Maybe you lost a lot of blood or that head injury is as bad as it looks.”

Zoro grunts. “I'm fine. The leg’s the worst of it. We've all had concussions, cook.”

Sanji sighs and scrubs a hand through his hair before turning to cast his eyes through the trees once more. He pushes one hand against his breast pocket and feels the half empty pack of cigarettes there alongside his lighter. Maybe it's time to finally sacrifice one for the greater good. AKA not killing the mossball.

“I'm going to find us some food. Think you might be able to whittle some spare wood into a bowl?” he asks as he lights his first cigarette in what feels like forever.

“What do we need a bowl for?”

“For water, idiot. Unless you want to drag your sorry ass to the stream and drink face first.”

Zoro frowns. “I don't like using my swords for shit like that.”

“Well, I don't like being stuck on an island with you,” Sanji fires back before marching off into the trees. He cools off as he wanders and as he does, a bit of the anxiety starts to creep in again. How much food will Sanji actually be able to find? Zoro's in no condition to help and if anything happens to Sanji…

Sanji pushes it away. This isn't the first and it won't be the last time he's been left to fend for himself in a strange place. It's the sense of being stranded, the potential for isolation that’s making him feel this way. He just needs to remember that he isn’t alone. Even if it is Zoro who is with him, it’s probably better than nothing.

He swallows against the lump in his throat and his eyes catch on the brambles nestled against a rock outcropping and the blackberries tucked in amongst the thorns. He shrugs off his jacket to use as a makeshift bag and begins to pluck off as many berries as he can. As he does, a rabbit skitters out from under the bush and he considers killing it with a swift kick but it hops away too fast. He bundles up the blackberries he’s gathered and makes his way back to the campsite they’ve cobbled together.

Zoro, to his credit, does have a crude bowl when Sanji arrives, sitting next to his feet as he lays back on the sand. Sanji still doesn’t like the color of his face but he doesn’t comment, setting down his jacket filled with berries and picking up the bowl. 

“I’ll go to get water but I'm going to chop firewood first. Let me borrow one of your swords.”

That makes Zoro’s eyes fly open. “Fat chance, cook. You’ll break the thing.”

“You do it all the time.”

“I know how to use them,” Zoro insists. He grunts as he moves to stand up. “I can take care of the firewood. Don’t worry your pretty little head about it.”

Sanji blinks at the comment, taken aback by his phrasing. Zoro says weird things to him sometimes about his appearance and Sanji knows that he thinks he takes too much care over how he looks but pretty little head? “Don’t come crying to me when you collapse.”

Zoro tsks his tongue against his teeth and hops over to the pile of wood. Sanji turns his back on him and heads back to the stream to fill up the bowl. He hears the telltale sound of wood splitting behind him as he walks. Zoro is so frustrating. Of all his crewmates to be stuck with, it had to be the marimo. 

For a moment, he fantasizes about what it would have been like to be here with Nami, spending time alone, working together. But then he feels slightly cold at the idea of her suffering any of the indignities of being stranded on an island and thinks maybe it is for the best that it’s him and Zoro. They can weather something like this easily even if they don't like it and Nami can stay in the comfort that the ship affords.

He returns to the shore and finds a neat stack of firewood and Zoro back in his place on the sand. Zoro is visibly sweating, his chest rising and falling at a fast rate and Sanji once again feels a spike of worry. It’s abnormal for the swordsman to be so affected by physical labor. The wound on Zoro’s arm has re-opened and there's a fresh wash of blood running down to his elbow. The more Sanji looks at it, the more it looks like the imprint of teeth. 

Sanji scowls. He knows that if he were in Zoro’s situation he would do the same thing as he is. Push through whatever discomfort or pain. Even so…

“Zoro,” he begins.

Zoro doesn't even bother opening his eyes when he says, “What?”

“You should bandage your arm.”,” says Sanji.

“Fuck off.”

Sanji frowns at him and kneels down into the sand beside him. “You're going to bleed into the sand.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Zoro says cryptically and then scrunches up his nose into a yawn. “Let me sleep. If you want to actually be useful, get a fire started.”

Sanji growls in irritation. “You can sleep after you eat.”

Zoro's eyes squint open as Sanji grabs his coat-bag. He distributes some berries to both of them and, taking a seat next to Zoro, they share the bowl of water in silence. 

“You know they'll come back tomorrow,” Zoro says apropos of nothing.

Sanji doesn't find that very comforting. Mostly because he doesn’t believe it. Life is rarely so convenient.

Night falls and it’s cool enough to warrant a small fire. Sanji does the work of making it. For once, his bad habit comes in handy and, after digging out his lighter, he clicks the fire to life before also giving into the desire for another cigarette. The tobacco feels uniquely delicious as he savors it.

Zoro is already asleep – or at least his eyes are closed – when Sanji lies down next to him in the sand. His mind runs over plans for scavenging for food as he drifts off, various aches and pains from being tossed in the ocean making themselves known. He feels disgusting in his saltwater-crusted clothes and his teeth feel fuzzy. Sanji puts it all out of his mind and lets himself drift off to the sound of the waves.

The next day, Zoro still sleeps, waking up when Sanji urges him to eat some berries and drink water. He’s still pale and sweaty and Sanji’s anxiety about the state of his injuries isn't going anywhere. All he can hope is that Luffy and the others will get there soon because Chopper needs to take a look at him before long. Sanji knows a little about wound care. He’s stitched up a few minor cuts, knows what a broken rib will do, but this is out of his realm of expertise. 

Instead of lingering on it, he leaves Zoro to rest as he wanders along the shore and forages through the shallows, finding some tidepools where he’s able to catch a few crabs and mussels that bring him a great deal of relief. He puts them in his pockets and the crabs wriggle and prick as he makes his way back to the campsite. 

Zoro is awake when he returns, gaze tracking him across the campsite. “What were you doing?”

“Foraging,” Sanji bites out and Zoro hums, eyes drifting back shut.

“I woke up and you weren’t here,” he says as if that explains things. Sanji says nothing in response, turning his attention to planning on how to cook live crabs without a reasonable way to kill or boil them.

In the end, he settles on apologetically smashing them with a rock before ripping off their legs to roast in the fire. The mussels will cook in the heat as well but he wants to save those for later. They are easier to store given that they are significantly less liable to wander off.

The roasting process seems to work as the crab turns a rosy red and Sanji is able to wake Zoro in the late afternoon to a small meal of crab meat and a few more blackberries. Zoro takes it without complaint. 

“We’re leaving in the morning,” Sanji says. It's become very clear that Luffy and the others aren't coming back today. 

“We should wait,” Zoro says after he pulls the meat out of the final crab leg. He wipes his fingers on his filthy, saltwater-stiff pants and lets out a long breath before closing his eyes again. 

Frustration shoots through Sanji. “You agreed to finding a doctor.”

“I'm fine. And I didn’t agree to shit.”

“Don’t fucking lie. You’re in no shape to be making decisions about what we do anyway. I'll drag your sweaty ass across the island whether you like it or not.”

Zoro looks like he wants to fight him for a moment, his whole body tensing, and then his face grows even paler and his eyes go wide. 

“The bowl,” he demands suddenly.

Sanji blinks in confusion as Zoro gestures at him. 

“The bowl," he says again but Sanji is too late. All he can do is watch as Zoro retches into the sand, the meager contents of their dinner immediately coming up onto the ground.

Sanji feels helpless as Zoro gags and gags, empty heaves as he hunches over once there’s nothing left in his stomach. He doesn’t think it was what they ate because his own stomach is fine. Sanji thinks it's too soon for the wound on his arm to be infected but he doesn't know. His leg is also fucked. Not to mention the concussion which Sanji can't even measure the severity of.

Eventually, Zoro collapses back into the sand, chest rising and falling in short bursts. If that weren’t the case, he’d look like a corpse for how pale he is. Sanji’s stomach twists, that same dread from when they first landed on the island coming back hard and fast. 

“Zoro, we’re leaving in the morning,” he tells him again.

This time, Zoro lets out a slightly ragged breath. “Fine.”

Sanji takes off to get more water, hoping that it will help Zoro to rinse his mouth and keep at least that in his stomach. He can’t do much but he can keep the man hydrated.

The next morning Zoro vomits up the water Sanji forces him to drink before they depart and it makes Sanji frustrated to think they might have avoided this if they'd just left the beach sooner instead of lingering.

“C'mon, marimo,” Sanji grumbles. “Time to go.”

Zoro fixes him with a bitter look and tries to stand up at which point Sanji thinks about knocking his ass back into the sand. 

“I'm carrying you, dumbass,” says Sanji, ducking down to heft Zoro over his shoulder. Zoro grunts in protest.

“Bastard cook,” he says and his words are slightly slurred. “Always… doing what you want.”

“Great point, marimo. Because this is exactly what I want. My ideal scenario actually. Having to haul your stinking, mossy carcass down a beach,” he says as he picks the direction away from the cliffs in the distance and starts to walk. It's probably best to stay on the shore as, while there might be a town inland, trying to find a harbor is going to be their best bet.

It becomes clear to him very quickly that he's more tired than he thought. He's dehydrated, hasn't had enough to eat, and he slept poorly. Not that it matters in the end. He needs to get Zoro to a doctor and he will.

They walk for a long time. At the start, Zoro makes a few snide comments but eventually he falls silent and Sanji wonders if he's asleep. In his experience, the marimo can sleep through anything.

He's grateful that this island's climate is so temperate. Even with the sun shining, the thin layer of clouds keeps the heat at bay. The worst of it is the buffeting winds chapping his face and blowing loose sand around his feet. Occasionally, shore birds hop across the shoreline, seagulls and sandpipers dipping their beaks into water as the sun sets. Sanji wonders what it might take to kill one for a potential dinner.

He walks through the night, starting to feel despondent about the possibility of any sort of town. There is only the sound of the tide lapping at the shore to his right and the cold light of the moon shining down on him. When it's so late that even Sanji can't push any further, he moves up to the edge of the beach and settles Zoro against a patch of grass before dropping down himself.

“Zoro?” Sanji says. He's not sure he has it in him to go look for firewood and he desperately needs rest, but Zoro hasn't said anything to him in several hours. Now that Sanji can see his face, that's deeply concerning.

Even in the moonlight, he looks pale, his mouth slightly parted as he breathes in a strange rhythm. Sanji shakes him a little. “Zoro.”

Zoro's eyelids flutter. He looks at Sanji for a moment before grimacing. “Shitty cook.”

Then he closes his eyes again.

Sanji touches his face and feels how hot his skin is. 

“Shit,” Sanji hisses under his breath. He drops back into the sand and puts his head into his hands. He's so tired and Zoro has a fever.

He can't rest now. If Zoro died, or lost a limb, it would be Sanji's fault. He sucks in a breath and ignores the itching sting behind his eyes as he drags himself back to his feet so he can pick Zoro up once more. 

“Why are you so heavy?” he complains as he settles Zoro back over his shoulder. Zoro is entirely dead weight and that worries Sanji too.

So he walks. He ignores the lead feeling in his body and walks and walks and walks. 

Dawn has just started to inch over the horizon, staining the clouds a sweet pink when Sanji sees it. There in the distance are ships and when he squints his eyes he can see the corresponding docks. His relief is so acute that he thinks his legs might give out. 

It takes another hour to reach the small harbor and by then, it's fully light. As he gets closer, he can see the buildings stretching up towards the cliffs in the distance. He can smell the familiar scents of civilization and finally, he can breathe.

Sanji climbs up a few stairs laid into the sand that lead to a boardwalk and approaches a small crab stand run by the first living person Sanji’s seen in what feels like weeks. The man is cleaning up when Sanji approaches and he looks surprised at the sight of him.

“We need a doctor,” Sanji says, trying to sound polite and not desperate. The man’s eyes flick to Zoro and he swallows hard.

“Up the main road. Four doors down. Man named Halloran,” he says with a slight nervous shake at the end of his sentence. Sanji doesn’t think he looks threatening but he supposes Zoro has three swords strapped to his thigh and they’re both covered in grime so who knows.

“Thanks,” Sanji tosses out for the sake of it, already turning away and moving as fast as he is able up towards the cobbled road the man indicated. There’s a looming clock tower that rises above all the buildings and it reads about five-thirty. 

The town is bigger than he first thought, several roads intersecting together. It might not be great for the sake of keeping out of trouble but if worse comes to worst, there's a dock with boats and they can always make a run for it despite the fact that he knows that it would only make it harder for them to find Luffy and the others if they left.

He counts the doors and, four doors down, there’s a sign for a doctor. Sanji doesn’t hesitate to pound on the door despite the early hour. It swings open to reveal a short balding man with bright blue eyes and a bushy moustache. His eyes fall to Zoro where he's slung over Sanji's shoulder.

“We need a doctor,” Sanji repeats.

“I can see that,” the man – presumably Halloran – says. “Come in and get him on the bed.”

With palpable relief, Sanji steps up into the building and follows him towards a bed covered in clean white sheets. He deposits Zoro down on them and immediately, dirt smears over the fabric. His swords clack and threaten to break through the bed so Sanji pulls them from their loop and holds them against his chest.

The doctor moves behind him, gathering a bowl of water and a few packets of medicine. He rolls over a small table containing scissors and other sharps that make Sanji’s stomach turn. 

“What happened?” Halloran asks as he wipes down Zoro’s forehead with a wet cloth. He tosses it aside and then peels back his eyelids to check his pupils one at a time.

“I’m not exactly sure,” Sanji admits. His hands itch for a cigarette. He bites his lip instead. “We were shipwrecked down the coast. All I know is that his left leg is broken and there's some damage to his right arm. I think a bite of some sort.”

Halloran drops his gaze to Zoro’s left leg, careful hands moving to peel back the makeshift bandages. The skin is a motley array of colors and it looks worse even than when Sanji first saw it. 

As Halloran touches Zoro’s leg, Zoro lets out a distressed noise deep in his chest. It brings up something inside Sanji, a feeling of protectiveness. Like he wants to stop the doctor from hurting him. Which he recognizes is a stupid feeling. This needs to happen and Zoro can suck it up.

Halloran moves up the bed to inspect Zoro's arm and frowns. “Do you know what bit him?”

Sanji doesn't. He's starting to feel increasingly useless. He shakes his head.

“The wound is infected but, more importantly, I think there's some sort of toxin at work here which is the real problem. The fever’s too severe for it to be anything else. His concussion isn't helping the situation. I'll need to administer some medications intravenously and the break to his tibia will require surgery. Are you okay with that?”

Sanji blinks. “Am I okay with that?”

“You brought him here. He can't give consent so it's up to you.”

“I–yes. Do what you have to do,” Sanji stutters out, even though he feels weird about it, slightly nauseous and equally overwhelmed.

Halloran waves him off and Sanji leaves Zoro’s swords on a table by the door before stumbling outside, only to collapse beside the wall, fingers fumbling in his shirt pocket for his cigarettes. He only has two left. Fuck.

He smokes one as slowly as he can before dropping into a crouch. He doesn't know what they're going to do. He’s going to have to pay this man. With the absolutely no money that he has.

After that, he's going to have to figure out where he and the marimo can stay unless they want to camp out in the middle of nowhere which honestly sounds miserable.

Sanji lets out a tired breath. What he needs is a job. Something short term where he might be able to charm a little pay up front. A cooking gig is his best bet but he'll take anything. 

Regardless, it's too early to scrounge around for restaurants. For now, he'll get some sleep. 

He settles onto the ground and drops his head back against the wall, closing his eyes. The cobblestones make his ass feel cold. It doesn't even matter. He's so exhausted  that he falls asleep immediately.

He jolts awake when a hand nudges his shoulder.

Halloran is standing over him, looking down at him with a pinched expression. “You can come back in.”

Sanji registers the change in lighting. It must be close to noon now and his body is sore from sleeping in such an awkward position. As he stands, his legs tingle with the rush of blood to his toes. 

“I had to insert a rod along his bone but he should recover fine. Give him about six weeks in the cast with a decent crutch and he'll be right as rain,” Halloran says as they step inside. Sanji takes that in, a little out of sorts. 

“He’ll need antibiotics so you’ll have to administer those twice daily. I think the antidote I gave him flushed the poison since the fever’s gone down. But it’ll take a day or so to know for sure. He’ll probably need something for the pain as well.”

“I don’t know about that,” Sanji mutters under his breath as he approaches the bed. He's seen the way Zoro is after an injury and it's rarely in favor of treatment. 

Zoro is lying there, an IV affixed to his inner elbow. His chest rises and falls slowly and he looks just as sweaty and pale as before. But Sanji trusts the doctor has done what he can. There’s a cast now around his leg and a thick white bandage around his upper arm. A sickly guilt knots up Sanji's stomach but he ignores it.

Halloran putters over to the shelves along the far wall and starts taking down jars. At the table in the corner he mixes powders on a scale and it reminds Sanji so strongly of Chopper that he starts to miss the crew. He forces himself not to think too hard about it. He needs to focus on what he can do for now.

“I can't pay you,” Sanji admits and Halloran pauses in his work.

He turns to look at Sanji with a scowl. 

“I don’t have any berries,” he says again. “But I plan on getting work and if you tell me what we owe, you’ll be the first I pay.”

“Is that a joke?”

Sanji tries not to lose what little patience he has given how tired, sore and filthy he is. “I don't know what you expected when you took us in. I told you we were shipwrecked and I can't exactly help that I'm dirt poor but I keep my word. I'll pay you once I have a single berry to my name.”

Halloran lets out a long sigh. “What sort of work can you do?”

“I'm a cook,” Sanji says. “A damn good one. And if there’s no work like that, I'm stronger than I look.”

Halloran looks him up and down and scoffs which pisses Sanji off, but he's not really in a position to do anything about it. He doesn't think it will do him any good to kick the doctor through a wall.

“Try the Rosewood. Their cook just ran off. Fancied himself a pirate or so I heard. The two of you can stay there while you earn enough to pay me for the treatment.”

Sanji doesn't like the implication of that last bit. “Can't he stay here?”  

“Absolutely not,” Halloran says with a hollow laugh. "You're not paying me and these injuries aren't life threatening. You can care for them at home.”

Little images of Sanji wiping Zoro's fevered brow flit through his mind and he grimaces. The shitty swordsman would never let him live it down.

“Take these with you,” Halloran says, drawing his attention as he tosses him a bag filled with packets of medicine and a roll of bandages. “You'll need to administer antibiotics twice a day for four days. Painkillers as needed. And you should change his bandages every other day. He'll be awake in about an hour or so for you to come get him.”

Sanji clutches the bag to his chest. It's not the best situation but it's not the worst. He has a lead on a job, and potentially a place to stay. Stingy doctors be damned. With a final glance at Zoro, he steps out onto the street.

“Head up the road, it's the first building after you turn right on the cross street. You'll see the sign. If you’re not back by the end of the day, I'll track you down. Your friend's not my patient anymore and I won't treat him like one,” Halloran says and then he shuts the door. 

Chapter Text

Sanji turns the situation over in his head as he follows the doctor's directions up the street. He doesn’t exactly relish the idea of having to rough it in the wilderness with Zoro recovering the way he is. The stupid marimo is hardy – Sanji's seen him take worse hits than this, but even Sanji recognizes there are limits to everything. The unknown animal bite, the broken leg, even the concussion. It's all come together to fell even the mighty Roronoa Zoro. So if this place won't take Sanji, he'll have to figure something out. 

In the daylight, it becomes clear that this town is fairly populated. There are people coming and going on the sand-dusted streets as he makes his way to the cross roads where he finds the Rosewood Inn.

It's a humble two story building with a hanging plaque painted with its name and a decorative rose. The plaque itself looks old and some of the shutters are cracked, making Sanji think the place has seen better days, but he’s not picky. Right now, work is work. It doesn’t have to be a five-star kitchen.

As soon as he opens the door, he’s greeted with a short call. “Welcome to the Rosewood. Hang on a second.”

It’s a woman’s voice and she sounds more irritated than welcoming. Sanji is standing in an entryway tiled in black and there's a single step up into what is clearly a dining room, lit with low light where there are two patrons drinking in the corner and playing cards. A long open window along the right hand side looks into a kitchen where there's a person moving around while steam comes off of pots. Just to his left, a young girl is sitting at a welcome desk that blocks a shadowy hallway.

Sanji estimates she’s about twelve or thirteen with long black hair done in braids which are curled around her head in a tight couronne. She has deep black eyes which are currently turned on him in suspicion.

“Hello, lovely lady,” Sanji says, turning on the charm. She might be a pre-teen but Sanji thinks all women, regardless of age, should be treated like the princesses they are. “I’m looking for the owner. Are they around?”

Her nose wrinkles. “You’re gross.”

Sanji realizes that he’s covered in dirt and sand. His hair is greased flat to his skull and he probably smells like a pigsty. She isn't wrong per se, but also…

“Well, I–”

“What do you want?”

Sanji turns and the woman from the kitchen has come to stand in front of him. She’s older, maybe in her fifties, with salt and pepper hair pulled back into a loose bun. She’s wearing a purple and red dress with a thick black belt. Immediately, Sanji thinks messing with her might get him castrated. That won't stop him though.

“Apologies for my appearance, my dear, I’ve just recently arrived on the island after an accident. I heard you’re looking for a cook,” Sanji says, doing his best to maintain a charming, roguish air despite the fact he currently looks like something the cat dragged in.

“Don’t do it, auntie. He’s a bum,” the girl behind the desk says and Sanji feels vaguely betrayed. He hasn't even done anything to her and yet here she is, undermining him.

“Iris,” the woman says warningly and she falls silent. The woman eyes Sanji carefully. “You're in luck. I've been cook-less for two days and might kill someone if I have to chop another vegetable. Pay’s twenty thousand berries a week, and room and board. Non-negotiable. If you want the job, you'll have to show me what you can do.”

Sanji takes a breath. The pay isn’t great but he doesn’t care. Food and a bed is more important. “That’s fine. Show me to the kitchen. I'd be happy to cook something for you.”

The woman licks her teeth like a tiger spotting easy prey. “Sure thing, mister…”

“Sanji,” he says. He doesn’t want to think too hard about a fake name. It's not like he has a bounty unlike – fuck, he's going to have to figure out the Zoro situation.

“And your name?” he asks.

“Rose,” she says– which makes sense really – as she moves towards the kitchen. “Follow me.”

Sanji sets down his bag of medical supplies on the nearest table and does exactly that.

It feels amazing to step into a kitchen, to breathe the air, the scent of rice and boiling potatoes. His entire body relaxes and his mouth floods with saliva. He moves to wash his hands and that is even better. As he scrubs his nails, he savors the sweet sensation of warm running water. The realization hits that this is an inn and he can take a shower if he gets this job. 

Every synapse in his brain feels overwhelmed at the possibility. He's just so crusty and stinky and gross.

He tries his utter best to keep it together as he takes in the food stores. They’re decent. Not up to his standards, but things so rarely are. 

This particular kitchen is well-suited to the work of feeding an inn. It has a large stove with several burners against the wall by the refrigerator and long counters ready to support the necessary prep work for feeding what Sanji can only imagine must be a varying number of guests. There's a deep sink beneath the kitchen window and right now it's filled with pots, but that's not the most egregious situation which happens to be the butcher block in the center of the kitchen, absolutely covered in poorly diced onions.

“It's a nice place,” Sanji says, fingers going to his pocket by habit before he remembers he can't smoke at the rate he used to. He's nearly out of cigarettes entirely.

He pulls together ingredients for a quick fried rice – the nightmarish onions, some rice that's already cooked, and a few other bits and bobs– as Rose stands by the sink and watches him. 

It’s rote by now and as he begins, he falls into the rhythm of it. He didn’t realize how truly anxious he was until he has a knife in his hand, the ease that cooking brings him reminding him that he needs it like a fish needs water.

When he places the plate before Rose on the counter, he can see a sharp grin has overtaken her face. “You know your way around a kitchen.”

“I was raised in one,” he admits easily. 

Rose takes a bite of the steaming rice and chews with obvious consideration. She swallows. Then she points at him with the utensil in her hand. 

“Well,” she says, “Welcome to Newport. You’re hired. The old cook’s room is down the hall and to the right. He left all his stuff behind. I haven’t had time to go through it so take whatever you want and throw the rest out.” 

Rose pushes past him and back into the dining room, clearly expecting him to follow, so he does. 

“Breakfast is at eight, lunch at noon and dinner at seven. You’ll be preparing them. Iris and I do service. I’ll let you know in advance how many guests we have.”

Sanji clears his throat. “I have to go down the road and get–” How should he refer to Zoro? – “my friend. He's injured. But I'll be right back and can get started then, Miss Rose.”

Rose crosses her arms. “This isn't a hospital. Your friend can't recover here unless you have the money for it.”

“No, we'll share a room. It's fine,” Sanji says even though the thought of living in the same room as Zoro for the foreseeable future is nausea-inducing. “And once he's recovered he'll pull his weight.”

At least Sanji hopes he will though he can just imagine Zoro grousing and sleeping the days away like the lazy lout he is.

Rose narrows her eyes at him. “Fine. But if your nursemaid duties get in the way of your work then you're out.”

“Yes, Miss Rose,” Sanji says immediately. He’s sort of into her whole authoritative thing.

“And when you get back, take a bath. You reek. The showers are past the door at the far end of that hall.” She gestures behind the desk where Iris is currently glowering. 

Despite the low pay, Sanji honestly feels like he’s hit the jackpot. If they have to wait for Zoro to recover somewhere, this is almost ideal. And when Luffy and the others get here, they’ll start looking for towns in no time. 

Before returning to the doctor to get Zoro, Sanji drops off the medicine in the room down the hall. It’s not very large and Rose wasn’t kidding when she said the old cook left his belongings behind. There’s a jar of pommade on the dresser and an old broken-toothed comb. The side table has a lamp and a dog-eared book beneath it. After Sanji leaves the bag of medical supplies on the dresser, he opens up the wardrobe and finds it full of shirts and pants. It seems strange to him to run off into the world and leave what looks to be all your stuff behind.

Halloran looks surprised that Sanji has come back to get Zoro when he once more knocks on the door and his surprise pisses Sanji off. As if Sanji wouldn't keep his word.

Zoro is still asleep in the bed, no longer hooked up to an IV, and Sanji turns to the doctor in irritation. “You said he'd be awake when I came back.”

“He should be,” Halloran says, standing a few feet away and leaning against his desk. “I think he's just sleeping. I'm not too concerned. He's got a lot to recover from, but if he's still asleep tomorrow morning, come find me.”

Sanji smacks Zoro lightly across the face. “Hey, asshole, wake up.”

He doesn’t respond and Sanji wants to scream. He’s too tired to deal with this. A few hours of sleep on the cold ground was not enough to bring his marimo-handling abilities back in full. Maybe there’s some benefit to being able to sleep through anything but, right now, it just makes Sanji want to kill him.

He scoops his arms under Zoro and once more tosses him over his shoulder before turning back to Halloran who gives him a horrified look. Sanji supposes he doesn't usually see people treating each other like bags of rice right after a surgery but Sanji's too tired to put up a front. Zoro and the doctor can handle it.

“Do you have a crutch?” Sanji just knows that Zoro will be a complete bitch if Sanji doesn’t have something to help him move around when he wakes up.

“You’ll have to go to the carpenter for that,” Halloran says and he moves to get the door for them. “He’s up on the square. I doubt he’ll work on IOU though.”

Sanji supposes that’s fair and wonders if Rose might pay him upfront – yeah, she doesn’t seem the sort to give handouts either. He’ll just have to wait for his first payday to be able to purchase what they need. 

Sanji snags Zoro’s swords and tucks them up under his free arm before departing. Halloran doesn’t say goodbye and Sanji doesn’t exactly blame him. It’s not like Sanji’s winning any favors here.

Irritable about the whole situation, Sanji marches back towards the inn and grinds his teeth. “You should worship the ground I walk on, mossball.”

Zoro says nothing and that pisses Sanji off even more. He tries to remind himself that he is about ten minutes away from a real shower and once evening comes, he will get to sleep in a bed. Dream of dreams. 

When he pushes back into the Rosewood, Iris is still seated at the welcome desk and she gives him a weird look as he passes by. He does have another person slung over his shoulder so he can't blame her. 

There are a few guests scattered throughout the dining room but they don’t really pay him any mind, most of them drinking and caught up in conversation. It’s clear to Sanji that despite the somewhat ramshackle nature of the inn, it gets decent business. 

When he pushes back into the room at the back of the inn, he grimaces. The bed really is small. Not so small that he and Zoro couldn’t share but it will be a tight fit for two grown men, not even beginning to mention that Zoro is absolutely filthy right now. He debates the merits of dropping Zoro on the ground and leaving him there while he sleeps, but courtesy wins out and soon enough, his crewmate is dozing away in the bed, smearing bits of sand and mud on what was once a clean blanket.

“You're a real pain in the ass, you know?” he grumbles before going over to the wardrobe to stuff Zoro’s swords inside.

He needs to shower now and he’s absolutely not getting back into his old clothes. But when he takes a look at the previous cook’s shirts, he finds they are all several sizes too big and, besides that, they are all decorated in some of the loudest patterns Sanji has ever seen. He can’t exactly complain though because they’re clean and he can belt the jeans and too big shirts won't pose a problem until he has some money saved.

For now, shower.

Leaving Zoro in the room, Sanji makes his way across the inn. He gives Iris a smile despite the fact that she stares blankly in return. No winning with that one, he thinks. 

Thankfully, there's a little caddy inside the showers with spare soaps for guests and Sanji rescues a sliver for himself before undressing and stuffing his new clothes in a cubby by the door. The showers are shared – a large tiled room with hoses mounted on the wall and little stools dotting the floor.

The water runs dirty as he scrubs himself down. He doesn’t think he has time to linger, imagining Rose isn’t exactly the type of person to give him time to settle before putting him to work. He’ll need to start prepping for dinner soon and as much as the water feels amazing on his sore and tired body, he better get to it.

As expected, the previous cook’s clothes hang loose and he knows he looks ridiculous in the pink and blue striped button down. Like a piece of candy at a funfair. 

He returns to his new room briefly and tosses his dirty clothes in a wooden hamper in the corner, hopeful he can salvage them when he has time to do laundry. Zoro is still conked out on the bed. He looks less pale and something in Sanji forces him over next to the bed, hand outstretched. His fingers drift over Zoro’s forehead as he feels his temperature. No fever. Sanji lets out a breath. Everything is going to be ok.

“Idiot marimo,” he grumbles and he pats his pocket by habit, the urge for a cigarette rising inside him before he remembers he only has one left. “Fuck.”

He’ll have to buy some once he gets paid.

Disgruntled, he returns to the kitchen to find Rose waiting for him. She turns her charcoal black eyes on him and her lips twitch when she takes in his outfit. “I guess you are skinnier than the last cook.”

It doesn’t exactly sound like a compliment but Sanji bats his eyelashes at her anyway. “How can I help today, Miss Rose?”

“Start making dinner,” she says, not responding to his behavior which isn’t exactly a surprise but it doesn’t mean Sanji will stop. “We’ll have seven guests for dinner and then enough for the staff. Me, you, Iris, and your friend.”

“I don’t think he’s up to solid food,” Sanji says contemplatively, not really meaning to say it aloud as he wanders over to the pantry to decide what to make for supper. As he takes in the ingredients, he says to Rose, “What sort of grocery do you have in town? I’d like to be in charge of stocking the pantry.”

“Let’s see how you do for a few days before you take on any more responsibilities,” Rose says dismissively. “Consider it a trial run of sorts.”

Sanji huffs at that and decides that a simple, hearty soup will do the trick. He’s tired enough that forcing himself to do anything fancy would just end up being disappointing and there are a number of wrinkly vegetables in the pantry that deserve repurposing. He weighs them in his hands before stalking back the counter.

When he taps out his final cigarette and goes to place it in his mouth, Rose snatches it away. “No smoking inside.”

Sanji gapes at her as she throws the cigarette in the trash before leaving him to his work. Not thrilled to do it, but knowing he’ll regret it if he doesn't, he rescues the slightly crumpled cigarette and places it back in the carton to smoke outside later. It's not ideal but he can manage. 

After washing his hands, Sanji settles into the easy rhythm of doing what he does best. His mind silences and he cooks.

**

Over the course of dinner, and a few well-placed questions to various guests, Sanji gathers that this island is called Agate Island. Newport isn’t the biggest town, but a lot of travelers pass through as it’s a decent midway point between a city on the cape and a more populous town inland.

It’s not exactly helpful in the long run as it doesn’t change his situation but Sanji thinks that knowing where they are is better than nothing.

After scrubbing all the pots and bowls and pans from dinner, Sanji stumbles down the hall and into the room that will be his home for however long it takes Luffy to drag the Straw Hats back to this place. 

The stench of Zoro meets his nose as soon as he opens the door and Sanji coughs. 

“You need a fucking bath, mosshead,” Sanji chides as he moves to open the little window beside the bed that opens out into the alley. The inn was probably built some time ago and ended up hemmed in by other buildings as the town grew. He wonders when Rose bought it and how it became the Rosewood.

Turning back to Zoro, he narrows his eyes and considers his options. There is technically enough room in the bed for Sanji to sleep beside him, but also if the smell is bad from here, then he can’t imagine what it would be like at point blank range. 

For a moment, he thinks about hauling Zoro’s dead weight down the hall to the shower and spraying him off like a mud-covered dog and it startles a laugh from him. Unfortunately, a shower will have to wait until the man is conscious.

Which, speaking of his stupid condition, Sanji’s eyes fall to the medicine on the bedside table. He has to administer the second dose of antibiotics. 

How long has the damn mossball been sleeping? Sanji claps his hands by his ear to try and rouse him. “Wake up, idiot. It's time to take care of yourself.”

Zoro doesn't move at all and Sanji groans in favor of ignoring the small spike of worry. The doctor said he was fine and it’s probably just Zoro, sleeping through anything that isn't immediately life threatening.

“You’re more trouble than you’re worth and I fucking hate you,” he says, knowing he’ll get no answer.

Despite being exhausted, he shuffles back to the kitchen for a small cup of water and a spoon. It’s easy enough to mix the powder according to the dosage instructions and then he’s forced to perch on the edge of the bed at Zoro’s hip. Zoro has to take the antibiotics and he will take the antibiotics because he will not get sicker on Sanji's watch and then Sanji will finally get some decent fucking sleep.

Sanji holds his jaw in his grip and considers for a moment yanking his mouth open – visions of a dog once more flash through his mind – but in the end, he is gentler than he intends to be, pushing against the hinge of his jaw slightly until his lips part enough for Sanji to press the full spoon inside. Once, twice.

“Are you going to spoonfeed me the whole thing?”

Sanji yelps and leaps to his feet, spoon clattering to the floor. It’s lucky the medicine cup is on the table because it would have gone careening to the ground as well.

“What the fuck, marimo? You were awake? How long?”

“I don’t know. Since you started yelling at me. I was trying to go back to sleep and then you grabbed my face and shoved a spoon in my mouth. That stuff tastes like shit by the way.”

“What is wrong with you? Why didn’t you say something, you freak?” Sanji hisses.

“Can you yell at me about it tomorrow? I’m tired.”

“No, absolutely not. If you’re awake, you’re drinking the medicine and you’re showering,” Sanji says as he shoves the cup against Zoro's chest. Zoro doesn't even bother to take it.

“What’s the medicine for?”

“For the fact that you’ve had a fever and an infection, lunkhead,” Sanji says, feeling like he wants to tear his hair out.

Zoro looks down at the cup and then pushes it away. “I don’t want it.”

Sanji really might crank his mouth open like a dog. “Do it, Zoro.”

“An infection won’t kill me.”

“Who was passed out for the last twelve hours?”

Zoro still looks obstinate and Sanji feels tired and irritable so he does exactly what he did before, clambering further onto the bed, one leg slung over Zoro’s waist as he grasps his face, jamming his thumb into his cheek so his mouth pops open. Zoro looks affronted as Sanji pours the water into his open mouth before clamping his jaw shut.

Zoro hisses but ultimately swallows. 

“You have to take it every day and if you don't, I’ll sneak it into your food,” Sanji warns, still perched over him like a puffed up bird. Zoro’s eyes are dark as his tongue sneaks out to lick a trickle of water from the corner of his lips. 

Suddenly, Sanji feels weightless as Zoro picks him up, hands around his waist and he finds himself tossed onto his ass on the ground. “You–!”

Zoro smirks down at him. “I’m going back to sleep now. I can’t do that with cooks climbing on top of me.”

“You absolutely are not going to sleep,” Sanji says as he hefts himself to his feet with no little amount of agitation. “You are coming with me and you are getting clean. Can’t you smell yourself? Like fish guts forgotten at the back of the refrigerator.”

Zoro has the audacity to lift his arm and sniff himself. His nose wrinkles. Sanji feels triumphant. If even Zoro can admit it's bad, then it's pretty bad.

“C'mon,” he says, “Shower’s down the hall.”

Zoro swings his legs over the edge of the bed. He looks down at his cast like he’s surprised by it. “What happened here?”

“Your leg is broken, numbskull,” Sanji says.

Zoro grunts and rises to his feet by using the headboard for leverage before making a sharp noise of irritation. 

Sanji quickly rifles through the bottom drawer of the wardrobe and tosses a pair of trousers over his shoulder, hoping they will fit Zoro.

He contemplates for a moment just chucking the swordsman back over his shoulder too but Zoro glares at him when he gets close. “I can do it myself.”

“You're not going to hop halfway across the inn.”

Zoro's frown deepens, big lines etching down his cheeks. “We're at an inn. How did we end up at an inn?”

“I got a job, marimo,” Sanji says like Zoro is stupid. Because he is. “We needed something to keep us afloat until Luffy and the others come back.”

Zoro looks around the room and turns accusatory eyes on Sanji. “Where are my swords?”

“They're in the wardrobe. Where they will stay," Sanji grates out, not wanting an argument. “Because we don't need to get recognized and run out of town while you're out of commission.”

Zoro growls. “Out of commission, my ass.”

“Want to test it, shit swordsman?” Sanji asks, shoulders going up to his ears as his annoyance starts to rise closer to anger. “I could beat you into the ground right now without breaking a sweat.”

Zoro gives him a death glare but does start to hop across the room on one foot.

“Oh, fuck off,” Sanji snaps even as he rushes to wrap an arm around Zoro and take some of his weight. Zoro lets him and they manage to figure their way out into the hallway and through the dark dining room.

Blessedly, the showers are empty as well, but Sanji isn't exactly surprised by that. It's nearly eleven at night. Most reasonable people would be in bed by now.

The door to the shower swings softly shut behind them and Sanji extricates his arm from around Zoro's back. 

“Alright, can you do this by yourself?” Sanji asks as he shoves the pair of pants into a little cubby in the wall.

Zoro scoffs. “I'm not broken.”

Sanji looks pointedly at his leg which is, in fact, broken. “Don't get your cast wet. Or the bandages on your arm. I'll come get you in twenty minutes.”

He slaps a sliver of soap into Zoro's hand and leaves him to figure himself out before crossing the darkened inn. The room he's meant to share with Zoro is already smelling better now that Zoro has vacated the bed. Sanji gets a look at the bedding and a wave of despair washes over him. There are streaks of mud from Zoro's remaining boot and all sorts of grit and debris leftover from what had been clinging to him. 

Sanji strips it all off and dumps it in the corner of the room before rifling through the various drawers of both the dresser and wardrobe. Finally, on a shelf in the wardrobe, he finds a few extra blankets which allow him to remake the bed. He doesn't need to replace the sheets because Zoro really only dirtied the top blanket but he deigns to replace Zoro's pillow case out of the kindness of his heart.

That done, he returns to the bathroom and is surprised to hear water still running. He'd honestly expected Zoro to shower as quickly as possible and hop his way back to bed in under ten minutes. So the fact that the full twenty has elapsed feels a little strange.

Sanji pushes inside and finds Zoro seated on one of the shower stools, slumped against the wall fast asleep with the shower head still running on the floor beside him. His immediate response is irritation. Of course the stupid mosshead would just fall asleep. But then rational thought takes over. Even Zoro isn't likely to fall asleep mid-shower so it’s probably more likely due to the fact that he’s still recovering rather than sheer laziness.

Well, fuck. Sanji's going to have to be nice, isn't he? Shitty nursemaid duties.

Sanji hesitates for a moment before stripping off his clothes, not wanting to waterlog his precious borrowed belongings, and going in after him. He grabs the showerhead from the floor and sees that Zoro’s hand is still curled around the soap. Sanji isn't entirely sure how much washing actually got done.

He stands beside Zoro and pokes him none too gently in the shoulder. He grumbles and stirs, eyelids flickering, as Sanji peers down at him. He's slightly flushed from the hot water but at least he doesn't have that pallid, sickly look to him that makes Sanji worry.

Sanji blasts him in the face with water and Zoro splutters.

“What the hell was that for?” Zoro swipes water from his face, then scowls. “Why are you naked?”

“You fell asleep in the shower,” Sanji says. “If you needed help, you should have said so.”

“I don’t need help,” Zoro says with a sneer. “Least of all from you.”

“You've been snoozing in here for who knows how long. At least you propped your cast up, idiot. How do you want to do this?”

“Do what?”

Sanji grinds his teeth. “You are getting clean or I will choke you to death with this hose. Just give me the soap.”

Zoro tugs his hand away, fingers curling around the shard of soap. “I can do it.”

“Fine,” Sanji says. “You soap, I rinse.”

“I'm not a dirty dish,” Zoro grumbles but he starts to scrub the soap over his chest and under his arms.

“Yeah, you're more disgusting,” Sanji says and Zoro bares his teeth up at him before reaching up and slapping an open soapy hand on his belly in a weak attempt to start a fight. Sanji grunts before once more shoving the shower hose in his face. “Stop that, marimo.”

Zoro knocks away the hose and Sanji relents, giving him a moment to wash his armpits and chest. He's clearly exhausted. Maybe it's the medicine. Maybe it’s the injury, but he keeps tipping back into Sanji, head bumping into him before he forces himself back upright with a scowl. Eventually, Sanji takes pity on him.

“Just give me the fucking soap,” he snaps.

Zoro mumbles something unintelligible in response. 

Sanji reaches down to snatch the soap from Zoro’s hand where it has once again fallen lax into his lap. The action forces him to look places he typically avoids looking when they’ve been naked together. When you live on a boat, it's not like you can be shy about these things, but Sanji's not going around looking at other men's dicks even if he's sort of seen them…peripherally. Right now however, it's really an eyeful and Sanji forces his gaze onto Zoro's back instead as he encourages him to hold the shower head so he can soap his hands.

Ugh. The last thing he wants to be doing is thinking about what Zoro has going on between his legs. Namely, how it compares to his own. Zoro probably has looked and been so smug because he has a huge fucking dick. What a shithead.

Sanji rubs his hands down Zoro's back in efficient circles, soaping all the way up his shoulder blades and down his lower back. He's quick about it but before he can even grab the hose back Zoro's eyes are closed again and Sanji clicks his tongue. “Are you asleep?”

“No. Resting my eyes. Tired.”

“Fine. I'm gonna wash your hair. Are you capable of washing your own ass?”

Zoro laughs. His shoulders shake and Sanji is granted a little flash of his white, even teeth. “If I said no, would you wash it for me?”

Sanji's face flushes, but he holds his ground. “If I had to.”

Zoro laughs some more and Sanji wants to kick him. “You're in luck because that was the first thing I washed before you even got in here.”

Sanji does not entertain the thought of what washing Zoro's ass might be like, especially since it needed a deep clean, and hands the showerhead back to Zoro before soaping his palms a final time. He tips Zoro's head back and scrubs his fingers through his hair, finding the texture surprisingly soft. 

Zoro's eyes have drifted shut again as Sanji soaps him up. He must fall asleep because he once more tips back until his head makes contact with Sanji's belly. Sanji rights him immediately, annoyed at the growing tacky soap residue across the hair on his stomach and the way Zoro grumbles at the manhandling.

“Close your eyes,” he says gruffly as he snatches back the showerhead and rinses Zoro clean one last time. Once the water runs clear, he shuts off the shower before padding across the room and snatching them both a towel from the rack. He tosses one to Zoro as he dries off his own belly and legs which have only gotten slightly damp.

Zoro catches the towel and heaves himself up on unsteady legs, leaning heavily on the wall as he dries himself off with very little attention to detail. Irritated, Sanji stomps back across the room so he can take the towel from him and finish the job, realizing that if he hadn’t taken over showering Zoro, it wouldn’t have gotten done. He scrubs the towel through his hair and then bites his lip to hold back a laugh at the sight of his hair all standing on end. He looks like an idiot.

“Let's get back to the room. I have to change your bandages because some moron got them wet,” Sanji says.

After Sanji gets dressed, Zoro actually willingly lets him help as they get him into the set of borrowed pants. They are slightly big on him as well and Zoro doesn't have a belt to use but Sanji supposes he won't be running around and he just needs his ass covered. It’ll do.

Zoro's clothes from the ship are a lost cause and Zoro throws them in the garbage with the exception of his clearly precious haramaki without much of an argument before they make their way back across the inn. He looks truly exhausted when he plops back onto the bed and Sanji shuts the door behind them.

Leaning back against the pillows, Zoro closes his eyes but Sanji isn't having it. He claps his hands in front of Zoro’s face. “No sleeping. I'm changing your bandages and if I have to stay awake so do you.”

Zoro groans. “Stop being an asshole. Can't we leave them?”

“I’m not letting your arm rot.”

“Fine. Whatever. Knock yourself out.”

Zoro's eyes narrow to slits as Sanji grabs the bandages from the bag on the dresser and climbs onto the bed beside him, maneuvering his arm into a good position so he can peel off the wet bandage around his bicep. 

There are little black stitches holding together the wound and Sanji asks, “Do you know what bit you?”

Zoro looks down at where Sanji has started to wrap new bandages around his arm. “Huh. Didn’t even feel it. Maybe it happened when I was knocked out.”

Sanji rolls his eyes. Zoro is insufferable. He finishes with the bandages and tucks them in place before snatching up the ruined wet ones and getting out of bed to throw them away. “Okay, you can sleep now.”

“Stop mother henning me,” Zoro says, already closing his eyes and settling down among the pillows.

“I keep you from losing a leg or dying and that's what you say to me?”

“Shut up, shit cook. Go to sleep.”

Sanji grumbles and peels off his clothes, opting to borrow some too big pajamas instead of sleeping naked next to Zoro, before climbing into the bed closest to the window.

Sanji sort of expects Zoro to give him shit about sleeping next to each other, but he's already snoring before Sanji even pulls up the blankets. For his part, he's so exhausted that he barely even notices he's sharing a bed.

Chapter Text

Sanji wakes up to the sound of the alarm he set with his cheek smooshed into Zoro's bandaged arm and his hand pressed against the sweaty planes of Zoro's chest. It takes him a moment to realize that the position he is in is more than a little humiliating and when he does, he rockets upright and smacks Zoro in the face.

Zoro swears at him. “What the fuck was that for?”

“For taking up space,” Sanji snaps, not even bothering to look back at him as he gets out of bed to snatch the packet of medicine for Zoro’s morning dose of antibiotics. 

The day is not off to a great start and being reminded he has to wait on the marimo hand and foot only blackens his mood as he heads to the kitchen for a cup of water. To his exact lack of surprise, when he returns to the bedroom, Zoro is asleep again and when Sanji jams his fingers into his ribs to wake him, he refuses the medicine.

“I'm fine, shitty cook. I don't need it,” he says, once more closing his eyes when Sanji pulls back, but Sanji won’t have it and he jabs him multiple times until Zoro sits up and slaps at his hand.

“The doctor said you do and I won't have you passing out again from some fever. You already sleep enough.”

Zoro bares his teeth. “You can't make me.”

Sanji takes a breath. He imagines Nami in her bikini. He lets it out. “I will buy you a bottle of alcohol with my first paycheck if you take the medicine.”

Zoro eyes him speculatively. “Two bottles.”

“We need clothes and I have to pay that shitty doctor so we don’t get run out of town for not settling debts,” says Sanji, ire rising. His emotions are right at the surface of his skin. He hasn’t slept enough and he knows his ability to stay calm during this conversation is poor at best.

“As if you're not going to buy cigarettes,” Zoro says, setting his jaw and Sanji isn’t even sure if he’s just being stubborn or purposefully trying to rile him up. Both are equally likely and Sanji doesn’t have time for this back and forth.

“You piece of absolute shit,” Sanji grinds out. His head is throbbing and it's not even sunrise. This is marimo handling at its worst. “Fine! But you're taking this dose and every single one after.”

Zoro grins and takes the cup, downing it all at once before setting it aside. Maybe it has soporific qualities or maybe it's just Zoro being Zoro because he rolls onto the side with his good leg and falls back asleep.

Sanji shrugs on one of the oversized button-up shirts – this one is printed with large windmills – and goes back into the kitchen where Rose is waiting for him, tapping her foot.

“You’re late.”

Sanji glances at the clock and sees he is in fact two minutes behind schedule. Stupid argumentative mosshead. He knew this would happen. “I'm so sorry, Miss Rose. It won't happen again.”

Her expression softens slightly. “The old cook was the type to roll out of bed barely awake. I’m glad to see you’ve got yourself more together, but if your morning routine keeps you from your work then I’d rather you skip it.” 

Sanji doesn’t exactly think it will endear himself to her if he explains what actually happened so he keeps it to himself and tries to look as obedient as possible.

“Breakfast is porridge. Always. You can also chop some fruit. We have six people. Plus staff. Think you can handle it?”

Porridge is so fucking boring. Sanji wants to groan, but it’s what Rose wants so he does it.

Once the porridge is steaming and ready, it's already eight and Iris and Rose serve it to the sleepy guests. Sanji eats a serving from a bowl standing over the sink before scooping out a portion to take to Zoro.

He finds him still asleep in the bed and unceremoniously wakes him up with a kick to the hip.

Zoro snorts like a pig – which is funny – and rolls over to blink at him. He has a wrinkle on his cheek from where he was pressed against the pillow and he looks confused to have Sanji standing over him.

“Eat,” Sanji says, shoving the bowl and spoon into his hands.

“Huh?” Zoro asks, taking it on instinct.

“The last thing you ate was crab which you vomitted. Eat.”

Zoro sits up slowly and stares down at the bowl. “I don't like porridge.”

“Too fucking bad. Eat it.”

Zoro's stomach lets out a laughably loud grumble and Sanji gives him a pointed look.

Disgruntled, Zoro shoves several bites of porridge into his mouth at once until some dribbles out. Zoro lifts his eyebrows as if to say look, I'm doing it.

Sanji doesn’t even want to engage with that so he leaves him to his shitty little devices. He needs to clean up the kitchen. By himself, it takes long enough that he already needs to start on lunch by the time he's done.

To his frustration, he's prepping a chicken to roast when he hears a thump followed by a grunt in the dining room. Sanji looks out through the kitchen window and there’s Zoro, hobbling on one foot between the tables. He's pulled on his filthy boot and is trying to hop through the dining room.

Sanji stabs his knife into the butcher block and marches into the dining room. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Going outside to train,” Zoro says. Sweat is beading on his brow but he looks determined. 

“No,” Sanji says. “Go back to bed.”

“Don't tell me what to do, dartbrow.”

Sanji knows there are chicken juices on his hands, but he's so annoyed that he doesn't care. He shoves at Zoro's bare chest and he topples into a nearby chair. “You take one step out of this inn and you'll get lost and I do not have the time to wander around looking for you.”

Zoro doesn’t even hesitate before punching him in the stomach so Sanji hits him in the top of the head, belatedly remembering he was just concussed.

Zoro drops forward onto the table, swearing as he collapses onto his elbows. He might be tough but whacking someone directly on an injury like that hurts like a bitch regardless of their constitution. Sanji knows that personally.

“Shit, sorry,” Sanji says, holding out his hands as if that will do anything to steady him.

Zoro hisses between his teeth and Sanji feels like an asshole. He tries for a reasonable tone as he says, “Just get back in bed. Your leg’s busted and you can't do anything about it. I'll get you a crutch when we can afford it, ok? Take a break from training for once in your damn life.”

Zoro's back is sweaty as Sanji helps him to his feet and they hobble together back to the room. He lays down on the bed and closes his eyes as soon as his head hits the pillow. “This bites.”

He sounds genuinely frustrated and Sanji doesn't know what to say. That tone is usually directed at him so he's not quite sure how to deal with it. “Don’t worry so much, mosshead. You'll be fine soon enough.”

Sanji grabs the empty porridge bowl before returning to the kitchen. He has a lot of work to do before the noon meal and Zoro derailed him again.

He manages a short break around four and – miracle of miracles – bums a cigarette off a patron. Honestly, he was starting to get the shakes and he’s beginning to wonder how he’s going to manage a week like this. He smokes in the alley beside the inn which smells like piss but Sanji could care less because the nicotine is heaven.

Zoro obediently takes his evening medicine before dinner and service goes down easy. Once every dish is cleaned, Sanji goes back to their room and gets ready for bed. As he retrieves his pajamas, he asks Zoro, “Do you need help showering today or can you do it yourself?”

Zoro scowls. “I showered yesterday.”

“I am not sleeping in the same bed as you if you don't shower,” Sanji says, annoyance starting to simmer.

“Then sleep on the floor,” Zoro says easily.

“ You sleep on the floor. I'm the one doing physical labor.”

“What happened to ‘you need rest to recover, Zoro?’” Zoro says, mocking him with some hideous voice that pisses Sanji off.

“I do not sound like that,” Sanji growls. “We are showering.”

He reaches out to chuck Zoro over his shoulder and his weight settles there just like before, when Sanji was forced to haul him up the beach. Sanji thinks he might actually manage to wrestle Zoro across the inn for about five seconds but then Zoro whacks him in the kidney with the side of his fist and Sanji drops forward onto his knees on the edge of the bed with a pained grunt. They tumble down together and Sanji tries to avoid his cast but he's not sure he succeeds.

“Don't throw me around,” Zoro snaps, rolling over and slamming Sanji into the mattress on his back so that he can use his body weight to hold him down. 

Sanji tries to wrap his legs around Zoro’s waist in an effort to flip them over, but it's difficult to figure out the best way to maneuver without hurting his injured leg. 

“It’s not that hard to shower,” he says, deciding the easiest thing to do is shove at Zoro’s bare chest until he gets off of him.

Zoro grunts and falls to the side. “I'll do it tomorrow. It’s a pain in the ass to deal with all this shit. Can’t you give me a break?”

Sanji is tired enough that he decides that’s the best he will get. It probably is annoying to have to deal with the cast and the bandage and, if he were in Zoro’s place, he wouldn’t exactly want Zoro helping him in the shower either. 

When he returns to the bedroom from his own efforts to clean up, Zoro is fast asleep. Sanji slips into bed beside him and passes out before he can even consider complaining about the way he smells.

**

The first week goes by quickly. If Sanji is hoping Luffy might show up, he realizes he may as well not hold his breath. Luffy would never leave them behind. He just has to wait it out.

Zoro, for his part, is a terrible patient. He keeps shuffling out into the dining room shirtless and Sanji keeps having to herd him back to bed. He swears it's because he's tired of being cooped up, but Sanji thinks he's going to scar the other patrons if he keeps it up. Nobody needs to see marimo nipples at six in the morning.

Sanji catches him doing one-legged push-ups and sit-ups and trying handstands against the wall. Every time, Sanji resists the urge to beat him to a pulp before forcing him to rest. Which hardly works because later he just finds him practicing one-legged exercises with his swords in the bedroom with the bed pushed against the wall. It’s fucking hopeless.

One evening, he actually catches Zoro cutting off the stitches from his arm with scissors and when Sanji demands to know what the hell he thinks he's doing, Zoro shrugs and says, “I was tired of you fussing over the bandages every time I shower.”

Sanji’s mood is not helped by the absence of cigarettes. He’s been averaging about one a day, usually begged off of a guest and when he’s not smoking, he is irritable. He wants to claw his skin off and Zoro is no help whatsoever, being his usual, stupid, oafish self.

So when Sanji gets paid – thank fuck – he makes it a point to pay back the doctor which eats up the majority of the money. Zoro is doing well enough that he doesnt need more medication – in fact Sanji thinks he might get a fist to the head if he tries to feed Zoro any more of it. However, he has enough money for a crutch for Zoro and the promised bottles of booze. He manages a single pack of cigarettes for himself and decides clothes will wait another week.

He finds the carpenter Halloran recommended at a shop on the corner of the townsquare, a man named Reif who stands a few inches taller than Sanji and a few inches wider as well. 

“So you're the new cook at the Rosewood?” Reif says after Sanji puts in his request for the marimo’s crutch. “I've heard marvelous things about your food.”

Sanji’s always pleased to hear compliments about his cooking, even – maybe especially – from strangers. “I just got started. It's a nice place to work.”

Sort of. Given the circumstances.

“It's a shame what happened to Lee.” When Sanji looks at him blankly, Reif explains, “Ah, the old cook. He used to talk sometimes about how he always wanted to be a pirate, but you wouldn’t really have expected him to up and leave without notice. It really put Rose in a bind.”

“Dad, stop holding up the customers with gossip.”

Sanji looks over to the back room of the shop where a young girl has pushed open the curtain that hides the room from view. She looks to be about twelve or thirteen and she has thick eyebrows much like Reif’s despite the light pink hair that varies so much from his auburn curls.

“Aren’t you supposed to be at the bakery?” Reif chides.

“They gave me the day off,” she says. “I was going to go see Iris.”

“Fine, fine,” Reif says, waving her off. “Don’t stay out too late.”

Reif’s daughter trots out of the shop, the little bell above the door ringing with her departure. Sanji asks, “She knows Iris? From the Rosewood?”

“It’s a small town,” Reif says with a laugh as he peels off a receipt from the book in front of him and hands it to Sanji. “We all know each other.”

Reif tells him he'll have a crutch done the next day so Zoro has one more day of sucking it up and staying in bed. Honestly, Sanji could care less about his suffering but it would be nice if the damned mosshead could help with cleaning the kitchen so Sanji could have a second to breathe between meals.

Case in point, it's nearly midnight and Sanji is stuck scraping grease out of a pan. He still wants to shower and he is in desperate need of sleep. Going to the carpenter ate into his cleaning time and he's paying for it now.

When he does finally manage to crawl into bed, Zoro is dead asleep. It's almost a relief not to find him in the middle of some insane training routine.

As has become the norm since Sanji started working at the Rosewood, his body drags him under almost immediately.

As has also become the norm and with increasing – Sanji hates to say it – intimacy, he wakes up the next morning to the alarm, pressed against Zoro's side, face smashed into one of his sweaty tits with his arm curled over his waist. He doesn’t know why his body does this while he is asleep, turning into a wretched heat-seeking octopus. Zoro has yet to comment on it, hopefully sleeping through the worst of it like the braindead moss-covered rock he is.

Today, however, there is a new addition, and Sanji doesn't know how it hasn't happened before. Maybe he's been too tired or stressed or agitated from the lack of cigarettes, but this morning, he has a fucking hard-on. Undeniable and pressed against Zoro's hip, his dick is aching.

Typically, Sanji has a very normal masturbation schedule. Even aboard the ship, he'd find the privacy and the time to get it done once a day and he enjoys it. But since getting stranded with Zoro, he hasn't had the energy or the alone time. He hasn’t exactly wanted to jerk it in the shared showers, not to mention how tired he's been, and he’s not going to touch himself with Zoro passed out beside him in bed.

He's fucking pent up.

He rolls onto his back with a huge sigh before glancing over at Zoro to see that he is, thankfully, still asleep. Sanji would have died of mortification if he had woken up. 

So he peels himself out of bed and locks himself in the bathroom right across the hall that they share with the other guests. It doesn’t feel very sanitary or nice to do, but he’ll have to make it work.

He rolls over some of his favorite, most well-worn fantasies; scantily-clad women kissing his neck, slowly working their way down his chest, cupping their warm hands over his cock. 

The fact that he's never managed to play out any of these things in real life is a point of consternation that he tries not to dwell on. 

It's not for lack of trying. Zeff would have kicked his ass if he found out he was sleeping with the guests at the Baratie and since he left, nobody has been interested. Not really. He's had a few nice kisses here and there at some of the islands they’ve stopped at and one really nice make out session in an alley at Cocoyashi, but it turned out that the woman had been married. So really all he's had is his right hand.

While trying to get rid of his poorly timed hard-on, he does his best to strike a balance between being efficient and enjoying himself. He hates to think he'd ever become someone who just does this for the sake of it and by the time he spills into his hand, he feels better, his whole body relaxed in a way he hasn't been since they washed up on this island.

Afterwards, he washes up and goes back to the bedroom to change. Zoro is still asleep – lucky bastard – and when Sanji makes it to the kitchen, Rose is waiting for him.

It's become something of a rhythm, checking in with Rose in the morning and before each meal. She's quite beautiful and Sanji likes being around her even though he gets the feeling she could crush him under her soft little shoes. That's probably what he likes about her.

He bats his eyelashes at her as he washes his hands in the deep sink. “Good morning, my sweet Rose. How can I help today?”

“We have eight for breakfast besides staff. And I wanted to talk to you.”

Sanji dries his hands and stands at attention. “Yes, my dear?”

“You do good work. The diners like you. We've had some increase in business with people who aren’t staying here stopping in for the evening meal. So your trial run is over. You can stay.”

Grinning, Sanji takes her hand and kisses the back of it. “You are a dream, darling Rose. Anything you say.”

Rose pulls her hand back and pops him on the head which fondly reminds him of Nami. “And cut the shit. A few things will change. I’ll start checking in on you less because honestly, it’s a pain in the ass when I have other things that need doing. But more importantly, you can start doing the shopping like you asked. Iris will take you this afternoon.”

“Ah.” Sanji hesitates. “I need to run an errand this afternoon. Could we do it tomorrow?”

“Find a way to make it work. You and I both know that the pantry needs restocking, cook,” Rose says and then she leaves the room. There’s a strange dissonance at hearing someone who isn’t the mosshead call him that in that tone. Not that it matters.

Sanji makes the porridge, feeling a bit brighter and more secure about their situation. As long as they are stuck here, they are settled in at the Rosewood. Well, as long as Zoro doesn't fuck it up by being an idiot.

When he finishes cooking and cleaning for the morning meal, as always it rolls into lunch due to the necessary prep, and by the time that's done and he's ready to leave, Iris is scowling in the kitchen doorway. 

Iris has been a bit of a thorn in Sanji's side. Whenever he tries to talk to her, she scampers off to attend to some task. Sanji doesn't understand it. People like him. Women like him. Especially little girls who always blush at his flattery. 

“Good afternoon, Iris,” Sanji says with a smile as he removes his apron and hangs it on the hook by the wall. The pie dough is resting and everything is in order for dinner. He'll get it done when he gets back.

Iris glares at him. “C’mon. Rose told me I'm meant to help you shop.”

“I need to stop off at the carpenter’s first,” Sanji says before grabbing the little pad of paper he’d scrounged up from one of the drawers in the old cook’s room. It’d been helpful for scratching out recipes and he put down a grocery list ages ago, hoping he’d be able to put it to use soon enough.

“Fine. Your funeral if you're late.”

Sanji is well aware of that, even though Rose has gotten more flexible with him lately. It’s more that he’ll be choking on his own lack of time if he doesn’t get back promptly. So he hightails it with Iris in tow up the hill to pay a visit to Reif. As promised, the crutch is ready. He's able to finish paying and straps it to his back with little fuss.

Reif, however, lights up when he sees who Sanji is with. “Iris! It’s good to see you. Are you being nice to Sanji here?”

Iris shoots Sanji a dark look out of the corner of her eye and says nothing so Sanji steps in. “Iris is helping me out by taking me shopping for groceries for the inn.”

“Peaches are in season,” Reif says absently as he moves to get back to work. “You'll have to buy a few.”

Sanji thanks him for the tip and ushers Iris out of the shop. “Reif said you’re friends with his daughter.”

“And what if I am?” Iris says suspiciously.

“I’m just making small talk,” Sanji says in an effort to deflect her bad attitude. “Do you want to get peaches?”

“You’re the cook. You decide.”

He supposes that’s the best he’ll get.

Iris holds Rose's money pouch and seems interested in the process of purchasing everything they need, but whenever Sanji tries to ask her opinion, she gets irritable again so eventually, he drops it. They buy root vegetables and the recommended peaches at the greengrocer’s, spices from a specialty shop and then they stop inside the butcher’s to place an order. When he does, Iris wrinkles her nose at the counter which Sanji thinks is funny since he wouldn't exactly have expected her to be squeamish, but he knows better than to comment.

When they get back to the Rosewood, Sanji barely has any time before he needs to get started on dinner and Iris is no help, dumping the bags on the kitchen floor and disappearing back to the front desk. Sanji groans and hurries back to his room to wake Zoro. He's going to get help or die trying.

Zoro, predictably, is in the middle of doing some stupid shit with his swords. Standing like a crane, shirtless and sweaty with his bad leg lifted behind him while he moves one of his swords through the air in slow sweeping motions. Sanji rolls his eyes. 

“Put on a shirt and come to the kitchen,” he says, tossing the crutch onto the bed.

Zoro's eyes drop to it. “Why?”

“Because I need help and I'm done letting you laze around while I bust my ass to keep a roof over our heads.”

“We could have stayed on the beach,” Zoro says like the piece of shit he is.

“You'd be missing a fucking leg if we did that,” Sanji snaps, unwilling to entertain whatever bullshit ideas Zoro has about them surviving in the wilderness together. Sanji knows better. He’s been through it.

Zoro's mouth thins and he sheathes his sword, hopping to the wardrobe to put it away. He grabs a shirt and slips it on before messily tucking it into his haramaki. It's printed in gaudy red poppies splashed across a white background and while it is far too large, the shoulders fit him better than they do Sanji and that is annoying.

Zoro snatches the crutch from the bed and tests his weight on it before following Sanji out of the room. The steady thunk of the wood against the floor trailing behind him is oddly nostalgic.

Once they get to the kitchen, Zoro stands there like a lump until Sanji snaps at him. “Wash the damn dishes while I put things away.”

Zoro looks like he wants to protest, but maybe Sanji's efforts are clearer to him now that he's seen the kitchen or maybe walking around the inn has shaken his brain loose because he simply goes up to the sink, leans his crutch against the side, and gets to work. 

Sanji puts away enough of what he bought at the market to make a clean workspace and then starts on dinner. 

It's dead silent in the kitchen and Sanji is frankly surprised by it. Like he didn't expect that he could exist in peace with the mosshead, but Zoro just works by the sink and lets Sanji do as he pleases, cooking down the vegetables and putting together the tarts.

“What are you making?” Zoro asks without warning and Sanji startles.

“Vegetable tarts,” he answers hesitantly. He doesn't want to start a fight, but that's where all their conversations lead.

“Smells good,” Zoro says like that's that. Easy. No fuss.

Sanji gapes at him, almost forgetting to shut the oven in front of him. Zoro just said something nice to him. An absolutely unbelievable event.

Iris's head pops up above the kitchen window. “Rose wanted me to tell you there's going to be one more for dinner. Do you have enough?”

“I've made a little extra,” Sanji says. He started making more when dinner became more popular. He gives Iris a smile. “Don’t worry your little head, chickadee.”

Zoro snorts and Iris whips her head over to look at him. She stares for a moment before twin spots of color appear on her cheeks. “Don’t – don't call me that.”

Then she turns tail and scurries off faster than usual.

“Only you would hit on a pre-teen girl,” Zoro says, unplugging the sink to let it drain. All the dishes from earlier are cleaned and he turns to give Sanji an unimpressed look.

“I'm not – Zoro, that's disgusting. I'm being nice to her.”

“Don’t you know how to be nice without being a creep?” Zoro asks with one eyebrow raised, expression smug like he’s somehow better than Sanji.

“A creep?” Sanji demands, voice going up a few octaves before he can contain himself.

“Women might like you more if you didn't drool all over them.”

Sanji scoffs. He needs to get started on the sauce to serve with the tarts and this conversation isn’t anything but a waste of his time. Zoro is just being a dick. Like always. “What would you know? Have you ever hit on a woman in your life?”

“Women aren't exactly my type, cook,” Zoro says, folding his arms over his chest as if daring him to say something.

Sanji's mouth works. He feels like a fish on land trying to find water. Oh. Oh. Zoro is… Zoro likes…

Sanji sort of forgot people like that existed. Why like men when women are right there? Women with their lush bodies and pretty smells and beautiful hair. 

“Right. Sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed,” he says, averting his eyes and moving to put away the groceries that Iris left on the floor.

“It's not like I was advertising,” Zoro says, which is probably the biggest concession he has ever made in one of their conversations. “What else do you need help with?”

“If you dry the dishes, I'll put them away while dinner is in the oven,” Sanji says. The abrupt change in topic feels like exactly what they both need and Sanji isn’t going to press. He really really doesn’t want to anyway.

Zoro jerks his head once in a nod and then frowns. “Towel?”

“Ah, right.” Sanji moves around him to fish out a towel from the drawer. He hands it off and Zoro gets to work. 

Maybe things were meant to feel weird after that little revelation, but somehow, they don’t.

**

Zoro continues to help him in the kitchen. Sanji sort of expects for him to bitch and moan about it and be an all around pain in the ass. Instead, he just limps around on his crutch and does his best to do whatever Sanji tells him. A terrible approximation of a cook if Sanji has ever seen one, but he has to admit he’s at least trying and that makes Sanji reluctant to be an asshole about it.

The worst part of it is actually giving Zoro things to do when Sanji would rather do it all himself because he knows he would do it better.

“Stop hovering. Tell me how you fucking want it and I'll do it,” Zoro snaps. He has a knife in his hand and he looks like he might use it to stab Sanji at any minute. Sanji should probably walk away. Zoro is set up just fine at the butcher block and looks like he can handle it but Sanji…

“Do you know how to dice vegetables?” Sanji asks. He's itching to take the knife back but also Zoro is there to help so he should let him.

“I'll dice you," Zoro says before ramming an elbow into Sanji's belly. Sanji lets out an oof before cuffing Zoro on the back of the head.

“Five onions,” Sanji says. “And I'll skin you if you fuck up.”

Zoro grunts and gets to work, leaving Sanji to work on blanching tomatoes for the sauce. 

“What?” Zoro asks.

Sanji looks back at him, surprised by the question but it turns out Zoro isn't addressing him. Iris is standing in the doorway, curled against the frame. Her eyes are absolutely glued to Zoro.

“Are you guys married?” she asks somewhat shyly and Sanji accidently dumps all the tomatoes in the water at once. It splashes over and hisses on the stove.

“What on earth gave you that idea?” Sanji asks, aghast as his mind unwillingly produces images of what it might be like to be married to Zoro. Sharing a bed together, waking up together – ah, fuck, it’s not that different than what they’re already doing and that’s horrifying.

“I'm not asking you,” Iris snaps at him before turning what he can only call doe eyes back at Zoro. What the hell?

Zoro starts laughing. He laughs to the point that he has to stop chopping the onion. “I'm not married to that curly-browed freak.”

Iris blushes so hard that her entire face turns red. “Ok. Well. Ok.”

Then she turns and runs off back into the dining room leaving Sanji to gape after her as the realization fully hits him.

“She has a crush on you,” Sanji says in disbelief. “What the hell? You!”

Zoro shrugs and goes back to working on the onion in front of him. “She can do whatever she wants. She's what? Thirteen?”

“I don't get it. What's appealing about you?"

“Maybe I'm classically handsome,” Zoro says before turning to Sanji with a shit-eating grin. “All the girls think I'm a real prince.”

Sanji hauls the pot of tomatoes over to the sink to dump them through a colander. “Oh, fuck off. What you are is a muscleheaded piece of grass.”

Zoro clicks his tongue against his teeth. “We can't all be pretty boys, cook.”

Sanji feels that same strange feeling from the beach when Zoro called him pretty before. It makes his neck get hot and his toes feel odd. He scoffs in irritation both at himself and at Zoro for being weird.

“Just chop the damn onions and when you're done I'm teaching you about pasta,” Sanji says without turning away from the sink. He thinks he might be making a strange face and he doesn’t want Zoro to see it.

Zoro huffs hard out of his nose, clearly annoyed. “Can't fucking wait.”

Chapter Text

When Sanji gets his second paycheck, Rose corners him in the kitchen before he can spend it. Which is a shame because he has a very long list of things he and Zoro need — and he ran out of cigarettes two days ago.

“I wanted to let you know that there’s going to be extra guests this weekend,” Rose says as she opens one of the soup pots to sniff the stew Sanji is cooking. Zoro is washing their clothes from the week so Sanji has been left to cook lunch himself. Not that he minds a little time away from the mossball.

“More people come to town for the Sandpiper Festival and we get a lot of business,” Rose continues. “So buy enough food for about thirty guests when you go out. We're usually at capacity.”

“Festival?” Sanji asks as he tucks his money into his pants pocket. His mind is already spinning over the work of cooking for more people all by himself. Though he supposes he has Zoro if that counts as help.

Rose sighs and moves away from the stove. “The town puts on a big stink for the Sandpiper every year, asking for blessings. It makes me a lot of money but I can't say I enjoy it.”

Sanji wants to ask what the fuck the sandpiper is, but before he can, Zoro clomps into the kitchen and Rose takes that as her cue to leave.

He goes to get the bread he's been proofing in the oven and asks, “Have you heard of this sandpiper stuff?”

Zoro is leaning against the butcher block like he does when he's waiting for Sanji to tell him to do something. It took a few days for Sanji to realize it's his specific brand of helpfulness, like he’s trying to stay out of the way until he has something to do.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“I don't know. Some festival. I'm just curious,” Sanji says. “Can you not jump down my throat about it?”

Zoro huffs in irritation. “Ask somebody from around here. Why would I know shit about this place?”

Sanji supposes he has a point. Which is annoying. He hates when Zoro has a point.

In the end, he picks up little details from guests in the dining room who are chatting about the festival and drops a few questions here and there to draw out what he wants to know as he retrieves the empty dishes. 

He finds out that the Sandpiper is a local god of some sort. One of the sailors that's come in from the town on the cape says something about ‘granting the innermost wishes of the heart.’ Which is so incredibly stupid that it makes it hard to remember this is the Grand Line. For all he knows, there could be a damn wish-granting bird on this island.

When he tells Zoro about it that night while they're getting ready for bed, he also laughs which is actually gratifying. 

“Sounds stupid as hell,” Zoro says as he takes off his shirt. He’s finally stopped complaining to Sanji about having to wear pants to bed, but Sanji is pretty sure it's bare minimum decency to not have his dick out in the bed they're sharing.

“Maybe we shouldn't mock it too much. You never know,” Sanji says, trying to give the islanders some sort of credit. 

“What? You think the bird can hear us and might come down and flap its shitty wings?” Zoro asks as he gets into bed. “Sounds scary.”

“Don’t you ever shut up?”

“You’re the one who asked me,” Zoro says, immediately rolling over and dropping off like a stone.

At this point, Sanji doesn't know why he bothers.

The work of the festival wears on both him and Zoro. It’s a lot more mouths to feed, not to mention the drunk guests in the showers at the time Sanji would usually have them to himself. 

When Rose steps into the kitchen on Sunday afternoon and tells Sanji to take a break, he’s more surprised than anything. She’s gotten a lot nicer to him since declaring the trial run over and Sanji can only assume it’s the fact that he’s proven himself reliable (and that he’s started to bring in more business), but it’s not what he’d expect. Not to mention that he’s fairly hesitant to abandon the kitchen at all when there's so much to do.

Rose gives him a look when he doesn’t immediately take her up on her offer. 

“You’re new in town and this festival only happens once a year. You should go enjoy it. It’s for people like you anyway,” Rose says as she wrests the onion in Sanji’s hand away from him. “Iris and I can handle clean up from lunch. Just be back before dinner.”

“I’m not sure–”

Zoro hooks his fingers in the neck of his apron and tugs. “C’mon. I want a break. You can buy me a drink.”

“Do you think about anything besides alcohol?” Sanji grouses as he shrugs off Zoro’s hand and unties the apron so he can leave the kitchen. He glances back at Rose who has already started to clean up the counter, but she doesn’t look at him so he supposes this is actually happening.

“Swords,” Zoro says without inflection. For a second, Sanji thinks Zoro might be making a joke but when he looks at him, he has that same flat expression from earlier so he must just be trying to be an ass.

“I’ll buy you one drink,” Sanji says pointedly as they head towards the door. “We still need clothes. And I don’t want to waste all our money on your bad habit. Can you handle the hill on your leg?”

Zoro gives him a dirty look and is already halfway out of the dining room.

It becomes fairly evident as they leave the inn and follow the trails of people up towards the main part of town that if this is a festival for a god that grants wishes, then those wishes are definitely romance related. 

There are couples everywhere. Some are drunk. Some are making out against walls. Sanji is fairly certain he sees two people having sex in an alley.

Zoro obviously notices too because he laughs. “Looks like people really lean into the festivities around here.”

Sanji scrubs at his face. “Zoro,” he says, “Maybe we should just go back to the–”

But Zoro is already hopping away and Sanji knows he’ll get turned around if he doesn’t keep an eye on him so he hurries after with a sigh. 

The sights and sounds downtown are a little less embarrassing – food stalls and stands selling wing-shaped charms for various types of wishes; love, fortune, good health. Zoro’s like a bloodhound as he leads Sanji immediately to a corner stall selling wine. Of course he’s capable of finding alcohol.

“Is this good enough?” Sanji asks after paying the man at the stall and handing off the cup to Zoro. Sanji's not very interested in drinking since he has to go back to work later and wine will make him tired. Or horny. And he needs neither of those things.

Zoro takes a long drink and then smacks his lips, stained faintly red by the alcohol. “It’s fine.”

“You’re so hard to please,” Sanji says with a scoff. He still hasn’t had a chance to go buy cigarettes and he wants one so badly his teeth itch. Instead, he chews on the corner of his mouth and shoves his hands into his pockets. Zoro gives him that look that always makes Sanji wonder if there are any brain cells left in his head.

“ I’m hard to please?” Zoro repeats like it makes any sense at all to repeat what Sanji just said. Then he adds, like the asshole he is, “You snapped at me for whisking eggs in the wrong direction.”

“It’s better clockwise,” Sanji insists because he is right and Zoro will not get him on this.

“Yeah, sure,” Zoro says, leaning heavily on his crutch as he continues to drink. “Whatever you say, dartboard.”

“You can get more air – you know what? I know more about this than you,” Sanji says before he’s abruptly knocked out of the way by someone who wants to purchase wine. It forces him closer to Zoro and he accidentally jostles his elbow. On instinct, his hands fly out of his pockets and he reaches out to brace Zoro’s hand so he doesn’t spill his wine, but Zoro is like a fucking boulder and he might as well be jostling a wall.

Sanji drops his hands and takes a quick step back. He refuses to snap at a stranger for bumping into him but it's a near thing. His neck is oddly hot and he just knows Zoro is going to say something stupid so he needs to head it off at the pass. “C’mon, shitty mossball. Are you done with that? We should get back. I don’t want to be late and I’m not interested in any of this garbage.”

Zoro drops off his empty cup before eyeing one of the booths hawking charms and elbows him hard enough that he grunts. “What? Seventy-five berries for a wish for true love? Seems right up your alley.”

“Shut up,” Sanji snaps. “I’m going to make you shuck peas for the rest of the night if you keep that up.”

“Joke’s on you. I like shucking peas.”

Zoro pisses him off so bad Sanji thinks he might kill him before Luffy ever gets to Newport.

**

When he finally has time to go shopping with the money he has stashed from his second paycheck, he has a few priorities. First, cigarettes. And second, clothes that don't have to be twice belted to his body. 

He needs pants for both himself and Zoro because Sanji has noticed him having to hold them up when he crutches himself around the inn. Everything else he buys is practical too. Namely, underpants. Which he misses wearing more than anything because he just has the ragged pair from when they washed up on shore and only when he can manage to wash them. Zoro doesn't seem to wear underwear which is disgusting, but Sanji isn't really surprised. Shirts will have to wait another week.

When he hands off the new clothes to Zoro, he takes them without a word and just tosses off the too-big trousers he has on while in the middle of their shared room.

“Don’t you have any propriety?” Sanji demands, face flaming.

“You've seen my dick before,” Zoro says as he tugs on his new trousers, struggling a little to get them over his cast before they finally slip on.

“It doesn't mean I want to get up close and personal with it.”

Zoro zips up the pants and gives him a flat, unimpressed look. “Do you really want to go there?”

“What are you talking about?” Sanji moves to the wardrobe to put away the underpants he bought, not exactly interested in Zoro’s stupid musings.

“You shoving your hard dick against my leg every morning,” Zoro says as he bends over to roll his pant leg up over his cast. He says it so nonchalantly and yet it makes Sanji fumble the clothes in his hand. He was already blushing and hearing that makes him feel like steam might be coming out of his ears. 

“You've been pretending to be asleep?” Sanji demands.

“I'm not exactly in the mood that early,” Zoro says as he scratches at his chest and looks like he's considering taking a nap when he yawns.

Sanji nearly chokes on his tongue. “I'm not trying to fuck you!”

“You get pretty handsy in your sleep,” Zoro points out and Sanji sees red.

“That's it. You're out of the bed,” says Sanji. His stomach is in knots and he’s not sure if he’s ever been more embarrassed, but it’s quickly being overridden by anger. “I refuse to sleep next to you, you dickheaded mossball.”

Zoro drops onto the edge of the bed and tips his head up to look at him. “Make me, curlicue.”

Sanji growls and grabs his shoulders trying to grapple him off the bed and shove him to the floor. But part of him is aware that Zoro is injured, still healing, and Sanji doesn't want to be responsible for setbacks. So when Zoro punches him in the gut, he stumbles back and stays back, rubbing a hand over his face in frustration. “Why’d I have to get stuck here with you?"

“You think I'm enjoying myself?” Zoro counters irritably, nostrils flaring a little. He looks like he’d like nothing more than to take Sanji out back and fight him for real. Sanji knows the feeling intimately.

Even though Sanji said it first, it still rankles to hear Zoro say it. And the fact that it rankles pisses Sanji off. Like he shouldn't care at all that Zoro is so dismissive and pissy; that's just how they are with each other and nothing has changed.

“Come help with dinner once you get dressed,” Sanji bites out before leaving the room. Zoro can figure himself out.

Dinner prep is a tense affair, worse than it's been in days which makes Sanji realize they've actually been getting along to some degree. A frustrating realization in and of itself. Sanji doesn’t like Zoro. They’re forced to cohabitate by sheer circumstance and if their typical hostility has eased then so be it. Obviously, peace won’t last long.

After they clean the kitchen, Sanji doesn't even bully Zoro into taking a shower even though it's been three days. He's not in the mood to spend more time with him. Least of all naked. 

A little desperate and definitely on edge, Sanji risks it and masturbates in the shared showers. He refuses to give Zoro the satisfaction of pointing out another hard-on. Nor will he be the one to leave the bed. He will stand firm about this.

He plays over his usual fantasies and while they do the trick, his orgasm is ultimately unsatisfying and he finds that frustrating too.

As always, Zoro is asleep when Sanji crawls into bed beside him. It's nearly one in the morning and he's tired, but the frustration from earlier still runs hot under his skin. It's embarrassing to know that Zoro has been aware of Sanji's weird morning situation this whole time. Maybe it would be better just to sleep on the floor.

He turns over the options in his head but his decision is made for him when he drifts into sleep.

Sanji rarely dreams. Not since he was young. At the time, his dreams were frightening, reminders of things he wanted to forget. These days, more often than not, his sleep is undisturbed. He usually drops off one moment and wakes up the next. However, tonight, he feels drawn into wakefulness by a strange weight on his chest. He feels like he can’t breathe and when he tries to open his eyes, he finds he can’t. There’s a sharp fear growing at the base of his spine like he knows whatever is holding him down is about to put its teeth on his throat. There’s a clawing sense of such intense loneliness that he starts to choke. He tries to struggle, tries to force himself awake, to move, and then—

He wakes up and he's standing outside the Rosewood as dawn breaks. He blinks, confused as to how he got there.

No matter how bad his dreams have gotten he's never walked in his sleep. He does remember one time — freshly away from his family and still trying to find his feet and so so afraid all the time — waking up with that crushing feeling of being unable to breathe. And just like last night he'd felt unable to move. It had been unpleasant when he was a kid and it was just as unpleasant this time too.

Confused, he goes back inside. Zoro is in the kitchen, cleaning apples. He's wearing a bright blue shirt, half tucked into his haramaki and, honestly, he looks dumb. But what else is new?

“What are you doing?” Sanji asks, some irritability already leaking out in Zoro’s direction. He feels exhausted. Like he didn’t sleep at all.

“It's time to start on breakfast and you weren't around,” Zoro says, not looking up from where he’s still washing the apples.

Sanji frowns at that. He hardly expected Zoro to keep any sort of timetable. Or give a shit. His irritation fades. He’s not being fair to Zoro.

“I —” He doesn't really have an excuse. He scrubs a hand through his hair.

“What were you doing outside in your pajamas? Were you that desperate for a smoke?” Zoro tosses out. It doesn’t sound accusatory, but it’s not friendly either and Sanji doesn’t have the patience for it.

“Shut up,” Sanji grumbles but he’s too tired to put any energy into it. He leaves Zoro to his work and goes down the hall to change, still turning over what happened in his head. He shrugs on a button-up printed with sailboats and when he comes back to the kitchen Zoro is dicing the apples, neat as ever.

After a few minutes of working in silence, Sanji finally ventures, “Did I — uh — do anything weird last night?”

“What? Like hump me in your sleep?” Zoro asks, the beginning of a smirk on his face. Maybe on another day, Sanji would fire back, find something mocking to say and give as good as he got, but Sanji is too tired and too pissed off. Zoro is not better than him and Sanji won’t let him think that he is.

“For fuck’s sake,” Sanji says, slamming the container of oats onto the counter beside the stove. “My body is just doing something it does in the morning. It's normal. Don’t you ever get morning wood?”

“No,” Zoro says. “My dick only reacts that way when I let it. What do you want me to do with these apples?”

“Sauté them in butter and cinnamon,” Sanji answers, knee jerk. Then it sinks in. “No. I call bullshit. You can't control when you get turned on.”

“With enough training, you can do anything,” Zoro says as he drops a pat of butter into a pan. He looks so calm. So fucking blasé. Sanji narrows his eyes. Something flares in his stomach. First, there's competitiveness which he recognizes and, beneath it, something else heated that makes him want to scream and tear his hair out and also run six laps around the Rosewood.

He turns and shoves Zoro against the butcher block behind them. Zoro falls back, cast knocking against the wood floor. The apples are sizzling in the butter and should probably be stirred, but Sanji has a point to make. 

“Really?” he asks, pressing in close and dropping his hands onto the counter on either side of Zoro's body, caging him in. “You don't respond to anything?”

Zoro called him pretty twice. At the very least, he finds Sanji nice to look at. And he's a man, so if Sanji goes off his own experience then physical stimulation should work just fine.

“Nothing at all?” He tucks his head into Zoro's neck and ghosts his mouth over his pulse. “Prove it, marimo.”

Zoro's hand clamps onto his waist. It feels warm and big and a little zing of pleasure passes through Sanji. It’s not unlike the feeling he gets when a woman wraps her arms around his neck right before a kiss. Oh, fuck, is he getting turned on?

His fingers dig into the counter and he refuses to back down, sliding his knee between Zoro's legs. 

“Are you really playing it like that? I think we both know I'd win,” Zoro says and there’s the edge of a threat in his voice.

Sanji jerks back. “Win what?”

Zoro's other hand wraps around the back of his skull and yanks him forward into the messiest kiss of his life. It's not even good. All tongue and Sanji feels like he can't breathe. His chest constricts. He grips Zoro's arms tighter than he should. It probably hurts but his body is just responding, swaying in, until he finally manages to tear himself away and stumble back, ass bumping into the stove which he realizes is still cooking the apples. He switches off the burner with fumbling fingers.

Zoro looks at him smugly. “Don’t start a game you can't play, cook.”

His lips are slick and pink and Sanji thinks about all the women he's ever kissed and how it was nothing like what just happened with Zoro. That kiss was a fight and Zoro was right. He’d won.

It makes him unbelievably angry.

“Get the hell out of my kitchen,” Sanji says, pointing at the door with an embarrassingly shaky hand.

Zoro gives him a bitchy salute before grabbing his crutch and doing exactly that.

It turns out the porridge is particularly mushy that morning and the apples are slightly burnt.

**

Sanji avoids going to bed that night. He lingers in the shower and hopes beyond hope that Zoro will be asleep. He also considers sleeping in the dining room. Or outside. Or begging Rose to take an extra room’s rent out of his next week’s pay.

But he doesn't. Because he's not a coward.

Zoro had wisely avoided the kitchen all day and Sanji is grateful for it, but now he has to pay the piper.

When he slips into the dark bedroom, he walks over to the bed and climbs under the blankets with the hope that Zoro won't wake.

Zoro usually sleeps with the sheets peeled down to his waist and the blanket tucked by his feet. It makes it easy for Sanji to wrap it around himself on most nights, but tonight Zoro is curled fully under the blankets facing Sanji's pillow.

“Hello, cook,” Zoro mumbles. He sounds like he was asleep and Sanji woke him.

“Go back to sleep and leave me alone,” Sanji says, razor-sharp as he wrestles with the blankets so he can get comfortable.

“I thought you might sleep in the dining room after working so hard to avoid me all day,” Zoro says with a clearly overdramatic yawn.

“I'm not going to let you win, shithead,” Sanji bites out.

“Yeah, didn't you say you were gonna prove something to me?” Zoro replies and he's starting to sound more awake but not nearly as agitated as Sanji feels. More like he's mocking him. “Did you give up? Sounds like I did win after all.”

“Did you like kissing me so much that you're angling for another?” Sanji asks, blushing hard enough that it's probably visible even in the dark. 

Zoro flops onto his back and stretches his hands behind his head. It tugs the sheets uncomfortably away from Sanji. “Nah. You were shit at it.”

“I was shit? Fuck you,” Sanji snaps, rolling onto his side and raising up on his elbow to loom over Zoro. “At least I didn't shove my tongue down your throat. It was disgusting.”

Sanji's stomach is starting to get hot, his thighs tense. He knows this feeling. He won't name it.

“Sorry, I don't kiss like some delicate girl.” Zoro rolls his head to look at him and sneers, “You're so sensitive. It's pathetic.”

Sanji wants to snap out something mean. He intends to. But his body lurches him across the space and he smashes their mouths together in another mockery of a kiss. Or, no, it really is a kiss. Harsh and desperate. Zoro grabs at his face, fingers digging into his hair and tugging at him without holding anything back and Zoro was right. Sanji has no frame of reference for this. All his kisses have been sweet, tame things. Little sips of pleasure shared between laughing mouths.

This feels like anger distilled into something entirely new and it burns on the way down. 

And in that heat, he can't stop himself from grasping at Zoro's body, tugging at his hips and pulling him closer. He feels needy and strange. It's so confusing. Sanji shouldn't like this, shouldn't want this from Zoro of all people. Every kiss is a wave crashing over him, threatening to drown him entirely.

The worst of it all is that Zoro is letting him touch, rolling their heated bodies together under the blanket at Sanji's behest until their hips press against each other and Sanji gasps into his mouth. He knows his dick is hard, tenting his stupid borrowed pajamas. But it's another thing entirely to push against Zoro and feel him in the exact same state. To know he’s just as affected. And maybe it shouldn’t be a surprise given the heavy pressure of his mouth, the way his hands are pulling and tugging at Sanji, in his hair, thumbing his jaw, dragging at his waist.

Sanji tears their mouths apart. “So you can get hard.”

Zoro brings his hand to his mouth and licks a wet stripe over his palm. Sanji is confused for a moment and then Zoro's hand slips into the loose waistband of his pants and wraps tight around him.

“I'm not the only one,” Zoro says, clearly taunting him.

Sanji should stop him. Stop this. Knock his hand away. Anything other than exactly what he is doing which is fucking up into Zoro's fist. Little gasps drop from his mouth, embarrassing and a clear sign of how overwhelmed he is. 

He's never had anyone touch him like this and Zoro's good at it. Slides his thumb over the head, uses just the right amount of pressure, seems to know how to leisurely draw out the whole thing before speeding up the rhythm. 

They're kissing again and Sanji feels drunk and livid at the same time. His blood burns through him as Zoro sucks lewdly on his tongue and then laps at his mouth. Sanji fumbles between them, not wanting to just sit there and take it. As good as it feels, he won't let Zoro run the show.

His arm knocks against Zoro's, but he manages to get his hand inside his pants and then—

Zoro's forehead drops against his as he lets out a low hiss when Sanji wraps his hand around him. Against Sanji's palm, he feels hot and real; Sanji imagines he can feel the blood pumping just beneath the surface of his skin, driving both of them. 

“You just gonna hold it or are you gonna do something?” Zoro asks with another wicked twist of his wrist that makes Sanji shake.

He thought he had it in him to touch Zoro too, to split his focus, but his mind is awash in the sheer pleasure of being touched like this for the first time. He lets out a shuddering groan and when Zoro's mouth fixes to his neck to suck hard, he's done for. He comes with a sharp gasp, spots in his eyes, orgasm better than any he's had since coming to this island.

He's breathing hard when Zoro pulls away, wet hand slipping from Sanji's pants. Sanji realizes his own hand is still loosely curled around Zoro's cock and he doesn't know what to do.

He doesn't have to wait long though because Zoro unzips his own trousers and his hand joins Sanji's, slick with Sanji's spunk and he starts to stroke himself off with little care for Sanji's comfort. It restarts Sanji's ability to move and he joins the motion of Zoro's hand, jerking him off. Jerking off Zoro.

Jerking off Zoro.

Why does that turn him on as much as it pisses him off?

He groans and presses his face into Zoro's shoulder. He smells like the soap that the Rosewood provides, lavender and sage, and Sanji realizes he probably showered today. He's going to think of this every time he bathes from here on out.

Zoro's hips twitch and their fingers bump and there's something indelibly hot about what they're doing, the little sounds of Zoro's breath accompanied by the slick sounds of their hands in the dead quiet. Sanji sort of wants to kiss him again just to make it all go away.

When Zoro comes it’s with a full body twitch and a sharp exhale, curling into Sanji as he feels the mess spill over their fingers, hot and wet and somewhat familiar from his experiences touching himself except not at all the same. 

Zoro pulls his hand away so Sanji does too. And then to Sanji's utter disgust wipes it on the sheets.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Going to sleep,” Zoro says as he rolls onto his back.

“You can't just smear your jizz all over the bedsheets,” Sanji says, his own hand still a mess.

“I just did,” Zoro says, not even opening his eyes. “I'm not gonna sleep with that shit on my hand.”

“You could have gone and washed it off,” Sanji insists. He considers kicking him out of bed but he also really wants to go clean up and a fight will inevitably delay that.

“Too tired.”

Sanji bites back a growl. “You're responsible for changing the sheets in the morning.”

Zoro's already snoring so Sanji gets no reply. Irritated, Sanji pulls himself out of bed to rinse off his hands in the bathroom. He gets a picture of himself in the mirror. His lips are a lurid red, slick and swollen from what he had just done and there's a little pink mark on his collarbone from where Zoro had pressed his mouth against it just before Sanji came. 

Sanji flushes. Ok. Not thinking about it. It had happened in the heat of the moment. He had been angry, feeling competitive and not thinking straight.

He shuts off the water, goes back to the bedroom and takes one look at Zoro laying there in the bed they just—they just had sex in and Sanji's heart nearly stops.

He can’t do it. He's definitely sleeping on the floor.

Chapter Text

Sanji doesn't wake Zoro to help with breakfast because… because he absolutely cannot deal with whatever shit is going to come out of the swordsman’s mouth about the night before. And he has porridge to make.

Zoro as always is capable of sleeping forever so Sanji leaves him to it and goes about making porridge and decidedly not thinking about Zoro's hand on his dick.

He has no idea what he was thinking the night before. He clearly wasn’t thinking. Maybe after nearly three weeks of not being able to fight the way that they were used to, this is just how their typical competitive energy had manifested. 

Even Sanji knows that’s a stupid excuse.

Before yesterday he hadn’t known that kissing a man could even get him hard and now here he is, twelve hours later certain that a man can get him off. It’s fucking with his worldview a little.

He’s so caught up in these catastrophic thoughts that it takes him by surprise when Reif comes clattering into the dining room at seven. No one else is around so it falls to Sanji to greet him. He leans over the kitchen window and calls to the carpenter, “Can I help you?”

Reif turns to him. His eyes are slightly bloodshot and he looks wan. Like he hasn’t slept. “Is Iris around? I need to speak with Iris.”

Sanji isn't quite sure how to respond to his desperate tone so he keeps his voice as even and measured as possible. “She usually joins the guests to serve breakfast at eight. You can wait for her.”

“I need to speak with her now,” he insists.

“What for?”

Sanji's stomach twists at the sound of Zoro's voice as he enters the dining room. He should have noticed his approach, the sound of his crutch, but he was distracted by how harried Reif seems.

“Cat left yesterday after dinner and I just went to bed like I normally would–I thought she came home but she wasn’t in her bed when I went to check on her this morning.”

Sanji steps out of the kitchen, feeling like this might be an important conversation. “It’s ok. Why don’t you sit down? Zoro will make you some tea and I’ll go get Iris.”

Sanji waves Zoro into the kitchen and he goes, moving to put the kettle on without a single complaint. It seems out of character but Sanji has bigger things to worry about as he leaves Reif at one of the dining room tables and heads up the stairs. He knows Rose’s room is at the end of the hall and when he knocks, she answers immediately. Her hair isn’t put up yet and Sanji thinks it looks very lovely flowing down her shoulders, streaked with gray, even if she’s frowning at him.

“What's wrong, cook? Shouldn’t you be working?”

“I’m sorry to bother you, Miss Rose,” Sanji says. “The carpenter is here looking for his daughter. He seems to think she might be with Iris.”

Rose grunts and passes her hand through her hair, tucking it over one shoulder. “And why are you getting me?”

“Ah, I don't think Iris would like me bothering her,” he says with a wry smile. Rose is very aware of Iris’s dislike of him and has chided her on occasion. Not that it’s changed anything.

Closing the door behind her, Rose sighs as she moves out into the hallway and down a few doors. Sanji waits while she knocks.

Iris is completely ready for the day when she answers the door, braids already put together and dress belted. “Rose? It’s early. What’s going on?”

“Reif is looking for you,” Rose says. “Is Cat here?”

Iris opens her door wider. Sanji sees the clean expanse of her room. There are a few trinkets on her dresser, a fine glass bird, a photo frame of a smiling couple holding a baby. Sanji’s chest pinches at the sight. He knows that Iris isn’t Rose’s biological child and something must have happened to her parents to have put her in this position, but evidence of it is still hard to see.

“No,” Iris says. “I haven’t seen Cat all week. Why? Did something happen?”

Her voice takes on a slightly nervous edge as she pushes into the hallway and shuts her door. Rose steps out of the way and Iris disappears down the stairs. 

Sanji follows at a slower pace and notes Rose is behind him. When he enters the dining room, Iris and Reif are exchanging words, talking a mile a minute.

 “— I haven't seen her. Maybe she went to work early,” Iris says, a little prickly and Reif scrubs a hand over his face. It's clear he's distraught, face slightly red, eyes glassy.

“I already checked. When was the last time—”

“Wednesday,” Iris says, “we went to get ice cream.”

Rose interrupts, defensive and curt as she steps in between the two of them. “You should go to the police, Reif. It’s obvious she isn’t here and we can’t help you.”

Reif lets out a tight breath. “The police?”

Sanji hadn't even known this town had police. He glances over at Zoro in the kitchen. He's working at the stove and Sanji thinks he smells peaches cooking. He can't believe the marimo took initiative to make fruit. Wonders never cease.

“It's better than having a panic attack in my dining room,” Rose says, no nonsense as ever and Reif swallows visibly, on the verge of tears.

“Thank you, Iris,” he says. “If you hear from her–”

“I'll tell her to come find you,” Iris says and it's gentler than Sanji has ever heard her be.

Sanji suddenly feels the desperate need for a cigarette. This is all far too stressful for before eight o’clock.

He does Reif the service of walking him out of the inn and as they part, he says, “If you need anything, stop by. I'll cook for you.”

Reif gives him a weak smile before walking away. Sanji takes to the alley where he usually smokes since Rose won't let him smoke inside. He's gotten used to the bad smell and he leans against the wall of the Rosewood so he can relax as he enjoys his first cigarette of the day. His head is buzzing with thoughts about Reif, and Cat, and what happened the night before. 

He doesn't like this. A disappearance in a small town. Reif had seemed so distraught and Sanji —

What the hell is he supposed to do? For all intents and purposes, he's an inn cook and it's none of his business.

When Sanji goes back into the inn, Iris is already seated at the check-in desk, scribbling on a piece of paper. She doesn't look up at Sanji's entrance, but he doesn't really expect her to.

“How are you doing?” Sanji asks, hesitating on his way back towards the kitchen.

Iris glances at him. “I'm fine,” she says, voice clipped.

“It's a tough thing. To not know where your friend is,” Sanji offers. He tries to sound sympathetic but Iris doesn’t really respond to it.

“I can deal with it.”

Sanji doesn’t press any more. He supposes he understands not wanting to linger on whatever hard emotions might be brought up by something like this. 

In the kitchen, Sanji finds Zoro starting the porridge. There are sugar-stewed peaches kept warm on a low burner. Sanji tastes them and hums.

“Good job on these,” he says, a little annoyed he has to give a compliment to Zoro's cooking but also knowing it's probably a good idea to reinforce that he's moving in the right direction. He would do it for anyone else learning and he’s not going to stop just because Zoro pisses him off.

“Thanks,” Zoro says as he places the lid on the porridge pot. He reaches for his crutch where it's leaning against the butcher block behind him and Sanji scowls at him.

“That’s it?”

Zoro gives him a blank look. “What?”

“Since when do you accept compliments from me without kicking and screaming?”

“Do you want me to be a dick?” Zoro asks.

“I don’t —” Sanji lets out an irritated growl and tosses up his hands. 

“Oh,” Zoro says as he leans back against the butcher block and crosses his arms over his chest, folding his crutch against his body. 

Sanji prickles, not liking the self-satisfied look on his face. “Don’t grin at me like that.”

“This is about last night.”

“No, it’s — we are not talking about that,” Sanji says. His face is getting hot and he doesn’t want Zoro to notice so he turns around to check on the porridge. It’s boiling so he turns down the heat to let it finish. “If anyone’s acting different, it’s you. So don’t go accusing me of anything.”

“I’m allowed to want a moment of peace, stupid cook,” Zoro says and Sanji can hear the building frustration in his voice. Which is good. That’s normal. It’s what Sanji wants.

Sanji turns, riled and ready to fight, pleased and pissed that this is how this is turning out. “Who’s stupid? At least I’m capable of keeping a roof over our heads while we’re stuck here. What are you doing for us?”

“You dragged me into the kitchen to do your shitty little tasks and I’ve done everything you told me so don’t act like I’m not helping,” Zoro bites out, bearing down on him with clear intent. “You’re not better than me just because it’s your job.”

Sanji bares his teeth, ready to lay into him but before he can, he’s grabbed by the back of the shirt and hauled to the side of the kitchen. Rose’s hand is curled tight in his oversized button up as she snaps, “You’re disturbing the guests. Do I need to separate you two?”

Sanji gives her puppy eyes, temper immediately cooled. “I’m sorry, Miss Rose. We won’t do it again.”

Rose shoves him off and he falls against the butcher block beside Zoro who whacks him in the shin with his crutch. Sanji gives him a final weak glare, but he’s not likely to cross Rose so he doesn’t follow it up with anything. 

“The guests will be down soon, so get the dishes ready,” she says and Sanji immediately obeys. It's a good distraction from Zoro as he exits the kitchen, leaving Sanji to turn his attention to serving the guests.

**

The police come by that afternoon. Sanji tries to keep to the kitchen but he reminds himself that he is not actively a wanted man. It’s Zoro that needs to keep a low profile and thankfully, he’s tucked away in their room.

When they question him, he answers honestly. Yes, he was at the inn the night before. No, he hadn’t heard anything suspicious. 

He does not provide information regarding exactly what he was up to. He doesn’t think the police need to know he was having sex for the first time in his life. Extraneous detail really.

Despite the interruption, he manages a quick run to the greengrocer’s for cabbage. It’s got to the point that the inn is busy enough for dinner that Sanji is basically cooking to order instead of according to headcount and it means that he has to have more food on hand. However, as he walks through town, it’s oddly quiet and he gets the feeling that this disappearance has had an impact on the townspeople.

Agate Island is large and Newport does see quite a few travelers. That’s what keeps the Rosewood afloat. It also makes the townspeople open to newcomers and has made Sanji’s life a lot easier over the last three weeks. Today, however, some of the usual shops are shut and there are less people on the streets.

Thankfully, the greengrocer is open and he seems just as friendly as before. He recognizes Sanji after the several visits Sanji has paid to his shop at this point. 

“Oh! Sanji, how’s the Rosewood?” he asks. Quinn is a tall, thin man prone to smiling. Every time Sanji has spoken to him, he has been welcoming and, presumably, pleased to have the sort of business associated with a local cook. 

“Busy as usual,” Sanji offers. “Do you have any cabbages? I’d also like some radishes if they’re any good.”

“Sure thing, Mr. Sanji.” He points Sanji to the right corner of the shop. “Awful stuff I heard about around town,” Quinn says as Sanji wanders in the direction of the vegetables he's looking for.

Sanji picks out six cabbages and a few pounds of radishes. He’s not exactly one for gossip and he’s not sure if Quinn is fishing for information. Regardless, he won’t give him any. He moves to the counter and hands off the produce to Quinn so he can be rung up.

“I hope the police can help,” he says noncommittally.

“Three disappearances in three weeks,” Quinn says with a click of his tongue. “Maybe Newport isn’t as safe as we all thought it was.”

Sanji pauses, money in hand. “Three? Who else disappeared?”

Quinn shakes his head. “Everyone says Lee ran off and Nora died but it feels like something awful has come to Newport, doesn’t it?”

“Nora?” Sanji asks, curiosity piqued in spite of himself.

“Ah, yeah, Moreen’s girl. They think she got swallowed up by the ocean but everybody raised in Newport knows better than to mess with the sea,” Quinn says, eyes lighting up. He’s clearly excited to have somebody to talk to, but Sanji isn’t sure if he should listen. It seems morbid, talking about death and disappearances like they’re exciting news.

“When did that happen?” Sanji asks.

“The weekend of the Sandpiper Festival,” Quinn says. “Folks were too distracted to really talk about it. You didn’t hear?”

Sanji takes his purchases with a frown. What if Quinn is right and something is going on? Two girls and a cook. Maybe he should…

No. Sanji is not getting involved. He and Zoro are waiting for Luffy to come get them and then they will be off this island and back to the life they know. Whatever is happening on Agate Island — if anything is happening at all — is none of his business.

Unsurprisingly, the inn is less busy for dinner, that same quiet from Sanji’s walk around town extending to the dining room. Only the sailors who are staying the night seem to have their usual liveliness, drinking and playing cards.

Zoro helps him with dinner. He’s also oddly subdued and Sanji wonders if there’s something in the air. 

Once all the diners have retired to their rooms and it’s just him and Zoro in the kitchen washing up, Zoro finally breaks the silence that has hung between them the entire time they have been working through dinner.

“I’ve been thinking,” Zoro ventures.

Sanji’s hands pause in the dishwater, holding still on the pot he’s been giving the scrub of its life. Nerves twist in his stomach. He's not exactly keen to discuss what happened between them. “I didn’t know you could do that.”

“Shut the fuck up and listen,” Zoro snaps and Sanji realizes he’s serious. This isn't some dig about ill-advised hand jobs. 

“Okay, what’s so important that you’ve been using that tiny mossy brain of yours?”

Zoro splashes soapy water on him and Sanji growls and kicks the back of his good leg. 

“Stop it and tell me,” Sanji says.

“I was thinking we’ve been stuck here too long,” Zoro says. He looks down at the sink, face serious, mouth thin. “It might be time that we take a ship and go after Luffy.”

Sanji gapes at him. “What kind of idiotic thought is that?”

Zoro whips his head to look at him. His lips peel back in a sneer and Sanji has the wild and intrusive thought that Zoro really does have nice teeth. “Idiotic? We need to do something besides sit here and wait.”

“And what do you think it will do for us if we take a ship and wander around the Grand Line just the two of us with no idea where Luffy and the others are? We’ll end up lost. Or stuck somewhere else with less resources and even less of a chance of Luffy finding us.”

Zoro grips the edge of the sink. “So we just do nothing?”

“We survive,” Sanji says and he doesn’t know what possesses him but he reaches out and puts his hand between Zoro’s shoulder blades. It’s stupid because his hand is wet with soapy dishwater and quickly soaks the fabric of Zoro’s zebra-print shirt. Zoro looks at him, head cocking.

“What’re you doing?”

“Uh, I’m, uh, comforting you?” Sanji says awkwardly.

Zoro’s eyes squint and then he starts to laugh, his shoulders shaking. It makes Sanji’s hand slip away from his back. Sanji can’t help but stare at him. Of course he’s seen Zoro laugh before. Usually with the others. At something Usopp said. With Chopper and Luffy. When he’s flushed with drink late at night. But not like this. Not with Sanji. 

It warms him in a way he doesn’t expect. Like maybe it’s nice to put down the sharp words. It also gives him hope that Zoro might forget about this whole hand jobs thing. It was a one off. Sanji will not be weird about it.

They finish the dishes and when they go to bed, Sanji gathers his things to take a shower. It hardly surprises him that Zoro peels off his shirt and is halfway into bed, once more skipping any sort of normal hygiene routine. It’s not even worth the fight.

Zoro catches Sanji looking at him and raises his eyebrows. “Did you sleep on the floor yesterday?”

Sanji clutches his pajamas. He doesn't like where this is going. “I — what of it?”

“Are you planning on doing it tonight?”

“I thought you’d be happy to finally have the bed to yourself,” Sanji says like it's a taunt which feels easier than any other mode of communication.

“Whatever. Suit yourself. But if you’re worked up about what happened last night, it’s not like I’m going to fuck you unless you ask for it,” Zoro says as if he doesn’t even care about what happened. Like it was just a regular normal day.

“Unless I —” Sanji chokes. “Don’t act like yesterday wasn’t entirely your doing.”

Zoro freezes with one knee on the bed, his cast half hanging off, and turns to look at him. “You kissed me.”

“You grabbed my dick,” Sanji retorts. He blushes furiously after saying it and grits his teeth. It’s not embarrassing. It’s not.

Zoro moves closer to him and it’s almost funny, the uneven gait as he wobbles over on his cast. He’s not intimidating at all and yet Sanji’s pulse skyrockets. “You seemed to enjoy it an awful lot, shitty cook,” Zoro says.

“Oh, and you didn’t like it at all?” His heart is in his throat and there’s a heat in his thighs. This is so incredibly fucked.

“Was I supposed to like your clumsy attempts to jerk me off?” Zoro counters. “I had to do all the work.”

Sanji can’t help it. He’s so mad. He’s so turned on. Why is he so fucking turned on? He drops his pajamas on the ground and grabs Zoro by the hideous mess of green hair that he hates so much so he can kiss him and shut him up for once.

Zoro falls into him, stumbling on his broken leg, and they drop back against the wardrobe. It rattles against the wall, the doors clattering as it takes their weight. Somehow Zoro cradles the back of his head, preventing his skull from colliding with the wood. It’s oddly gentle compared to the tempo of their kiss, that same angry fever from the night before burning through Sanji as he sinks his fingers into Zoro’s hair.

Zoro breaks the kiss first, moving to lick a long wet line up Sanji’s throat before biting at the underside of his chin. 

Sanji’s head tips back as his breath picks up. “What – what do you want?”

Zoro pulls back and he’s obviously confused. Sanji shoves at his chest until he falls back and hits the edge of the bed. “I’m not going to have you telling me it wasn’t good a second time.”

“With all your experience with pussy, it's no surprise you don't know how to handle a dick,” Zoro says, challenge clear in his tone.

Sanji opens his mouth to protest but his words catch in his throat. Zoro's eyes go wide and he drops onto the bed. “Was yesterday your first –”

“Shut up,” Sanji hisses.

Zoro reaches out and grabs his hand, tugging him forward. “Suck me off.”

Sanji's stomach cartwheels and his dick, which has been hard since he was pushed against the wardrobe, physically throbs in his pants. He chokes out an incomprehensible noise.

“Even if you're slobbery and shitty and terrible, it'll be good,” Zoro says. He releases Sanji's hand and moves to cup his palm around Sanji's hip, sliding up under the hem of his shirt. “And it'll shut you up. Which’ll be nice. Finally get some peace and quiet.”

Sanji whacks Zoro on the head but Zoro ignores him, leaning forward as he shoves up his shirt so he can press wet, heavy kisses over Sanji's belly. Sanji shivers under it, surprised as Zoro unbuttons his shirt without even looking, moving through the awkward folds with ease.

When he pulls away and looks up at Sanji, his eyes are heavy-lidded, expectant, and Sanji realizes it's his turn to do something. He hesitates for a second before dropping to his knees, slotting between Zoro's spread legs and waiting for only a moment before seeking out the close of his pants with his hands. He hears the slight hitch in Zoro's breathing followed by the press of Zoro's hand against the side of his face like he’s trying to urge him on. It's weirdly intimate and it makes Sanji's heart skip and flutter.

Zoro's not wearing any underwear and when Sanji unzips his pants and shoves down his waistband, his cock is more than half-hard, pressing up against his belly. 

Sanji has had a lot of thoughts about going on his knees for women, finding his head between the thighs of some gorgeous lady. He's always fantasized about it. Here, between Zoro's legs, his heart is racing in anticipation, blood rushing in his ears. 

He takes Zoro in hand and once more is shocked at the sheer heat against his palm. Zoro's hand drops to his head and for a second, Sanji thinks he's about to be shoved down onto Zoro's cock but nothing happens, the hand just rests there, fingers tangled in his hair. So Sanji dips down and licks over the leaking tip. 

Out of curiosity, Sanji has tasted his own semen so the slightly bitter flavor isn’t a surprise. What does shock him is the way his stomach curls with arousal and the sudden urge he has to do more. So he opens his mouth and sinks down.

Sanji has had a lot of fantasies about receiving a blow job. Not so many about giving one. He'd once stolen a porno mag from one of the other cooks at the Baratie and it had the most salacious illustrated story about a man having his cock sucked by a nurse. That story was burned into Sanji's brain, etched line by line as masturbation fuel for years to come.

Now all he can remember is the very rudimentary fact that he needs to avoid using his teeth, mostly because his mind is entirely absorbed by how he really, really likes the feeling of having a cock in his mouth. Zoro's cock is big, stretching his lips wide and when he sinks down it bumps against the roof of his mouth. He likes that stretch. How hot it feels. How, distantly, he recognizes that he holds such a delicate part of another person inside him. Between his very teeth.

His eyes flutter shut and he savors it.

Zoro swears. “Fuck. I knew you'd look good with a cock in your mouth.”

Sanji draws back, leaving a wet mess behind. He hadn't realized how much he was drooling. Zoro's comment about slobber makes a lot of sense now. 

“Is that really what you have to say to me?” he demands.

Zoro's hand slides from the back of his head and he pushes his thumb against Sanji's lower lip until he can hook it against the line of his teeth. “I thought you wanted to prove you could make it good for me, shitty cook.”

Sanji bites down on his thumb, pressing his tongue against the pad of it. Zoro's eyes drop to his mouth and he pulls his hand away. 

“Give me five fucking minutes,” Sanji snaps before he takes Zoro back into his mouth, cutting him off before he can say anything else shitty. 

He feels feverish and wanting as he slides Zoro's cock over his tongue. He can't fit it all in his mouth so he has to make up the difference with his hand. It’s so messy and wet but it's also good to be on his knees and doing this wild thing he never thought he’d do. He likes the way he can hear Zoro's breath catch every time he drops his mouth down to meet his hand. Every time he licks up to the tip. 

His own dick is achingly hard. There's a certain edge to it that makes him wonder if he might be able to come from this. Like maybe if he just rutted against his own hand, he'd get off. 

He swallows, working around what he has in his mouth and trying not to drool all over his hand. Zoro lets out a punched out breath and Sanji looks up at him. His eyes have closed and there’s a flush over his face. His jaw is tensed and everything about him reminds Sanji of how Zoro looks when he’s prepared to fight.

Sanji swallows again, pressing his tongue against the underside of Zoro's cock. Zoro's head drops forward and his hands flex. 

Sanji pulls off with a wet sucking sound that makes his ears feel hot as he falls back on his haunches. Zoro's hand flies to his cock and he tugs at it in short movements, playing with the tip on each stroke. Sanji scowls and grabs his wrist. “What are you doing?”

“Trying to get off since you're not gonna let me come in that mouth of yours,” Zoro says, all rough and sharp.

“Who says? I can take it,” Sanji says, slapping Zoro's own hand against his chest to keep him from touching himself. “Come in my fucking mouth, you shitty swordsman.”

“Oh, fuck,” Zoro says as Sanji dives back down and sucks him back in.

Zoro falls back on one hand as Sanji releases the other. He grasps Zoro's thigh, feeling the scratch of his cheap pants and beneath it the flex of his muscle as he begins to tremble. Sanji is doing this. Sanji is making him feel this. Oh, fuck is right.

Unable to stop himself, Sanji reaches between his own legs and presses the heel of his hand against the straining line of his cock. The relief is unimaginable. He's been aching for so long that it's all he needs to be tossed right over the razor's edge into his orgasm. He moans around the cock in his mouth, trying not to be too obvious as he humps his hand and pleasure floods him. It feels so good like this. To have his mouth stuffed full while he comes.

“Fuck, did you just —”

Sanji doesn’t answer, he just sinks deeper on Zoro's cock, making himself choke.

Suddenly, Zoro's hand is back in his hair, gathering it in a shallow hold and he finds himself being guided in a faster rhythm. He could fight it. He could. Take back control. But he likes it. Shit. He really likes it. And then he feels a hard pulse in his mouth, followed by a flood of wet heat and he's forced to swallow but he doesn't do it in time. Semen spills from his mouth as he tries to swallow it down, making a mess of Zoro's cock but Zoro doesn't seem to mind, releasing Sanji's head and huffing out that same long sound he made the night before when he came. 

Sanji falls back on his ass. There’s spunk on his chin and his pants are a mess, but before he can do anything about it, Zoro drops from the bed and into his lap, legs on either side of his thighs as he kisses him, first his mouth and then licking all over his chin and face as if to clean him up. It's sort of like being kissed by an eager dog and Sanji shouldn’t rightfully like it and yet his heart is back to racing and if he hadn't just come less than two minutes ago, his dick would probably be hard.

“What—Zoro!” Sanji says, wriggling under his weight for a moment before falling back onto the floor. Zoro follows him and then grunts in obvious irritation as his cast thumps on the wood.

“Stupid thing,” he says and Sanji thinks it's the first time he's heard him complain about the cast. 

“What are you doing? The floor is dirty,” Sanji says, shoving at him. 

“You're so annoying,” Zoro says, but he rises up on his knees and peels himself off of him, only to limp over to the hamper and grab a dirty shirt to clean off his spent cock. Watching him touch himself like that has Sanji's own cock perking up and he is boggled by his body’s reaction. 

He stands up and dusts himself off. “I should shower.”

“Do it in the morning,” Zoro says. Then he hesitates on the zip of his pants. “Can I sleep naked now that you’ve had your mouth on my dick?”

“What? No! Don't be disgusting,” Sanji hisses. 

Zoro looks distinctly put-upon as he crosses to the bed and Sanji retrieves his pajamas from the floor. He picks off a stray bit of dust and then leaves for the showers. It's strange to wash himself there in the quiet room, scrubbing off the spunk. His head is running away from him and he can't stop thinking about Zoro.

Sanji knows a lot about sex. What Zeff hadn't hamfistedly told him when he turned fourteen, he’d learned from conversations with Patty and Carne over the years. And even the holes leftover from that had been filled in with his voracious consumption of pornography. What he'd done with Zoro had been nothing like that. It had scrubbed his mind clean of every expectation, every fantasy and turned him inside out.

Sanji is supposed to like women. Sweet-smelling, angelic women. Not muscular, half-showered swordsmen who bite at his mouth when they kiss. Except Sanji does like that. A lot apparently, if the come in his pants is anything to go by. Is it so bad that maybe he likes both? That maybe he wants to try more things with Zoro and find out all the ways his body can feel good?

And Sanji can acknowledge, here in the privacy of the showers with just the soap for company, that the way things are going, he might be able to make those things happen. He can imagine another heated argument, the way his blood would thrum, maybe in the kitchen, maybe late at night, and they'd end up pressed together again for want of anything better, getting each other off with desperate, hungry touches. 

And maybe…maybe that’s ok. Maybe Sanji was right. Maybe this is just what they do here on this island without their usual outlet. Without Zoro able to fight him for real. And once they're back on the ship and Zoro is healed, everything will go back to normal. Kicks and swords and screaming in each other’s faces.

Sanji rinses himself off and brushes his teeth before taking himself back to their shared bedroom. Zoro isn’t snoring which means he’s awake. Once Sanji lays down next to him, his heart rate picks up and he wonders if Zoro can feel it through the mattress. He takes a breath to ask the question buzzing inside him. 

“Would you want to keep doing this?”

Zoro snuffles and then rubs at his face. “The sex? If you want to. As long as you don't freak out about it.”

“It's just…it's weird, isn't it?” Sanji asks. Then he winces. It sounded pathetic even to him.

“I hear the beginnings of a freak-out in there, cook.”

“Don’t you think it's weird?”

“Sometimes people fuck,” Zoro says, turning his head to fix Sanji with a flat look, “because it feels good and there's nothing better to do.”

Sanji thinks that’s a pretty accurate summary of what's going on, even if it might not be a great idea in the long run. Except when he wakes up the next morning — plastered against Zoro's side, dick hard — and finds himself shoved onto his back with Zoro's hand down his pajamas, he thinks maybe it's the best idea he's ever had.

Chapter Text

Once they start having sex they can't seem to stop. It's nightly hand jobs before they fall asleep, making out in the kitchen before anyone else has woken up, and Zoro seems to be particularly fond of waking Sanji up with a blow job. When Sanji confronts him about it, he smirks and tells him, “You make stupid noises in your sleep.”

Which is embarrassing but somehow makes Sanji hornier. 

Honestly, everything seems to make him horny these days. Zoro chopping potatoes. Zoro scrubbing pans. Zoro doing his stupid one-legged push-ups. 

Sanji isn't unfamiliar with this feeling, but he so closely associates it with beautiful women that it's weird Zoro is the one making him feel it. 

It settles into somewhat of a routine, and if Sanji weren't so hesitant to admit it, he'd say that this new thing with the marimo actually improves the situation of being stuck on Agate Island. He might be suffering the day-in, day-out drudgery of being an inn cook, but he's also having at least two orgasms a day. That would put a skip in any man's step.

By the time they've been at the Rosewood for a little over a month, Sanji has bought them each four work shirts and two pairs of pants. He has a steady supply of cigarettes, and he's struck up a deal with Zoro to keep buying him liquor if he will shower every other day. It's as good as things are going to get.

Sanji finds himself humming as he chops squash for the evening meal. It's been a good day. Zoro sucked him off after lunch and didn't even ask for a return favor. Instead, they'd just made out against the door of their room for far too long until Sanji had been forced to kick Zoro away lest he have no time to run to the butcher’s for bacon. Zoro was on designated laundry duty and Sanji knows he was trying to get out of it by wielding orgasms as a weapon. No fucking dice.

Voices drift into the kitchen, giving Sanji pause.

“—across town. Nobody knows though.”

He turns his attention to what the guests are talking about and slows in his chopping of the zucchini that he's planning on roasting.

“It's a shame. After what happened to the others. The police aren't doing shit.”

Sanji sets aside his knife and moves to the kitchen window. “What happened?”

It's two townspeople that he doesn't recognize. One looks vaguely familiar, perhaps one of the regulars at dinner, with cropped black hair and pockmarked skin. His companion is a ginger-haired man with a significant number of freckles. They give him twin expressions of surprise.

“Sorry,” Sanji says with practiced nonchalance, “I just overheard what you were saying. Is there news about the carpenter’s daughter?”

The ginger man scratches his neck and looks uncomfortable. “No. Ah, Geri from up the hill didn't come into work at the bakery yesterday and the police went to check on her, but she wasn't home and nobody’s heard from her. People aren't sure if she ran off or not.”

Sanji frowns. That doesn't sound promising. “Did she have reason to run off?”

“Not really,” the ginger man says. “It has a few people talking about moving out of town. Like Newport isn't safe anymore.”

Sanji doesn't know what to make of that. It's such a sleepy seaside town. Even marines don't stop here. The travelers that come through are peaceful and he hasn't run into a single pirate in the entire month they've spent working at the Rosewood. It's practically idyllic for a port town on the Grand Line.

Sanji goes back to cooking. Maybe he should talk to Zoro about all this. Do something. Not that he has any idea what that might be.

It's another slow night for diners and when Sanji returns to their room, Zoro is making their bed. It's funny to watch him struggle with the far corner, half laid out on the bed, cast wiggling in the air.

“Need some help?” Sanji asks, shutting the door behind him. “You look like you're having a hard time.”

“Fuck off, curly brows,” says Zoro as he finally manages the sheet. He sits up and plops on the edge of the bed, face slightly flushed. “You weren't stuck with laundry all day like a washerwoman.”

“That’s sexist. Men can do laundry.”

“You’re calling me sexist? Pretty hypocritical coming from you,” Zoro says while he rubs his hand over the freshly healed scar on his bare bicep. 

“Hypocritical? Where did you learn such a big word?” Sanji says as he approaches the bed and slots himself between Zoro's thighs, draping his arms over his shoulders.

Zoro tilts his head up to look at him and narrows his eyes. Sanji dips down and kisses him before he can say whatever pissy thing is on the tip of his tongue. 

Zoro nips at his mouth but not with any anger, a sort of teasing bite that has Sanji's knees going weak. Not even bothering to hold back, Sanji bears him down onto the unmade bed. Zoro drags his mouth over his chin and starts to kiss his throat. His hands have crept up under Sanji's shirt and are playing with his waistband, dipping inside that way they do when he wants to grab Sanji's ass.

It’s very distracting and what Sanji was after in the first place. He’d had a long day and absolutely wants to fool around to get his mind off the fact that bad things are happening around them. But he’d also meant to talk to Zoro about exactly that. He grumbles against Zoro’s mouth and pushes at his chest to sit up. “I wanted to talk to you.”

Zoro tugs at the front of his shirt to try to pull him back down. “After.”

Sanji accepts a few more kisses before rolling away. “I'll forget.”

“No, you won’t,” Zoro says as he moves to crawl on top of him and straddle his legs. His fingers tug at the buttons of Sanji's shirt, pulling them open, and he starts kissing over his chest.

“Just—” Sanji gasps at the feeling of Zoro’s mouth on his skin. “Fuck, ok, there was another disappearance in town today.”

Zoro hums and sucks on one of his nipples, forcing Sanji to tug on his hair to make him stop. Zoro pulls off. “What does that have to do with us?”

Sanji rubs a hand over his face. “It's just not good, is it? And I can't help but think that if Luffy were here we'd be – I don't know…trying to help. I feel like we should help.”

Zoro drops his chin onto Sanji's belly and sighs, his breath tickling Sanji’s skin. “You want to look into this.”

“I don't know,” Sanji says, dropping his hand into Zoro's hair and idly playing with the strands. It's weirdly soft and Sanji likes tugging at it when Zoro goes down on him. But it's nice like this too, just to play with. “It's four people now. Two little girls and a lady–”

“And an old cook,” Zoro interrupts.

Sanji knees Zoro in the side and Zoro lets out a short grunt of disapproval. “What if something’s happened to them?”

“In my experience,” Zoro says, “people disappear and then whoever disappeared them makes them dead pretty soon after.”

Sanji lets out a sigh. “But we can't know that.”

“You wanna play detective then?” Zoro asks, sliding his fingers up Sanji's side in a way that feels a little distracting, almost ticklish. “Your Mr. Prince bullshit?”

Sanji uses his free hand to poke Zoro’s temple. The bruise from his concussion has long faded and Sanji is as harsh as he wants to be, earning himself a scowl. “I want to help the damn town. What do you think Luffy would do?”

Zoro tips his head so his cheek rests on Sanji's belly, finally giving him a reprieve from the sharp dig of his chin. “I think Luffy would want to check in on the people suffering. The people left behind. You know him. He's not about answers. He's about what's in front of him and if he finds answers, then good enough.”

Sanji's a little shocked at how sure Zoro sounds and also how insightful it is. Has he always been like that?

“Do whatever you want,” Zoro continues. “It's not like I can do much more than clomp after you until I get this cast off. Especially if you keep harping on me about using my swords.”

“Bullshit,” says Sanji. “Even down one leg you're worth ten men.”

Zoro lifts his head and raises his eyebrows. It takes a second for Sanji to realize what he just said. A compliment. A genuine one. He flushes and tries to think of something to salvage the situation because he will not let that lie.

“I mean… I'm worth twenty,” he grumbles weakly, but Zoro is back to kissing his stomach, licking over the trail of hair that leads to his belly button.

“I want to do something different,” Zoro says into his skin, eyes flicking up to meet Sanji's. 

“Different? What do you mean?” Sanji asks with some trepidation. They've stuck to hand jobs and blow jobs and one rather memorable time they made out in bed and ground against each other until they both came in their pants. Different is new. Different means…

Zoro fiddles with the zip of Sanji’s pants. “I want to fuck your thighs. Been thinking about it.”

Sanji chokes on his own spit as he lets Zoro tug on his trousers. He lifts his hips and watches them slide down and off alongside his underwear. Zoro's hands are immediately between his legs, smoothing over the skin, wide and wanting as he spreads Sanji open.

“Yes? No? Work with me, cook.”

The thought enters Sanji's mind as Zoro looks at him, open and expectant, that Zoro is handsome. No, wait. He doesn't think of Zoro that way. He thinks of Zoro as someone he tolerates, someone he wants to do filthy unspeakable things to not…not…

“Yeah, we can – we can do that,” Sanji manages once he feels like he can breathe again. Zoro swoops down and kisses him, long and slow and lazy and Sanji can't help but run his hands over Zoro's back, urging him closer. He likes when Zoro puts his weight on him, the heavy presence warm and reassuring. He'd never fucking admit it to save his life. 

When Zoro pulls back, he shuffles off the bed for a moment, and Sanji slants himself towards the headboard so there’s more room and so he can watch as Zoro takes off his pants. Zoro rarely wears a shirt when they’re in their room and the warm light of the bedside lamp highlights the places where his golden skin puckers and shifts, scars from his past marked along his torso and arms. Zoro reaches into the nightstand and grabs a bottle that Sanji immediately recognizes.

“When did you get lube?” Sanji asks, rising up on his elbows to get a good look at what Zoro has in hand.

“I bought it at the shop down the street when you sent me for salt,” Zoro says.

“With what money?” 

“I took some of yours,” Zoro says as he climbs back into bed. Sanji scowls and punches him lightly in the arm.

“Don’t just take my money, mosshead,” Sanji grouses but Zoro clearly ignores him as he moves back between his legs and slides onto his belly to take Sanji's half-hard cock into his mouth. This is familiar and Sanji lets himself sink into it.

“Ah, Zoro, fuck,” Sanji says, grabbing at his shoulders and then fruitlessly at the bed where there are no sheets to hold onto. Zoro licks up the length of his cock and teases the head a little with a few soft sucks, meeting his eyes before he sits up and uncaps the lube.

Sanji follows, rising up before he reaches for Zoro, curling his hand around his length. It's only been three weeks since they started this, but they've been doing it a lot and he's gotten so much better at this. Knows how to draw out all the right sounds. Even if Zoro is quiet in bed, Sanji knows exactly what each change in breathing means. Now he hears a short stutter before Zoro knocks their foreheads together. “Hold on, curly. Hands to yourself for a minute.”

It sounds so affectionate that Sanji stops moving. His heartbeat ramps up and he drops back against the mattress as Zoro slicks his cock. 

Zoro lifts his legs and Sanji lets him arrange him how he pleases, thighs pushed up against Zoro's body as he braces Sanji’s ankles to one side of his head with his arm. The position is hardly a stretch. Sanji can do much more complex things with his body. But when Zoro absently presses a kiss to the side of his leg and pushes his open palm against Sanji's thigh, Sanji feels every place where his body is holding tension.

“Flex your thighs,” Zoro says. Then he scowls. “But don't snap my dick off.”

A laugh punches out of Sanji at the warning. “I'll be gentle.”

Zoro's fingers dig into his ankles and Sanji's breath catches as he tenses his muscles. He can feel Zoro's dick pressed up against the back of his legs and when Zoro pushes against the seam of his thighs, it's wet and slick as it slips inside.

He'd sort of thought that this would be for Zoro. Zoro would fuck his thighs and like it and Sanji would let him, but Sanji lays there and watches as Zoro's cock slides between his legs, the tip peeking out, flushed and leaking. From this angle, as Zoro moves, he brushes the underside of Sanji's balls, and it is fucking tantalizing.

Yeah, Sanji is going to get a lot out of this too.

Zoro's movements are lazy at first, almost like he's testing it out, and it's such a tease. Sanji's hips shift on the bed and his hand goes to his own cock, idly tugging on it as he watches Zoro. It's a pretty good show. But he wants—he thinks he wants—

“What if I was on my hands and knees?”

Zoro's hands tense on his legs. “I thought you wouldn't like that. And you’d get all pissy about feeling like a girl.”

Sanji's stomach goes wickedly hot. He is not examining that. Something must pass over his face because Zoro starts to kiss his ankles then his calves. “Yeah. Let's do it. Roll over for me.”

Zoro releases his legs down to the bed and Sanji turns over. His thighs are sticky with lube as he pushes his knees back together. His foot bumps Zoro's cast as they rearrange themselves and somehow that feels so intimate that Sanji has to grit his teeth. He's not used to that sort of feeling in these encounters. They're quick, dirty, harsh.

There's a little sharp inhale as Zoro's hands fall to his ass and unrepentantly grope him before sliding to his waist, leaving slick trails of lube behind before Zoro is back between his legs. 

Sanji was right. Like this Zoro feels closer. His cock pushes up against his balls and brushes Sanji's dick with each thrust. Sanji hangs his head to watch. It's so fucking erotic and as Zoro picks up the pace, thrusting harder against him, pelvis hitting his backside, it makes Sanji think of other things he's packed away tight in a box in a corner of his mind.

All the hand jobs and blow jobs have been good. But what about this? Honest-to-god fucking. Zoro inside him. 

The thought has him stroking his cock furiously. He's so wet, leaking like a faucet, and he knows exactly why. He can imagine that feeling. Zoro's weight on top of him and this too. Being fucked. Giving it up.

Oh shit. Oh shit.

He comes hard and tries to catch at least some of it so it doesn't hit the clean sheets, but he doesn't know how successful he is. His legs go noodly and he tries to remember to tighten up for Zoro, but it doesn't seem to matter much because Zoro makes that familiar huffing noise and pulls out, only to come all over his ass and thighs.

Sanji wants to be annoyed by it, but he feels like overcooked oatmeal. He's about to collapse on the bed when Zoro grabs him by the hips to hold him upright and a strong, wet tongue begins to lick over his skin.

He drops onto his elbows, overwhelmed. The sheets are a lost cause. He knows Zoro likes to do this. Often licking up come on his chin or on his belly but he didn't exactly expect it on this part of his body. 

When Zoro spreads him open and licks directly over his asshole, Sanji yelps, fingers digging into his own skin. Zoro makes a questioning hum and then does it again. Sanji can't deny that it feels good. Whatever hang ups he might have are washed away by the fact that his orgasm wrenched his brain from his body. He grunts out his assent and lets Zoro do as he pleases.

Soon enough, Sanji is melting into the sheets. At some point, his knees give out too and Zoro just keeps going as Sanji's brain fuzzes into oblivion. Maybe he's hard again. He doesn't know if it matters. Except Zoro stops eventually and rolls him onto his back. He snorts as Sanji looks up at him, dazed. 

“You look so stupid right now,” Zoro says. 

Sanji reaches for an insult but can't find one. “You—marimo—”

Zoro laughs and then reaches down to fist Sanji's hard cock. “Can't leave you like this, huh?”

Sanji tries to wriggle away but Zoro just takes him into his mouth, sucking him off with a ruthless efficiency developed over the last three weeks. They've always known how to push each other’s buttons and now it's true in bed too.

When Sanji comes, it's like a warm wave washing over him, easier than the first time. Zoro doesn't push it, just lets him fall from his mouth before kissing up his body while Sanji shakes in the aftermath. Sanji has this weird double vision, this moment of expectation where he thinks Zoro is going to pull him against him, hold him as they lay there, but they don't do that. The closest they come to such a thing is Sanji's early morning cuddling, which is just a mistake born from weird nighttime impulses. The thought causes his heart to pound harder than normal. He doesn’t like it.

Zoro pushes a final kiss against his collarbone and then flops onto his back beside him, starfishing out and exhaling hard.

“Get me my cigarettes,” Sanji says, because he needs to say something in order to bandage over the strange ache in his chest.

Zoro snorts. “Get your own cigarettes.”

Sanji groans and drags himself out of bed in search of his pants. He finally finds his pack of cheap cigarettes and he cracks the window, sitting on the end of the bed so he can blow smoke out into the alley. There's a seagull or some sort of shorebird perched on the trashcan the shop next door uses. It looks at him and cocks its head before flapping away.

When he finishes, he pulls on his pants to go shower. It's far too late and he's going to regret it in the morning. As he goes back into the bedroom, he sees Zoro hasn't changed the sheets (of course) and has just fallen asleep naked on the bare bed. Sanji rolls his eyes and pulls out the blanket and pillows, resigning himself to remaking the bed tomorrow.

He comes up to the bed and pokes Zoro in the face. “At least use a pillow, you stupid mossball.”

Zoro slaps at his wrist and wrinkles his nose like he’s trying to swat an errant fly. It is incongruously cute and Sanji revolts against thinking such a thing. Zoro is not cute. Ever. He rolls onto his side, away from Sanji's hand, and it allows Sanji to shove a pillow behind his head. Good enough.

Sanji tosses the blanket over the bed and climbs in himself. He's so fucking tired, wrung out from sex and the thoughts he's trying very hard to ignore.

Except just as he's drifting off, Zoro presses up against his back with a soft little hum, arm snaking around his waist. It’s under that intimate touch that Sanji’s carefully constructed excuses start to fall apart.

**

There’s something on Sanji’s chest. His limbs are heavy like there are manacles clamped around each wrist and tying down his ankles. He can barely open his eyes. When he does, he sees the thing holding him down. Its face is pale and its gaping mouth holds razor-sharp teeth. It leans over Sanji and its breath is hot on his cheek. Sanji tries to move, tries to throw the thing off, but he’s so weighted down that he can hardly even breathe.

His eyes close, heavy as lead and when they peel back open, the thing on his chest has a new face. Terrifyingly familiar. Even in the shadows of the room, Sanji would recognize his father anywhere. 

Sanji wakes up standing in the dining room. He sways on his feet for a moment and presses the heels of his hands into his eyes. It feels much like the last time he walked in his sleep. Like he didn't sleep at all.

For a moment, he leans his weight against one of the chairs, trying to gather himself. What he had seen felt so real. But here he is, walking in his sleep and obviously dreaming. That doesn’t mean his heart isn’t racing.

It’s still dark so he forces himself back to the bedroom to get ready for the morning. 

Zoro rolls over as the door opens. “Where’d you go?” he grumbles.

“Bathroom,” Sanji lies. Zoro doesn’t need to know about this new, weird thing. It's probably stress. And Sanji can handle it. “I'll go get started on breakfast. Change the sheets and make the bed once you get up. They're filthy.”

Zoro groans and shoves the pillow over his face. “It's your come on the bed. You do it,” he insists.

Sanji plucks the pillow out of his hands and Zoro scowls up at him. “I would have changed them yesterday but somebody fell asleep before I could.”

“I was tired,” Zoro says with a yawn that scrunches up his face. Sanji will not find it cute. He won't. “Fucking you like that took a lot out of me.”

Sanji's cheeks burn at his choice of words. “You came one time. Where'd your stamina go? The other night we went three rounds.”

“Oh, yeah?” Zoro grabs Sanji unexpectedly and tugs him down across his lap. “You wanna go right now?”

Sanji shoves at his face when Zoro tries to kiss him. “What? Gross. You didn't brush your teeth before going to sleep last night and I know where your mouth’s been. I'm not kissing you.”

Zoro laughs against his hand and then bites his fingers gently which makes Sanji's heart thump. He tears himself off Zoro and goes to the wardrobe to change. He doesn’t want to look at Zoro right now. He needs a fucking minute.

“Just make the bed, marimo,” Sanji says with his back turned. “I'll handle breakfast.”

He leaves Zoro to it and when he's in the kitchen, he can breathe a little easier.

Rose has loosened her grip on the running of things since Sanji has shown himself an effective employee. She's started telling him headcount the night before and no longer checks in to make sure he's present for breakfast—presumably enjoying her additional sleep—which is all to say, Sanji often has the kitchen to himself in the mornings before Zoro joins him. It’s time he relishes. Or he would, if his head weren’t such a mess.

Sanji putters around the kitchen and in the mindlessness of making the easiest breakfast dish known to man, tries not to think about the feelings that made themselves known to him the night before. He’s about as successful as a devil fruit eater trying to swim.

Sanji knows this feeling. He's felt it many times around beautiful women. This heart-pounding, life-altering, music-swelling thing and if he weren't so horrified, he'd call it a crush.

Sanji groans and sinks to the floor. He lets his head fall back against the butcher block and ignores the fact that he hasn't swept the kitchen in two days.

This is devastating. Zoro. A crush on Zoro. 

Sanji has had a lot of crushes in his life. On guests at the Baratie. On women at islands. On beautiful, perfect Nami-san who Sanji was so sure he would convince to marry him someday. But this? What the fuck is this?

Objectively, he knows it makes sense. They've been having sex constantly and at some point, emotional connections in the brain are just made. Except Sanji thinks Zoro is stupid. A directionally-challenged mossball with bad hygiene and no tact who thinks every problem can be solved with his swords. 

He closes his eyes and thumps his head back against the butcher block again.

“What's wrong with you?”

Sanji bites back another groan and opens his eyes to see Zoro standing in the doorway frowning at him. 

“I'm having a crisis.”

“Is it about breakfast?”

“No,” Sanji says. “Why would it be—no.”

“Two days ago, we ran out of tomatoes during lunch and you had a breakdown.”

“I did not have a breakdown,” Sanji says.

“Sure you didn’t,” Zoro says as he limps over to the stove on his crutch. Sanji looks at his back and his brain offers up useless information like observations about how broad his shoulders are and that Sanji wants to kiss the nape of his neck where his hair goes fine and soft.

Zoro turns around and looks down at him. He has that expression on his face like he’s really considering something. “Want me to blow you?”

Sanji puts his head in his hands. “No. Zoro. What?”

“I don't know. You always seem more relaxed after.”

Sanji's heart clenches. Oh. Zoro is trying to be nice. In his weird see-a-wall-smash-it-with-a-hammer way. 

“I'm fine,” Sanji says as he pushes himself to his feet. “I just—didn't sleep well.”

“Is this about that girl disappearing?”

That makes more sense than the truth. “Yeah, I—I think I’ll go into town after lunch and see the carpenter like we talked about. If you can handle cleaning the kitchen.”

“Whatever,” Zoro says and Sanji supposes that’s as close to a yes as he will get.

Getting through breakfast and the ensuing clean-up is grueling. Not that Zoro changes his behavior at all, but it feels different. Sanji is very aware of him, like he’s a tiger in the forest stalking his every move even though all he’s really doing is clomping around on his crutch and cleaning dishes, and, when Sanji tells him to, chopping carrots for the stew.

Finally—finally, lunch wraps up and Sanji runs to grab the money pouch Rose has finally entrusted to him so he can stop at the greengrocers on his way home from checking on Reif. 

Except Zoro follows him into the bedroom and pushes him back against the closed door to press their mouths together. This also isn’t new; more often than not, for the last two and a half weeks, they’ve spent their breaks between meals kissing and messing around in the bedroom. But now Sanji is paying attention to the way his heart is racing and to the heat in his stomach. 

It’s bad. This is so bad.

He shoves at Zoro's chest and Zoro makes a noise of disinterest against his mouth before finally pulling back.

“We didn't get to fool around this morning because you were all pissy,” Zoro says, frowning at him. “I'm horny.”

Sanji can't believe his heart actually skips a beat in response to that declaration. “I don't have time for this. I have to go get vegetables.”

Which is true but also a very convenient excuse.

Zoro drops his head onto Sanji's shoulder and lets out a breath. It seems to last for a long time and when he finally straightens up, he gives Sanji a heavy look, fingers brushing over the line of his throat, before he kisses him again. Sanji's knees go curiously buttery, and he clutches at the door behind him.

“Hop to it, curly,” Zoro says with a final kiss pressed against the corner of his mouth before he pulls away.

Sanji's heart twists in his throat. He peels himself off the door and rummages through the side table to grab the purse that Rose had given him. The little bottle of lube they used the night before seems to stare at him accusingly. He ignores it.

“Clean up the kitchen while I'm gone,” Sanji says when he straightens up. “And if you have time, start deboning the chickens. Three of them.”

Zoro grins. “You know I love the knife stuff.”

“Yes, yes, swordsman likes cutting things. What will they think of next?” Sanji says with a roll of his eyes, grateful for a moment to be able to hold onto the ability to at least mock Zoro for something. “I'm leaving.”

Zoro smacks his ass as he leaves the room and, as a parting gift, Sanji kicks him onto the bed.

**

Sanji isn't surprised that the town is somewhat locked down. It has that same subdued energy as the day Cat disappeared. It's disconcerting to walk through the usually bustling town square and see only a handful of people, moving from shop to shop—many of which have closed their doors for the day. 

The weather itself seems to have picked up on the mood of the town, turning gray and cloudy. Sanji is certain it will rain and he can only hope he's back at the Rosewood before he's caught up in it. Even with the sea breeze, it’s humid and stifling and he'd rather be back in the cool shadows of the inn.

So he decides he'll probably have to be quick as he knocks on Reif’s door, ignoring the closed sign as he can see light flickering inside. 

“Reif?” he calls, rapping his knuckles against the door again.

It creaks open, revealing the carpenter himself and Sanji is hit with a wave of sympathy. The man had looked distraught the day he had rushed into the Rosewood, but now he looks sickly. There are bags under his eyes, and he clearly hasn't showered in some time. 

Sanji’s instinctive reaction is to ask, “When was the last time you ate?”

Reif blinks at him, clearly taken aback by this near stranger bullying him about his diet on his doorstep. “I—uh—I don't know.”

“I'll cook for you.”

Without even waiting for a reply, Sanji pushes inside and into the back rooms. He takes a few wrong turns, but Sanji finds the kitchen soon enough. It's not well-stocked, but he's able to throw together a stir fry and, once it's plated and set in front of Reif at the dining table, Sanji drops in the chair across from him. “Do you mind if I smoke?”

Reif picks up his fork and gestures for him to go ahead.

Sanji lights up as he watches Reif eat, pleased to see some color come back to his cheeks. He no longer looks so worn down and it gives Sanji the type of satisfaction that he only gets from feeding someone who really needs it. He takes a moment to enjoy the taste of his truly shitty cigarette—maybe he can afford to upgrade at his next payday.

“I'm sure you heard what happened yesterday and I wanted to stop by,” Sanji ventures. Reif's eyes fly to him, immediately going watery at the corners. “I thought it might have been hard for you. Hearing about that.”

Reif swipes at his cheeks with the back of his wrists. “The police won't listen to any of us. They think Cat ran off in the middle of the night. Just like the others.”

“They're not doing much, then?” Sanji asks. 

“I told them it wasn’t like her,” Reif adds as he fiddles with his fork. “Where would she have even gone at night? She’d been having trouble sleeping because she was so afraid of the dark. Where would she run off to if she was scared like that?”

Sanji takes another drag of his cigarette. He hates to think somebody else in Newport was struggling to sleep as much as he has been. At least he isn’t afraid of the dark. Not anymore.

He encourages Reif to stop by the Rosewood for dinner sometime as he leaves and tells him that the others with missing loved ones are welcome, too. He’s hopeful things will improve for Reif if he starts getting out of the house, but there’s no guarantee. He’ll have to stop by again if the carpenter doesn’t take him up on the offer; he might not be cut out for holding the hands of worried, grieving people. But he can feed them.

Sanji glances at the clock tower. He still has errands to run and he's short on time. He’s glad he stopped by Reif’s. It seemed like the carpenter needed a friendly face but running late like this makes him irritable. He feels like he hasn't properly breathed since the day before.

When he finally gets back, Zoro is obediently halfway through deboning a chicken. It's not beautiful work but it's effective and Sanji can use the carcass to make stock.

Zoro glances up at his entry and grunts in greeting. Typical. He's so fucking annoying.

“I'll take over,” Sanji says as he sets down the bag of potatoes he bought. “Wash these and quarter them for roasting, asshole, if you think your tiny brain can manage it.”

“Don’t tell me what to do, dartbrow,” Zoro snaps and Sanji freezes where he’s standing. He hasn’t heard Zoro use that tone in days. Weeks maybe.

Sanji bares his teeth, hands sinking into the bag of potatoes as he leans forward against the butcher block. “Do we have a problem?”

“I’m tired of you ordering me around like I’m your little bitch boy. If we were on the Merry, you wouldn’t do this shit,” Zoro says as he slams the knife down on the block and hops around to the sink to wash his hands.

“If we were on the Merry, you wouldn’t be helping me at all,” Sanji says and if he had better grip strength, he’d be at risk of crushing the potato in his hand. Saying it forces him to admit to himself that having Zoro in the kitchen has been nice. He’s liked it. He’s been happy. He grinds his teeth and refuses to turn to look at Zoro. “If you need a break, then fine. Take a day off. I don’t care.”

Zoro huffs out a breath and shuts off the tap behind him. “I’m not trying to leave you high and dry. I’m just–”

He breaks off and Sanji doesn’t care to press for further details. He needs to finish the chicken so he moves to the other side of the butcher block to do just that.

He stares at the chicken meat as he separates it from the bone. Zoro has grabbed the potatoes and is busy furiously washing them in the sink. The slate blue work shirts that Sanji had bought both of them hug Zoro a little tighter than they do Sanji and he can see exactly how tense Zoro is through the fabric. 

Just when Sanji starts to think dinner is going to be prepped entirely in rigid silence, Zoro says, still clearly angry, “Do you know how irritating it is to sit around waiting for Luffy to come back and be stuck inside doing chores every single fucking day? I can’t even train because my leg’s busted. Give me a second to be a little pissed off at the situation, ok?”

The knife in Sanji's hand falters and his palm skids over the chicken meat. “And that's my fault, how?”

“Did I say it was?” Zoro snaps as he turns around and drops the potatoes on the block. His hands fist on the counter as he stares Sanji down. “I'm not trying to take it out on you, curly, but you were being a dick. Just let me be pissed off for five seconds.”

A little thread of guilt weaves through Sanji's stomach. He'd been mindlessly, needlessly mean because that's what they do. He's just used to it and because it feels good to lash out. What a shitty thing to admit. Maybe they both are beginning to feel the pressures of being stuck inside and, for Zoro, there's the added cabin fever feeling that comes from illness and injury. 

He can only imagine the whole situation is worse for Zoro who isn't used to doing kitchen chores at all hours. These are things Sanji has done his whole life. It's not fair to him and maybe Sanji should find some time to give him a break or at least send him out of the inn. Maybe they both could—

“And you’ve been pissy all day,” Zoro adds as he methodically chops the potatoes. The steady thump of the knife is almost a distraction from the thing he says next. “We haven’t even fucked.”

Sanji has to stop slicing the chicken because he is absolutely at risk of messing up what he’s doing in response to that statement. “You’re throwing a tantrum because we haven’t had sex?” 

Zoro puts down his knife, grabs his crutch, and limps over to grab the roasting pan. When he comes back and places it on the block, he says, “I was horny all afternoon and you weren’t here.”

“Can’t you jerk off like a normal person?” Sanji says, exasperated. He’s forced to acknowledge he has not jerked off at all since he and Zoro started this thing. There’s been no point. Every time he even has the ghost of a sexual thought he just…finds Zoro.

“Jerking off’s a waste of time,” Zoro says, tossing the potatoes one at a time into the pan. “I’d rather have your mouth on my dick.”

“Can you not—can we not have this conversation in the kitchen?” Sanji says despite the fact that talking about this is actively making him horny. He will not get a boner while he’s knuckle deep in chicken meat.

“Whatever,” Zoro says. “It's not like I wouldn't suck you off too.”

“That is not the problem I'm having with—” Sanji breaks off and forcibly tries not to grind his teeth. “If you would just shut up  I was going to offer to let you out of the inn tomorrow.”

“I said I didn't need a day off.” Zoro puts his knife down. “The potatoes are done.”

“Salt them,” Sanji says with a quick look over Zoro's work. His knife cuts have gotten better, more even. “I meant that I don't have any errands to run tomorrow so if we're on top of things, we could go get a drink before dinner.”

When Zoro continues to just look at him like the dumb rock he is, Sanji rolls his eyes. “Or I could send you to the butcher next time I need pork.”

Zoro scoffs and limps to the other counter for the salt. “You know how to spoil a guy,” he says without much inflection. “Are you willing to spend your precious money on me?”

“Zoro, it's our money. You work too.”

“Alright, cook,” Zoro says when he returns to the block. “Whatever.”

It irritates Sanji as much as ever to have Zoro drop his little whatever on him, but Sanji also needs to get the roasting pan for the chicken, so he ignores him in favor of getting on with dinner prep.

It's only after everything's in the oven that he realizes that he's doomed himself to more time with Zoro. More time with Zoro outside of bed. Outside the Rosewood.

He's such a fucking idiot.

Dinner is a little more lively than the night before, but Sanji still ends up with more leftovers than he'd planned for. He's already running over ways he might be able to repurpose the chicken by the time they go to bed around midnight, and he's also tired enough that he knows he’s going to have to shower in the morning. Whatever horrible sleep he had the night before really took it out of him. 

That is all to say he's very distracted when Zoro pushes him down on the bed and starts kissing his neck. 

“Do we get to fuck now?” Zoro asks, sliding his hand under Sanji's shirt to splay over his stomach.

Sanji's heart is hammering so hard he thinks his ribs might break. He's very purposefully tried to distract himself from his feelings all day but with Zoro on top of him, looking at him with that familiar focused expression, Sanji is starting to fall apart. 

“You said you wanted me to blow you, right?” Sanji says, sliding out from under him so Zoro can lay back against the headboard. Somehow this seems reasonable to Sanji. He won't be saying no to sex. But blow jobs aren’t romantic.

Except it's Zoro's hands in his hair, fingers at his temples. It's listening to the delicate cadence of his breath and when he looks up, it's the heavy weight of Zoro's gaze right on him like it means something. And yeah Sanji's going to come from this.

He groans around the cock in his mouth and manages to thrust his hips against the bed once before he comes in his boxers.

Zoro brushes his hair from his face and swears. “Fuck. It's so hot when you come from sucking cock.”

Sanji whines, feeling like his brain is going to trickle out of his ears as Zoro comes in his mouth. He swallows it down and even then, Zoro still pulls him up after and kisses the taste from his mouth.

“I've gotta brush my teeth,” Sanji says, untangling himself from the kiss. 

Zoro tosses his arm over his face but says nothing. Sanji didn't expect him to. What would he even say? Thanks for sucking me off? 

When Sanji comes back to bed, Zoro isn't snoring yet and Sanji decides that it's humid enough he'll just sleep in his underpants. Clean ones at least.

Zoro makes a small noise of recognition when he gets into bed and once more, just like the night before, slides over and grabs him. This time though he hums and says, “Are you naked?”

“I'm not naked, idiot marimo,” Sanji grumbles, elbowing him. “It's hot.”

His mouth brushes over the nape of Sanji's neck. “Idiot cook,” he says in response. Then he adds, “You should be naked more.”

Sanji sighs and listens to the sounds of his breathing change as he falls asleep. 

He can't help but wish Luffy would come get them sooner rather than later. Maybe that would put a stop to whatever's going on in his heart.

Chapter Text

Sanji will not think about the bad choices he is making.

He is taking Zoro on a walk like the dog he is. Airing out the plant matter so it doesn't get too moldy.

He can tell himself that except now he's standing in the entry of the Rosewood, listening to Zoro clatter around the kitchen, and all he can think about is the fact that he's about to voluntarily spend leisure time with him. 

It's almost a relief to turn to Iris and find her familiar glare.

“Hi, chickadee,” he says, and she makes a face at him which he ignores. “Can you keep an eye on the kitchen for us while we're gone?”

Iris doesn't exactly sneer but the blank look she gives him is definitely rude. “Why should I?”

Sanji sighs just as Zoro hops down onto the lower step from the dining room. He turns to Iris and says, “It would help us out if you could.”

Iris looks like someone has smacked her and she buries her face in the guestbook. “Yeah, sure, I'll make sure no one goes in.”

They leave the inn and as Zoro starts to navigate the street with his crutch, Sanji lets out a huff of irritation. “It's not fair that she likes you so much.”

Zoro pauses and raises an eyebrow. “Jealous?”

Sanji splutters. “I—no—why would I—”

His distress seems to entertain Zoro who laughs and continues his way down the street. It takes Sanji a moment to realize he is going the wrong direction. “Marimo, stop. This way.”

Zoro about faces, teeters for a second and almost loses his balance on the uneven cobblestones before he frowns. He so rarely has any difficulty with his cast that Sanji laughs at him which earns him a glare before Zoro says, “I am five seconds from chucking this damn crutch in the trash.”

“Did you go see Halloran to see when you could get the cast off?”

Zoro grumbles before catching up with Sanji. “Two weeks.”

He leads Zoro down to the harbor. Zoro follows after him in silence and it prompts Sanji to ask, “How'd you even break your leg? Do you know?”

“That sea monster had you underwater for too long so I jumped in and it managed to get me in its mouth before a cannonball hit my leg.”

“A fucking cannonball?” Sanji asks incredulously. “How do you have any leg left?”

“I think the monster’s head took most of the impact,” Zoro says, like that's a totally normal situation and he's not a freak of nature.

Sanji scrubs a hand over his forehead. He's done some reckless things, but sometimes he thinks Zoro might be insane. “I could have handled myself.”

“Maybe. But you'd be stuck on this island alone if I hadn't done it.”

Sanji considers that. He wonders if it would be better. Unwillingly, he thinks of messy midnight kisses and searching hands underneath the covers. It feels like too much, this rush of feeling that makes his heart feel so big he can taste it on the back of his tongue. It’s so stupid to feel this way. Why does he feel this way?

He should probably say something mean, sarcastic and biting. That would be normal. What would be mean but not too mean? Something to toss across the space between them like an opening volley? “You think I need help from a mossball like you?”

Zoro scowls at him. “You wanna fight, shitty cook?”

“Too bad you can't,” Sanji says, and it feels good to be back at it. Like stretching his legs. “You don't even have your swords.”

Zoro hits him in the stomach with his crutch and Sanji, winded, falls against the nearest building. “You dirty rat bastard,” he hisses.

“I thought you said I couldn't fight.” Zoro has a shitty look on his face that Sanji wants to smack off.

Sanji rises back up and considers kicking him into the opposite building. “Don’t be so fucking smug. It doesn't suit you.”

“It suits me just fine,” Zoro says before he sucks on his teeth like a bitch.

“When you have that cast off, I'm gonna owe you so many ass kickings you're gonna be dead on the ground from how hard I'm going to slam you into it,” Sanji says, getting in Zoro's face and shoving at his chest. Zoro barely moves in response. Instead, he grabs Sanji’s waist and tugs on him.

“Sounds hot,” Zoro says and then he kisses Sanji in broad fucking daylight in the middle of the street.

By sheer instinct and habit, Sanji kisses back, hand fisting in Zoro's shirt for a split second before he grunts in realization and steps back. “What the hell, marimo?”

Zoro seems unbothered and continues his way down the street, which forces Sanji to hurry after him for the simple fact that Zoro can and will get them stranded in the middle of the ocean if Sanji lets him take the lead.

“Why are we even going down to the docks? Isn't there a bar near the inn?” Zoro grouses as they round the corner towards the boardwalk.

“I thought you'd want to see the ocean if you were that irritated about being stuck inside,” Sanji says as he jams a cigarette into his mouth and lights it. “How long has it been since we ended up here? Five weeks?”

“Six,” Zoro says, and the word holds a strange edge that makes Sanji look over at him. Zoro has stopped walking, leaning his weight onto his crutch, and his eyes are fixed on Sanji, a little pinch between his brows. “The ocean isn't that important to me.”

Sanji grinds the filter of his cigarette between his teeth for a moment before plucking it away so he can exhale the smoke in his lungs. “You said you wanted to be back on the Merry.”

“Because of the crew,” Zoro says. “And being able to fucking train.”

That startles a laugh out of Sanji before he turns away to keep walking. “No dumbbells on the boardwalk, mosshead. You'll have to make do with the ocean and a damn drink.”

Even if Zoro doesn't miss it, Sanji does. The sound of the water lapping at the docks is soothing and reminds Sanji of the Merry and the Baratie too. It helps remind him that no matter what false happiness he's finding here, he'd rather be at sea.

They slip into the first bar they find, a place with a lurid pink and gold sign called Dee’s. Sanji should have known by that simple fact what he'd find inside. 

Zoro nudges in behind him and immediately starts laughing. “Nice pick, curly.”

The pink carpet is a bit of an eyesore and the gold trim is certainly gaudy. At least the leopard print couches look comfortable.

Sanji moves out of the way so Zoro can hop inside and then cuffs him on the back of the head for being a dick. “You don't get to complain after all your bitching and moaning. I've brought you here out of the kindness of my heart, asshole.”

“Who was bitching and moaning?” Zoro says with a scowl. “Sounds like something you'd do.”

It's not even worth it to extend the effort to roll his eyes. “What do you want to drink?”

“Whatever’s strongest,” Zoro says, moving to the nearest couch and dropping onto it. He kicks up his cast and props it on the low glass table in front of him as he leans his crutch against the arm of the sofa. 

Sanji goes to the bar to relay this stupidly nonspecific order and when he looks over the other people in the place, it’s just two older men at a table drinking in silence. Sanji wonders if the place ever picks up. He can only imagine one in the afternoon isn't exactly a high traffic time.

Apparently, whatever is “strongest” on Agate Island is a clear liquor that smells like cleaner. When the bartender pours two glasses of it for Sanji, he winks at him and says, “Enjoy that, handsome.”

Sanji freezes. He doesn’t think he’s ever been flirted with by a man. It flusters him. If it were a woman, he'd lean back over the bar and say something sweet, but Zoro is about twenty feet away and they are sleeping together and the thought of flirting with another man makes Sanji's guts twist up. So he just pays and takes the drinks over to where Zoro is sitting and hands over one of the glasses.

Zoro takes it and swallows nearly half in one gulp, making Sanji wince. He looks at the cup in consideration as Sanji sits down beside him.

“Not bad.”

“You have no taste,” Sanji says before taking his own sip and confirming that ‘cleaner’ wasn’t a far off assessment.

Zoro is clearly relishing his drink without any effort to take it slow. “You didn't have to get the same stuff.”

“It was cheap,” Sanji replies, already digging out a cigarette so he can light up. He so rarely gets to smoke inside that it feels like a bit of a treat.

The taste of smoke curls around the sharp bitter flavor of the alcohol and makes it a little easier to stomach as Sanji works on his drink slowly. He can already feel it burning in his belly and loosening his limbs.

Zoro, on the other hand, looks completely unaffected as he asks, “What do you wanna do?”

Sanji frowns and tips the cigarette into one of the provided ash trays. “What are you talking about?”

“You said you went and talked to that carpenter yesterday. You were all twitchy about it.”

Sanji frowns at Zoro and rolls the taste of alcohol in his mouth. It’s making his spit thick. “I spoke to him. He’s doing the best he can, but it’s hard. His daughter’s missing. I offered to cook for him, but I don’t know what else I can do.”

Zoro scratches his cheek thoughtfully. It knocks against his earrings, and they tinkle. “I could talk to people.”

“And how would that be any better than me talking to people?”

“I don’t know. Maybe you were creepy.”

“Creepy?” Sanji repeats, voice screeching up an octave. “And what would you be better at? Hulking around and scowling at people? Would you try to intimidate them into talking to you?”

“Maybe I’d use my charm and good looks,” Zoro says in that same shitty way that lets Sanji know he’s teasing. His tone is a little flatter, tongue tucked up over one of his incisors like he thinks he’s cute or something.

“What charm?” Sanji asks as he reaches out with his free hand to scrub it through Zoro’s hair. “What good looks? You're just a patch of grass that can walk and talk.”

Zoro leans in close, breath hot on Sanji's neck. “Is that why you’re fucking me, cook?”

It sends a shiver over him, and he pushes Zoro away. “Stop being a dick.”

“You were a dick first,” Zoro says with a huff, but it doesn’t sound irritated. 

Sanji drains his drink and rescues Zoro’s cup as well. “I’m getting us another round.”

The second cup goes down a little easier now that he’s not entirely sober. The couch also feels significantly more comfortable when he falls back into it. He lists to the side until he presses against Zoro. His body is warm and, even though what Sanji is doing is probably weird, he doesn't shove him off.

“How are you drunk already?” Zoro asks and Sanji realizes he's put his hand on Zoro's thigh and has started to play with the seam of his pants.

“I'm not drunk,” says Sanji. His skin feels a little tight, his cheeks hot, but there's no way he's drunk. Zoro shrugs and finishes his drink before setting it on the table by his foot. Sanji realizes he's still touching Zoro, still leaning into him. It's very satisfying, soothing some itch inside him as his thoughts slow to syrup.

He thinks of the first time he had gotten even remotely tipsy around Zoro—around the crew. Probably at Cocoyashi. It had been nice to drink with people his own age for once instead of surly old cooks. Zoro had seemed so sullen to Sanji’s eyes, making smart remarks that had made him think there was no chance they’d ever get along. Now he understands that's just how Zoro is. How he relates to other people. 

“I miss the crew,” Sanji admits as Zoro's hand comes down on top of his where he’s still fiddling with the fabric of his pants in a clear effort to put a stop to his fidgeting. But it also doesn't leave. 

It just sits there, palm pressed down across his knuckles. It’s almost like they’re holding hands which shouldn't be a big deal—they've literally sucked each other's dicks—and yet Sanji's heart leaps up his throat.

“This won’t be forever,” Zoro says. “Luffy will come for us. You know he will.”

Sanji tears his eyes away from where their hands meet and looks at him. He’s still facing the bar, giving Sanji a view of his profile. Objectively, Sanji knows the way he is feeling is the byproduct of too much sex and forced proximity and yet, he can’t stop the way his body reacts. Deciding he doesn’t want to deal with it, he drops his forehead against Zoro’s shoulder because it’s better than looking at him. They should talk about something else. Something distracting.

“Who do you think would win in a fight? Luffy or Robin-chan?” Sanji asks because it’s the first thing that occurs to him.

Zoro snorts. “Stupid question. Luffy wins all his fights.”

Sanji rolls his head over to look up at his ear. “But Robin could hold him down with her hands. She has so many. It's sexy.”

“You’re such a pervert,” Zoro says with a little click of his tongue against his teeth.

Sanji pinches Zoro’s thigh in protest which earns him a slap to the wrist. “You have to have thought about it. What that many hands could—”

“Cook,” Zoro says in warning.

“What about Luffy? He’s got that rubber body. You could bend his legs—”

“I do not think about Luffy that way,” Zoro says, sounding mildly aghast. “Do you think about Luffy…”

“No!” Sanji says, rolling up into a seated position. He blinks at Zoro and decides he should finish his drink. The ice clinks against the glass as the liquor burns its way down his throat. “Before you, I didn’t really notice men. But I think they're probably good. Not as good as women. Who are beautiful and perfect.”

Zoro's face does something weird before an obvious blush spreads across his cheeks. Sanji doesn’t think he’s ever seen him blush before and his stomach cartwheels.

He grabs the empty glass from Sanji's hand and sets it on the table before standing. “Alright, cook, we should be getting back before you do anything stupid. Or more stupid than usual.” 

Sanji is a little dumbstruck as he follows suit, and the alcohol makes his legs go wobbly. He never wants to drink that cleaner again.

Together, they manage their way up the street and honestly, it's probably Sanji's fault because he's feeling tipsy, and Zoro is right there but they end up in an alley making out against the dirty brick wall of a flower shop.

Sanji presses Zoro back and feels awash in some odd feeling. It's this stupid crush. It's the memory of the look on Zoro's face on that ridiculous leopard print couch but Sanji can't help the way he is. The way he wants and wants and wants.

It's Zoro that breaks it up in the end, knocking their foreheads together a little harder than necessary. “C'mon, curly, we gotta get back to start on dinner or you'll get pissy.”

Sanji knows he's right, but he's also feeling horny now despite the fact that they've kissed for so long that he's pretty much sober. “Fine,” he groans. “Fuck. Ok.”

“You don't want to fuck in some alley anyway.”

“What do you know?” Sanji says as he adjusts himself so he can reasonably walk the rest of the way back to the inn. Zoro follows after him at a slightly slower pace.

“You’ve complained about being on the floor when all we were doing was making out,” he replies as they make the final turn to the Rosewood. 

“I hadn't swept!” Sanji protests.

“Did you sweep that alley?”

“It's not like we were going to roll around on the ground,” Sanji insists but he holds open the door for Zoro. 

“That’s what you think,” says Zoro as he hops past him, and Sanji tries to piece together what that means. He would not have sex on the ground in a dirty alley.

They end up short on time for dinner – Zoro was right. Not that Sanji will tell him that – so Sanji makes a quick fried rice that always goes over well. Zoro eats a plate of it, standing over the sink and stuffing his face that way he does like someone is about to yank the food out from under him.

“You’re a brute. Can't you eat with any manners?” Sanji asks as he hip checks him out of the way so he can start cleaning the rice pot.

Zoro hip checks him back and tosses his empty plate in the water. “Doesn’t it mean I like the food, shit cook?”

“You can’t compliment the food and call me shit in the same sentence,” Sanji says, bristling.

“You’re shit for other reasons,” Zoro says, turning to face him as he leans against the edge of the sink.

“Such as?” Sanji asks, and it feels like flirting. But not his normal flirting. Instead, it’s weird, needling, playful teasing, and his ears start to burn. Maybe he should just be grateful that he’s not turning into a pile of simpering mush around Zoro. That would be pathetically obvious, and he would never live it down.

“Silly eyebrows,” Zoro says and Sanji splutters, ready to say something back but Zoro’s clearly pleased with himself, a little smirk on his face as he reaches up and tugs at a lock of Sanji’s hair. “Stupid hair.”

“You’re making fun of my hair?” Sanji asks incredulously.

“You make fun of mine,” Zoro says and his fingers dust over Sanji’s ear which is unfair so he just returns his focus to the dishes. 

“That’s because your hair is stupid,” Sanji mutters as he scrubs mercilessly at the pot in his hands.

Zoro flicks him on the neck before starting to move around the kitchen to put things away. It gives Sanji a moment of peace to put himself back together. 

He doesn’t know why this is happening. Zoro had been right. Sex feels good and they have nothing better to do. It’s not some expression of feeling. He doesn’t need to have a crush. He doesn’t need to like their ridiculous fights and bickering and the way that Zoro is stupid and bullheaded and the actual worst. But he does. He can feel it. It fills up that empty spot inside him that he always thought would be filled by a beautiful woman. His perfect, faceless future wife who would make him happier than he’s ever been, giving him the romance and love that he’s always wanted. It's terrifying to admit that he has been happier. Because of Zoro.

He hangs his head and groans. Not fucking good at all. What is he supposed to say to Zoro? Hey, I think you sucked my cock so good that I’m falling in love with you? It's terrifying to even consider. He can just imagine Zoro’s face, that flat look. Fuck. Would he laugh?

Sanji is so fucking pathetic.

Eventually, Zoro reappears beside him and helps him dry the dishes. It’s blessedly silent. Maybe he can sense Sanji’s mood. Not that it matters. Sanji’s just grateful he doesn’t have to talk. He thinks he might snap Zoro’s head off if he tried to start a conversation with him. 

And when Zoro gets handsy when he comes back from his shower and gets in bed, Sanji shrugs him off, citing exhaustion from the day and headache from the alcohol.

Zoro grunts and pushes a kiss against his mouth that nearly has him crumbling. But it’s a bad idea given the mood that he’s in. 

Then Zoro rolls over and falls asleep in that easy way of his, leaving Sanji oddly aroused and distinctly twisted up over every emotion that he can’t seem to push away.

Sleep takes a long time to come and when it does, Sanji is once more drawn into that half-awake place, an odd pressure on his chest. He feels too hot as something tickles over his fingers like little bugs in the dark. The sensation turns sharp like burning, like the flesh is melting off his hands. He’s so sure there’s something in the doorway, someone waiting to come in. To crawl up onto the bed and strangle them both and he just needs to wake up. If he doesn’t wake up, it’s his fault if anything happens. Always his fault. A scream traps itself in his throat and he thinks he’d be having a panic attack if he were truly awake, but his heart just thumps and thumps and he can’t move.

His eyes peel open and in his peripheral vision he can see Zoro asleep beside him. Zoro jerks, a horrible noise echoing in his chest as blood bubbles from his mouth. Sanji tries to roll over and do something. He can’t move. All he can do is blink as Zoro convulses and chokes beside him.

Something grabs his arm and Sanji sucks in a huge breath like he’s just come up from the depths of the sea. The air feels cold in his lungs, and he hears his name as his eyes shoot open to the gray dark of the room that’s been his home for nearly six weeks.

“Sanji,” Zoro urges, leaning over him. He tugs on Sanji’s sleep shirt. “Wake up.”

Sanji stares up at him, confused for a moment as he readjusts to a reality besides that crushing fear that had been squeezing down on his heart. He tries to breathe, and it comes in a huge shuddering wave. There are tears in his eyes. He blinks them away quickly. Zoro’s face pinches before he rolls over and turns on the bedside lamp.

The light calms him as he sits up and he looks down at his hands. They look normal, the skin intact. When he glances back at Zoro, his face is its normal golden hue, slightly flushed from sleep. He's awake. Alive.

“Sorry,” Sanji says. His voice is rough so he clears his throat. “I don’t know what—did I wake you up?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Zoro says, turning back to look at him. “You wanna…talk about it?”

“Hell no,” Sanji says immediately. He rubs at his throat where it feels like he’s been screaming. “Did I make any noise?”

“Not really,” Zoro says. “Sort of twitching and…” He hesitates. “I didn’t like the sounds you were making.”

Sanji grunts in understanding, embarrassed to have been caught out. Zoro reaches for him and tugs on his shirt again, this time to urge him to lay back on the pillows. Zoro lays down with him and they tangle together, Zoro half on top of him in the worst approximation of a cuddle that Sanji can imagine. It feels good to have him near. There’s this horrible impression that Sanji can’t shake, that image of Zoro in the bed beside him.

Sanji focuses on the warmth of Zoro’s body. How real he feels. Slowly, his touch turns from soothing to something different, something familiar. Sanji shifts against the bed, hand curling against Zoro’s bare back. It’s not surprising really, after all that fear, to find himself wanting to feel something else. Something good. 

“I—could we—”

Zoro rolls his hips and shifts his leg over to press against where Sanji is clearly half-hard. “You trying to fuck, curly?”

“Yes,” Sanji admits with no little amount of irritation at Zoro’s choice of words. “Can you not be so crass about it?”

Zoro moves to be on top of him, bracing himself up on his hands. Sanji takes in the way his body looks, bare and stretched out above him, and reaches up to play with his earrings because he can’t help himself at this point. He just thinks Zoro is beautiful and touching him eases the persistent ache that never seems to leave him ever since he realized how he feels. Maybe he can just let himself have this for five fucking minutes.

Zoro presses his face into Sanji’s palm before sliding one hand under Sanji's shirt so he can lay it against his stomach. “How do you want it?”

Sanji thinks about that night, Zoro between his legs, and that strange desire that had surged inside him. Now, shaken from his dream, he feels needy and full of a disturbed want, like sand kicked up at the bottom of a river.

“Would you fuck me?” he asks, ignoring the way the words make him burn.

Zoro's hand slips to the edge of his waist. “I thought that's what we were talking about.”

“No, I mean really fuck me,” Sanji says meaningfully, unable to look Zoro directly in the eye. 

Zoro is quiet for far too long, and it forces Sanji to meet his gaze. He's staring down at him with an intensity he usually reserves for when he's training. “You would want that?”

“I'm asking, mossheaded bastard,” Sanji says, regretting it more every second.

Zoro drops down and kisses the crux of his neck, scraping his teeth for good measure. “I guess this is the part where I tell you I haven't done it that way very much.”

Sanji's breath is already coming faster but he can't let that slip by. “Wait. How many—how many times?”

“Two or three. Maybe?” Zoro says, mouth still on his neck, his collarbone. “Too much effort.”

He rises up on his knees and starts to unbutton Sanji's shirt with a certain type of determination that makes Sanji forget that they were both just asleep. There’s an energy behind it, a drive that he feels too. He always feels it when they come together like this. Maybe he even felt it before. When they fought. Maybe that’s why they came to blows.

“If you don't want to…” Sanji says, offering him an out, but Zoro's already tugging at him, trying to get him to take off his clothes.

“Do you know the sorts of things I’ve imagined doing to your ass?” Zoro says absently as Sanji sits up and lets him shove his shirt off his shoulders.

“If you wanted to, why didn’t you ask?” Sanji says, annoyed as Zoro gropes at his waist and starts to pull at his pants. 

“And have you get all scandalized about having to be the girl? Fat fucking chance.”

Sanji makes a noise of irritation when Zoro tosses his pants onto the floor, leaving him just as naked as Zoro. “Who says? What if I want to get fucked? What if I want you to fuck me? Why does that make me the girl?”

Zoro tries to shove him back on the bed, but he refuses to go. Zoro grabs his arms and Sanji grabs back. There's that push and pull that's so familiar and they grapple for a moment until Zoro gives up and flops onto his back beside him. 

“It doesn’t,” Zoro says as he stares at the ceiling. “You're just really hot and you've got good legs and I want them wrapped around my waist. You got a problem with it?”

It sounds so simple when Zoro says it like that. He rolls over and gets the lube from the bedside table, tossing it onto the bed as he slides back between Sanji's legs. “You gonna let me do this or are you gonna keep putting up a fight?”

Sanji was sixteen when he saw his first and only piece of homosexual pornography. It was an illustrated insert in a magazine he frequently stole from the older cooks. It featured a rather willowy man bent over a couch being fucked in the ass by a huge musclebound guy. Sanji had thrown the thing away immediately. 

That is all to say, he sort of knows how this goes, but he also has no idea.

Sanji spreads his legs to accommodate Zoro between them, hooking his heel against the back of his thigh to encourage him to come closer. Zoro does, dropping down onto his hand so that he can kiss Sanji. And that's good. It's so fucking good that Sanji melts into the bed, animosity forgotten as the warmth and weight of Zoro's body presses down on him. Sanji's arousal thrums steadily in his gut and he thinks again about how much the idea of this turned him on. He’ll take whatever Zoro might give him. It feels desperate and obscene and needy, but he's come to realize that’s just who he is when he has feelings like this. 

When Zoro pulls away, he moves to adjust Sanji's legs, hooking them over his arms and then pressing them up and back. It reminds him of the other night a week ago, but this time Zoro pushes his legs open and thumbs lightly against the skin behind his balls.

Sanji shivers as he drags his finger down, rubbing it gently over his asshole and making Sanji twitch in surprise at the sensation. Zoro grins down at him before reaching for the lube so he can wet his fingers. It is unbearably intimate to feel him press back against him, slick and cool as Sanji's body gives way and Zoro's finger slips inside. 

“Fuck,” Sanji gasps, curling up into his own leg as he grabs at his thighs just to hold onto something.

He can feel himself unwind as Zoro pets over his stomach before curling down so he can drop kisses to his knees and thighs as he starts to move his hand. It feels strange but also good, like a sweet sort of stretch with an edge of almost pleasure. Like if Zoro moved just right, he would be doused in sensation. 

He sucks in a breath and shifts his hips, reaching down to play with his own cock before Zoro pulls back and pushes in a second finger.

“You look good like this,” Zoro says and then he moves his hand in a way that does exactly what Sanji thought it would, wringing out a sensation that nearly drowns him. He gasps and digs his fingers into his own leg, releasing his cock for fear of doing actual damage.

Zoro does it again. And again and again until Sanji drops one of his feet to kick at him. “Stop, fuck, I’m going to come if you keep doing that.”

“Maybe I want you to.”

“Maybe I want to come while you fuck me,” Sanji snaps. He's not sure if he even can but he imagines what it might be like, and he thrums with the possibility.

Zoro withdraws his fingers and moves to slick his cock. It's weirdly erotic to watch him touch himself like that, eyes still on Sanji, as he passes his hand lightly over himself. Then he moves closer and pushes against the furl of Sanji's body and Sanji gasps as he sinks inside.

He’d be caught up in the strange feeling, the stretch he can feel down to his toes, if Zoro didn’t make a noise. It’s the first noise Zoro has ever made while they’re having sex outside of that harsh exhale when he orgasms and the occasional instruction or dirty comment. The sound of it, this rolling groan of satisfaction, makes Sanji feel like he’s been punched in the gut. 

“Zoro,” he gasps, fisting his hands in the blankets as Zoro presses down on his thighs and keeps him folded open so he can push entirely inside. Sanji's face feels strange and tingly, and Zoro pauses when he glances up at him.

“Is your nose bleeding?” he asks, his voice is tight but even through it, Sanji can hear the disbelief.

Sanji brings his fingers up to his face and touches his upper lip only to find they've come away a bright, slick red.

“Shit,” he says, trying to stuff down the embarrassment that threatens to rise inside him. Anger rushes in to replace it. “Fuck. Get off me.”

Zoro pulls back and slips out which feels wrong. Sanji immediately aches as he sits up and swipes under his nose. This would happen to him. 

Zoro grabs at his wrist, tugging it away before he leans forward and licks at Sanji's bloody lips. Sanji jerks back. “What the hell?”

“You think I care about a little blood in my mouth?” Zoro asks, looking like he might fight Sanji if it came down to it.

Sanji blinks at him. He realizes Zoro is right. He'd forgotten the simple fact that both of them have taken hits that knocked their teeth bloody. That have slammed bile and blood onto their tongues. What does a fucking nosebleed matter in the end?

Sanji laughs at how utterly ridiculous it is that his nose is bleeding and at Zoro for being ridiculous too. “You're disgusting.”

Zoro pushes his thumb into Sanji's upper lip, smearing the slowing trickle of blood there before slipping his finger into his mouth and hooking it over his teeth. Then he pulls away. “Mr. Nosebleed says I'm disgusting? I'm not sure that tracks.”

Sanji makes a face at him, but Zoro just slides his hand into his hair, cupping the side of his jaw which Sanji finds annoyingly soothing. His expression shifts and even though he’s still frowning, it doesn’t have its usual angry edge.

“Do you wanna stop?” Zoro offers.

“No,” Sanji answers. He really doesn't. It had been good. He wants it to be good again.

He slips a hand around Zoro’s neck and tugs him into a kiss. Blood smears between their mouths and the metallic edge of it reminds Sanji of what it’s like to really fight and also of Zoro. He can't help but sink into it, that steady way they always kiss each other like maybe at some point one of them will come out on top but right now, it doesn’t matter.

Zoro pushes ruddy kisses over his jaw as they fall back against the pillows and he palms over Sanji’s dick, stroking him back to hardness with slow touches. Sanji tries not to squirm as he reaches down to return the favor, only to find Zoro’s cock tacky with lube and precome and the memory of how it had felt—mostly the noise, that fucking noise, has Sanji huffing into Zoro’s neck. “Can we just—”

“You want my dick that bad?”

Sanji shifts so he can wrap one of his legs around Zoro’s hip and drive his heel into his ass. “I’m reconsidering it.”

Zoro pulls back, rising up onto his knees. He looks more self-satisfied than Sanji would usually put up with, but Sanji’s whole body feels hot and, pathetic as it is to admit, he does want Zoro’s dick.

It takes a moment for Zoro to fish the lube out of the sheets and slick himself once more, but it’s worth it when he pushes Sanji’s legs back and fits his cock against him once more. It’s different now that Sanji knows what to expect as his body gives way to the feeling, that stretch from before, as Zoro eases inside.

It’s oddly gentle at first when Zoro starts to move, hands on his thighs to hold him open, shallow thrusts that don’t feel like enough. Sanji shudders as he tugs at Zoro’s arms, at his back, trying to drag him down, to make him fucking do it. 

When Zoro finally pushes all the way inside, Sanji gasps and in the moments after, it's like Sanji is being washed away, eroded entirely. Every time Zoro fucks into him, another sound is pulled right from his throat. He tries not to be too loud, to not disturb the rest of the inn, but he doesn’t know how else to handle this feeling except to fucking fall apart.

Because Sanji had been right. He does like this. The weight of another person on top of him, splitting him open, using him for their own pleasure. 

What he wants now though, is to be able to move. He needs some control over this. He shifts beneath Zoro to drop his legs and catch them around his hips. It changes the angle; he starts to feel that pressurized pleasure from when Zoro’s fingers were inside him as he cants his body up to meet Zoro's.

Zoro must like it because he gusts out a breath and drops his forehead onto Sanji's chest. Their fucking hadn't exactly been slow, but they'd been taking their time as they figured each other out. Whatever Sanji is doing seems to be the catalyst for something new, because they both fall into it, movements erratic as they start to fuck hard and fast. Sanji thinks that’s for the best even if the sounds of the bed creaking are ringing in his ears. Hard and fast is what he needs. It doesn't leave room for the pounding of his heart or time for his racing thoughts.

He reaches between them, hand knocking against their bodies so he can stroke himself off. The pleasure from Zoro inside him is acute but not enough to send him over the edge, and that touch brings him hurtling there in seconds. Something about being fucked tosses him right into his orgasm without warning and he chokes out a groan, spilling over his hand. 

Zoro falters for a moment and then fucks into him hard for a few more seconds before stilling. His hands pass over Sanji's hips then across his thighs as he untangles himself from between his legs. He slips from Sanji's body and Sanji feels how wet it is—which should be gross, but it kind of turns him on because that's Zoro's come leaking out of him. Proof that Zoro was inside him. That they just fucked. 

Zoro drops onto the bed beside him, and Sanji knows he should get up and clean himself off. Blood on his face. Come between his legs. But he needs a second. So he closes his eyes and breathes. What he needs is a cigarette.

The sheets rustle and the bed shifts as Zoro rolls over to look at him.

“Am I really the first person you've had sex with?” Zoro asks as he drops his hand to Sanji’s belly, fingers dipping into the hair there.

“Zoro,” Sanji warns, tipping his head to glare at him. This is not the conversation he wants to be having. He already feels raw and exposed.

“What?” he says. His eyebrow twitches in that way that means he’s about to be an absolute shithead. “I just want to know if that means I'm the best you’ve ever had.”

Sanji growls and rolls over on top of him, taking his pillow so he can shove it in Zoro's smug face. “By that definition, you’re also the worst.”

Zoro pushes the pillow off his face, laughing as he tosses it aside. Sanji slumps down on top of him, squishing his cheek into his chest. 

“When did you have sex the first time?” he asks, a little adrift. He doesn’t want to think about the emotions that are so stirred up inside him. They’re useless in the long run.

Zoro begins to pet his back, dragging the backs of his fingers between his shoulder blades. “Uh, I don't really remember. I was sixteen, I think? It was some guy I sucked off in an alley behind a restaurant.”

“What was his name?” Sanji asks, starting to feel relaxed under Zoro's hand.

“Yeah, it wasn't that kind of sex, cook. I could probably tell you the names of…three—four?— people I've had sex with.”

“Oh,” Sanji says, and he thinks that sounds lonely and then the implication processes. “You've had sex with that many people?”

“I was horny a lot when I was younger,” Zoro says as he moves his hand up to scratch Sanji’s scalp and that feels soothing too.

“You're horny a lot now, Mr. I Control My Boners.”

“You're the one always jumping me,” Zoro points out.

“I like having sex. Wanna fight about it?” Sanji sits up, dislodging Zoro's arm. He really wants that cigarette.

Zoro sits up too and gives him a look. “Why do you want to know?” When Sanji doesn’t answer, Zoro adds, “About the first time I had sex?”

The pack of cigarettes is in his pants pocket. He scooches his way to the edge of the bed so he can dig them out. He's resigned himself to the fact that come has already leaked out all over his thighs and his ass is a mess. He'll shower after he smokes. 

“I guess I always thought my first time would go a certain way, so I wondered what yours was like. That's all.”

He cracks the window and lights up so he can blow the smoke into the alley.

“What did you think it would be like?” Zoro asks and Sanji glances back at him. He's stretched out against the pillows, arms behind his head, sheets rumpled down at his waist. He always looks so good after they have sex, a little flushed and slightly sweaty. Sanji never thought he'd be into what Zoro looked like sweaty, but here he is.

Sanji snorts in self-deprecation. “Well, you know, a beautiful woman who loves me would take me back to her bedroom. She would smell sweet and feel wonderfully soft in my arms as I worshipped her all night.”

“So the opposite of being jerked off by a guy in a dirty inn,” Zoro says thoughtfully. 

“One way to put it,” Sanji says with very little humor.

The bed dips and sheets shift behind him before Zoro's arms come around his waist. His chin hooks over his shoulder. He doesn't say anything, just sits like that until Sanji leans some of his weight back against him, slowly finishing his cigarette. As he stamps it out, Zoro says, “You can still have that if you end up wanting it. It'll be your first time with a woman. You can make it whatever you want it to be.”

Sanji's stomach plummets to his feet and whatever peace that had built between them shatters. He doesn't want to think about sex with someone else. This is exactly what he was afraid of and has desperately tried not to think about. They haven’t talked about it, but he knows that once they leave, it will be back to meeting women on islands, trying to woo them, trying to find some way to not feel lonely. There’s no way Zoro will want to keep this up after they get back to the Merry.

He untangles himself from Zoro and huffs out a laugh as he slams the window shut. “Right, yeah. It'll be perfect the second time around.”

Zoro frowns at him as he stands up and pulls on his underwear and shirt. “Curly…”

“I have to go clean up. You should too. You’ve got blood on your face,” Sanji says before he leaves the room.

Chapter Text

When Sanji enters the kitchen the next morning, he puts the conversation out of his mind. He doesn't want to think about it. He knows what their relationship is. The confines of it. Zoro had said it clearly when they first started. Whatever feelings have sprung up are just an inconvenience, and once Luffy finally gets them, they are better forgotten, better left behind on this island, buried in the sand.

So he cooks the stupid porridge, stews the stupid peaches, and when all is said and done, trails out of the kitchen to help Rose clean up the dishes to keep his hands busy.

“You're antsy this morning,” Rose observes as she stacks silverware into the cups she has collected.

“I've just been thinking about the disappearances,” Sanji deflects because, though he might like Rose, she doesn't need the gory details of his love life. Or not-love life. “Isn't it bothering you? Iris lost her friend—”

“Iris is tough. If she's worried, she can handle it.” Her words are steely, and she doesn’t pause in her work to look at Sanji. 

Sanji hums. He continues to help her gather the dishes, but his mind wanders to a question that he’s turned over a few times since he’s come to the Rosewood. “How did you and Iris…”

“She's my sister’s kid,” Rose says, still a bit brusque. “They died in a fire four years back and I took her in.”

The explanation affords Sanji a better understanding of Iris's prickly nature. He remembers being like that when he was young. 

He must be silent for too long because Rose sighs. “Don’t worry so much, cook. Focus on yourself. Get your work done. The rest will figure itself out.”

With that, she makes her way into the kitchen, her hands full of bowls and cutlery. Sanji trails behind and finds Zoro there, cleaning the counters. His heart lurches.

After she leaves, Sanji ends up at the sink to start washing up. He's not interested in breaking the silence hanging in the air if it means talking about anything remotely serious, and he doesn't have any light topics at hand.

Their conversation the night before had ended so badly, and when Sanji had gotten back from the showers, Zoro was asleep. He doesn’t want to rehash anything now and he doubts Zoro would bring it up anyway. It probably didn’t matter to him at all.

He carefully washes the bowls and eventually, Zoro comes up beside him to dry. The quiet extends for a few moments before Zoro asks, “Who do you think would win in a fight? Usopp or Chopper?”

Sanji is so taken aback by the sudden question that a laugh bubbles out of him. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“You asked about Robin or Luffy,” Zoro explains. “I’m asking: Usopp or Chopper?”

Sanji grips the edge of the sink and his head tips forward as the laughter takes over. “That’s such a stupid question.”

“How’s it any stupider than your question?” 

“Chopper could snap Usopp in half,” Sanji says between his efforts to breathe. He looks over at Zoro and finds that he’s smirking down at him, eyes alight. Like he’s won a fight or something. Like making Sanji laugh is a victory. 

“I don’t know. Usopp can be pretty smart,” Zoro says, gaze dropping back to his hands as he works to dry the bowls. “Pisses me off sometimes.”

Sanji bumps his elbow against Zoro's. “Just because he's smarter than a marimo doesn't mean you're allowed to resent him.”

“That’s not what I said, shitty cook,” Zoro says as he elbows him back and soon enough, they're jostling each other against the sink in a stupid little wrestling match. Zoro's cast knocks against his foot when their legs slot together and Sanji shoves at him. That evidence of Zoro’s injury always feels so intimate, like a flash of vulnerability.

“I want to kick you across the room so bad,” Sanji says even as his hand ends up on Zoro's waist, curled at his hip and tangled in the now familiar fabric of his haramaki. It’s softer than Sanji had ever thought it would be, and he wonders if that’s why Zoro’s so attached to it.

Zoro’s answering laugh is short, slightly irritated and he tucks his face into Sanji's neck. “Your hands are wet.”

“So are yours,” he huffs, and Zoro presses his mouth against the corner of his jaw. He inhales against Sanji's skin and Sanji's stomach goes to liquid.

“You got up too early and I didn't get to suck you off,” Zoro murmurs as he tugs gently at Sanji's belt loops. 

It's all abruptly too much and Sanji wriggles out from between Zoro and the sink. He needs some space. He needs to breathe. “You don’t have to blow me every day.”

He's proud of how dismissive he sounds even in the face of how his pulse is hammering in his throat.

Zoro's eyes track him as he moves to grab the pan he cooked peaches in. He decides to ignore it. Zoro can think what he wants and fuck right off.

“Actually,” Sanji starts as he drops the pan into the sink, “I need a cigarette. Can you finish—”

“Why do you do that?” Zoro asks.

Sanji slips his hand into his pocket and starts to play with the book of matches he carries. “Do what?”

“Get all squirrelly,” Zoro explains and Sanji doesn't like that at all. He doesn't like to think Zoro has noticed anything is wrong. Sanji has his shit together, and he will not be questioned.

“I'm just tired. And I'll be less tired after a cigarette,” Sanji says, already moving to the door. “I'll be back in ten.”

“Whatever,” Zoro says, which causes Sanji a spike of irritation. The water turns back on as he exits the dining room and passes by Iris where she has settled behind the desk. She glances up at him once before frowning.

“Good morning, Iris,” Sanji chirps because, gloomy mood or not, he refuses to let it color his ability to be sweet to ladies. Even if they aren’t receptive in the least.

The weather is miserable. A misting rain sifts down from the clouds and a cool breeze cuts through the buildings. Sanji leans against the wall of the alley and smokes his cigarette, enjoying it less than he should given the moist air. Still, it's better than nothing, and it brings him back to himself. He’s fine. He can handle this. 

When he goes back inside, he finds Zoro putting away dishes in the cupboard by the pantry, an arduous task with his crutch and usually one Sanji doesn't ask of him. He must have gotten restless. A cup of tea sits on the butcher block and Sanji stares at it.

“Is this tea?” Sanji asks in confusion.

“Are you stupid?” Zoro replies as he shoves a pot onto its shelf. “You like tea.”

Dumfounded, Sanji pokes at the handle of the tea cup, disturbing the contents. “It’s for me?”

The look Zoro gives him makes it very clear he thinks he's an idiot. “I'm not making tea for me.”

Sanji blinks at him, the concept taking a lot longer to process than it should, and when it does, it comes with a certain amount of defeat. He wants this. He wants Zoro so bad his teeth ache like he's had one too many sweets. 

“Zoro, come here,” Sanji says, and Zoro cocks his head. Then he narrows his eyes.

“Why?” Zoro asks as he sets his jaw. “Did I fuck it up? I know how to make tea, dickhead.”

“Just come here, you fucking asshole,” Sanji snaps and Zoro somehow makes his clomping sound annoyed as he moves across the kitchen.

Once he’s close enough, Sanji tugs at the front of his shirt and pulls him into a kiss. It's pretty bad. Their chins knock and Zoro snorts, but Sanji aims better the second time. 

“You couldn’t have come across the room for that?” Zoro asks when he pulls back. “I'm the one with the busted leg.”

Sanji headbutts him. “I'll bust your skull.”

Zoro growls and Sanji gives him another kiss. He can’t help how gentle it is. The moment seems to stretch and Sanji lets himself linger in the softness of it. “Thanks for the tea, marimo. You can go take a break. I've got to make bread and won't need you for a bit.”

Zoro's answering look is more annoyed than Sanji thinks is warranted. He wasn’t even being rude.

“Fine,” Zoro says finally. “Come get me whenever.”

Sanji waves him off. He's got plenty to do and some Zoro-free time will do him good. He listens to the sound of the crutch growing fainter and picks up the tea. It's oversteeped, bitter on his tongue. He still drinks every drop.

**

Zoro is kissing him. Sanji can tell it's him by the soft pace of his breath and the shifting weight on top of him, the legs on either side of his hips. Sanji tries to reach for him. He can't move his arms. He tries to open his eyes. They won't obey. He whimpers and even that sound can't escape.

He can't kiss back. Zoro must think he's so pathetic, so useless to just lay there and take it.

Zoro laughs against his mouth, but it's not right. It's not the right sound. Not that pleased, affectionate thing. It's derisive. It's cruel. 

The weight disappears from his chest, and his eyes finally slide open. Something’s different. There's a familiar cold pressure on his head. He knows this. The smell of metal. It's hard to breathe. He tries to lift his hands to claw at the mask, but he can't do anything. A gag hitches in Sanji's chest and—

He’s yanked back like a fish on a hook and light blazes him awake.

“What the hell are you doing?” 

Sanji stumbles right into Zoro where he's standing behind him. He realizes he's pressed up against the door of their room like he was trying to get out.

Sleepwalking. Again.

He turns, discombobulated, and takes in Zoro in the light of the bedside lamp. He looks frustrated, on the verge of genuinely angry. Sanji's whole body tightens, remnants of the dream still slow to fade and Zoro must notice because his frown only intensifies. “What is wrong with you?”

“I don’t—” Sanji's voice sounds strange, like gravel, like he's been crying. Fuck. His head is a mess. Nothing feels real. 

Zoro grabs his hand. His skin is warm. Sanji stares down at where they are touching, and he tangles their fingers together. Zoro huffs out a sharp, displeased breath then starts to drag him towards the bed.

“We’re taking you to the doctor tomorrow.”

“What can a doctor do?” Sanji protests as Zoro manhandles him down onto the mattress. He’s wrung out and struggling to remember to fight back.

“Make you sleep like a normal person,” Zoro answers gruffly as he shuts off the light before flopping down onto his stomach and dropping his arm over Sanji like a vice as if he thinks that holding him hard enough will prevent him from leaving.

“It's just one night—” Sanji tries to argue.

“Bullshit,” Zoro mumbles into the bed, half-asleep but still accusatory. “You wandered off a few weeks back and lied about it.”

Sanji clamps his mouth shut. Shit. He should’ve known better than to think Zoro wouldn’t notice. This is awful. He doesn’t know what’s happening or why it’s happening. He wants to go back to the way it was before. Dreamless sleep.

He scrubs at his itchy eyes. “Do you ever have bad dreams?”

“No. Go to sleep,” Zoro says. He sounds deeply irritated.

Sanji sighs and Zoro relents. “Sometimes. I had—a bad thing happen when I was a kid. It was hard for a while.”

“How did you handle it?”

“I went to fucking sleep,” Zoro grumbles.

Sanji rolls over under Zoro's arm. He's so warm. So real. The dreams fade but the fear lingers, and Sanji doesn't want to think about the things he felt. They weren’t real anyway.

 “Is it okay if I—”

“Do whatever,” Zoro grunts out.

So Sanji scooches closer and tries to curl around Zoro, letting himself sink into the feeling of intimacy. It pours through him and washes away the sickly feeling making Sanji so stirred up.

Zoro pulls his arm away and rolls over to let Sanji wrap his arms around him. He tucks his face against the nape of Zoro's neck. 

“You're being weird, curly.”

Fear returns to clutch at Sanji's throat, a brief spike of nerves at the possibility that Zoro is suddenly going to turn around and tell him he wants too much. “Is it bad?”

“No.”

Sanji lets out a long breath and squeezes a little tighter. “Just let me have this for five minutes.”

“M’not kicking you out,” Zoro says, words rumbling out into the dark.

Sanji breathes, taking in the familiar way Zoro smells, the slight undertone of sage and lavender and just the scent of his skin. It’s comforting and the fact that it’s comforting is terrifying. His heart beats so hard it must be obvious to both of them.

“Is this why you were weird this morning? Whatever you’re dreaming about?” Zoro asks.

He pushes his face against Zoro's back. He doesn't know what to say. “I had some bad stuff happen to me when I was younger too.”

These dreams have been dragging it all to the surface in a way that he hates more than he can say. It's that feeling of being worthless that used to haunt his every step. It makes him sick.

But Zoro said that he had nightmares too once and Sanji isn't the only one with a hard history. Zoro doesn't exactly volunteer information but maybe he will tell Sanji, if he asks. 

“What happened?” Sanji asks. He's starting to feel drowsy again, pressed against the warmth of Zoro's bare back. “When you were a kid?”

Zoro doesn’t answer for a long time and Sanji thinks he might have overstepped. He considers walking back the question, but before he can, Zoro says, “My best friend died. It was hard.”

Sanji tightens his arm around Zoro's waist, surprised at the way he reacts to those words, how much he cares about something that happened to another person. 

“What about you, curly?”

Sanji bites the inside of his cheek. He doesn’t think about this stuff, but Zoro asked. It might be ok to say it in this quiet place. He breathes out. “My father thought I was a failure. And he made that clear to me in every way that mattered.”

“Sounds like a pretty dumb guy,” Zoro says with the sort of finality afforded to easier things.

It startles a laugh out of Sanji, and he snorts against Zoro's back. “Yeah, you could say that.”

Zoro wraps his hand around Sanji's where it's clamped over his belly, and he gives it a soft squeeze. It's so simple and yet it's like something has detonated inside him.

Zoro doesn’t say anything else. Just touches him. But it doesn’t matter. Sanji is certain now. This feeling has sunk its hooks in. Not a crush. Not a passing fancy. 

This is love. Fuck.

**

Sanji is in a daze the entire next morning. When he wakes up with Zoro's mouth on his cock, he can't stop the slow unfurling in his chest and the subsequent wave of dread. Why is he like this? Why can’t he keep his heart to himself?

Zoro kisses him after, mouth wet with spunk and it turns Sanji's brain into a horny, buzzing mess. It's all he can do to push Zoro onto his back and return the favor. He listens to the rhythm of Zoro's breathing, savors the feel of his hands in his hair, and fucking yearns.

“I’m taking you to the doctor,” Zoro says as they lay in a heap after, Zoro's head on Sanji's belly, Sanji's fingers in his hair. His cock is half hard again, but neither of them are doing anything about it because they know it will make them late. 

“Maybe the guy will take off my cast while he’s at it,” Zoro adds as he pets the hair on Sanji’s thigh. 

“Isn't it too early?” Sanji asks. “How does it feel in there?”

“Like a leg,” says Zoro and Sanji tugs on his ear to make it clear exactly how not funny he thinks Zoro is.

“Get off me, you lout,” Sanji admonishes. “I have to go make porridge.”

Zoro groans and peels himself out of bed. “If I never see a bowl of porridge in my life, it will be too soon.”

“Yeah, I miss making interesting things for breakfast,” Sanji admits as he moves to get dressed.

“You do the best you can,” Zoro says, and Sanji is once more taken aback by this side of Zoro. How easily he says things like that. Like he's trying to be supportive or something.

Sanji buries himself in the wardrobe and his eyes fall on Zoro's swords. He’s gotten so used to their absence that seeing them now brings on an odd feeling, like he’s homesick. He's so used to this Zoro, in his cheap, blue work shirt tucked into his haramaki. What will it be like when he returns to the way he was? Swords always at his side. 

“What happens when the Merry comes?” Sanji asks. It’s the question that has plagued him for weeks now, in more ways than one, and he doesn’t know what the right answer is.

Zoro is halfway into his pants when he looks up at Sanji. “What do you mean? We go back with Luffy. That's it.”

Sanji knows that. He’s not an idiot. “I guess…with what's going on with Newport.” With us.

Zoro tugs up his pants the rest of the way and zips them. “Luffy will help if he can. That's his sort of thing anyway.”

“You're right,” Sanji says with a sigh. It's not the question he wants an answer to, but he's too much of a chickenshit to ask the real one. Because Zoro…he knows Zoro doesn't feel this thing Sanji feels.

In love? Seriously? What a joke. Zoro had said this was something to do for fun and now Sanji has gone and fallen for him.

Fucked. He’s so fucked.

After lunch, Zoro drags him down the main street to Halloran’s which looks more like Sanji taking pity on him and leading him the few turns down towards the doctor. He doesn’t know how Zoro managed to make it to his single check-up with the man. Honestly, he probably got lost until someone showed him the way.

Halloran is surprised to see them but still lets them inside. “I wasn't meant to see you for a few more days.”

“We’re here for the cook,” Zoro says, and Sanji sees the way his hand passes over his hip like he wants his swords. “And I want the cast off.”

Halloran frowns. “You’re meant to wait out the week.”

“I want it off,” Zoro repeats with a dark undercurrent to the words. 

It’s enough that Halloran seems unwilling to press it as he sits Zoro down onto one of the beds. He retrieves a saw from a drawer across the room and soon enough the cast is split in half and a truly rank smell fills the room. Sanji supposes that's what happens when a body part is enclosed in plaster for weeks.

Halloran pulls over a basin with some water and towel, running it over Zoro's leg a few times. There’s a thin pink scar along the side of his shin where the sutures had dissolved as Halloran had said they would. As he cleans off the skin, it grows shiny.

“Flex your toes for me.”

Zoro does briefly.

“Any pain?” the doctor asks as he turns away to dump the towel in the basin.

Zoro shakes his head, but Sanji doesn't think he'd say anything even if it hurt like hell.

“Alright,” Halloran says, “you might get a bit tired on it for the next few days, but you can go back to regular walking. Nothing too athletic. Work up to previous levels of activity or you might damage the muscle.”

Zoro's jaw ticks and Sanji can already imagine the insane shit he’s going to find Zoro doing. He is not looking forward to having to wrangle that behavior.

Wait. What is he even thinking? It’s not his responsibility to worry about Zoro. And if he did, Sanji can only imagine what sort of reception he’d get.

Zoro drops his foot off the bed and gestures at Sanji. “Cook, talk to him about your sleep thing.”

Sanji doesn’t know if he can get out of this, but he’s not interested in talking about it either. He’d technically agreed to let Zoro bring him here so he hedges. “It's just some difficulty sleeping.”

“He's sleepwalking,” Zoro says to the doctor and Halloran gives him an odd look before turning to Sanji.

“Is that normal for you?” he asks as he gets up to throw away the ruined pieces of Zoro’s cast.

“Ah, not exactly,” Sanji replies evasively.

“Are you experiencing heightened levels of stress or anxiety?” Halloran asks. He moves over to his wall of jars and starts to tap at the labels, clearly looking for something specific. “Maybe nightmares?” 

“Nightmares,” Zoro answers for him and Sanji glares at him.

“Ah,” Halloran says like Zoro confirmed exactly what he was thinking. “Well. I can give you a sedative that will likely prevent the sleepwalking, but it might worsen the nightmares.”

Halloran picks out a jar and moves over to the scales where he methodically starts weighing out some powder.

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” Sanji says immediately. He’s not keen to go deeper into whatever hellscape his mind is dreaming up for him.

“The last person who came in for sleepwalking reported similar issues,” Halloran says as he bags up the pink powder. “But she felt the sleepwalking was too dangerous. She said she ended up in a field outside of town.”

“It's not like sleepwalking is contagious,” Sanji says reasonably. “That's not likely to happen to me.”

Halloran cocks his head as he pauses in his sealing of the packet. “That's what Geri said but it happened to Nora too. Who knows? Maybe they wandered off. Maybe that's how Nora ended up in the ocean.”

Sanji can't believe what the doctor just said. That he might be the first person Halloran has said it to. He moves closer to Halloran. “The people that disappeared were sleepwalking?”

Halloran hands him the bag of powder. “Best take the medicine or you might wander off too.”

**

Sanji sits on the edge of the bed and smokes a cigarette while Zoro goes through exercises with his swords in the small expanse of space afforded by the bed when it's pushed closer to the wall. 

“I'm not taking the medicine,” Sanji announces, breaking the silence they’ve been in since they retired after dinner. It’s late. He should shower. Honestly, he might skip it if the cigarette doesn’t revive him a little.

Zoro moves slowly through whatever exercises he's decided are best to assess his new range of motion. He looks graceful, strong, assured. Sanji likes the way his muscles shift and tense, the slight sheen of sweat. He's beautiful, truly. Sanji can't believe it took him so long to see it.

“That’s stupid,” Zoro says, not stopping in his movements.

“You're stupid,” Sanji retorts under his breath as he blows smoke out of the corner of his mouth.

“You're going to walk out into the ocean like that girl.”

“You'll stop me,” Sanji says with certainty and that makes Zoro pause.

“We both know you wouldn't let me get hurt. Not really,” Sanji explains, and Zoro lets the tip of one of his swords hit the floor with a tiny thud.

“Fuck off. What are you talking about?”

“You protect the crew. I'm part of the crew. You'll protect me. Am I wrong?” Sanji asks, lifting an eyebrow in challenge.

Zoro sheaths his swords and moves closer, setting them in the open wardrobe. His gait is slightly off still. He's adjusting to the absence of the cast, but Sanji knows that by tomorrow he'll be right as rain. 

“You'd do the same,” Zoro says, and he takes the cigarette right out of Sanji's mouth just to snuff it out on the window sill before bending down to kiss him. Sanji lets him. He thinks he ought to savor this, knowing as he does that it'll be over soon enough. Reasonably, how long will Luffy leave them here? It's already been two months. 

When Zoro pulls back, he slides one of his hands through Sanji's hair, thumbing over the curve of his eyebrow. It's clear to Sanji that he is thinking hard about something, weighing out some words.

“I want you to come on my face.”

“What?” Sanji stammers, unable to follow whatever train of thought led Zoro to that.

Zoro sinks to his knees as he spreads open Sanji's legs. The move has Sanji's body trained to react, pulse speeding up, cock getting hard so fast it's near embarrassing.

Zoro presses his hand against the bulge in Sanji’s pants as the other slips up under his shirt to grasp his waist and then higher to play with his nipples. Sanji falls into it, quick, dirty, needy. He grabs at Zoro's hair. “I—whatever you want.”

Zoro methodically unbuttons his shirt. “You don't think you'd like it?”

Sanji swallows down what feels like too much spit. Has he ever imagined anything like this? Maybe in the filthy recesses of his mind when he was masturbating, desperate to come, and he was forced to reach into the darkest depths of his fantasies. Maybe then he’d thought about coming on some pretty girl's chest. But a man's face?

He looks at Zoro and casts his fingers through his earrings before pushing them into the soft give of his mouth. He knows that mouth, how hot it is, how slick and mean. He imagines it covered in the mess of his spend, spilling out, stripes of it over the bridge of Zoro's sharp nose. His stomach heats. 

Zoro grins up at him. “Your face is so red.”

“Then stop looking at it,” Sanji snaps.

“Hm, no,” Zoro says as the final button of his shirt gives and it parts over his chest. “What would I make fun of you for then?”

He rises up and kisses the side of Sanji's throat, then down to his belly. Sanji lets it happen even as Zoro seeks out the fastenings of his pants. He falls back on his hands with a little groan. All of this feels so good, it always does and then afterwards, he wonders if he's making a mistake, if he'll say the wrong thing, do the wrong thing and Zoro will finally break his heart.

Zoro tugs his trousers and underwear down and Sanji expects it to stay like that, with them bunched around his thighs, but Zoro urges his hips up so he can pull them down his legs. He slides them down off Sanji’s feet until he’s naked on the bed with his shirt splayed open. It feels vulnerable. Zoro seems pleased, kissing over his thighs, licking over the hair that dusts over them. It tickles a little, but Sanji likes it, watching Zoro's head between his legs. Then Zoro kisses his stomach as he takes him in hand. 

His cock is already wet from where he’s been leaking since Zoro started to tease him and Zoro huffs a little as he thumbs over the slick head. The touch is so familiar at this point. How many times have they done this? Sanji can't even remember. So when Zoro moves to sink his mouth down on him, Sanji's little gasp feels something like acceptance.

What's he going to do? Pretend he isn't in love? He's miserable enough with his shitty sleep and all his work and if Zoro wants to suck his dick and kiss him and hold him then what should Sanji do about it?

“Ah, Zoro,” he huffs as he runs his fingers through Zoro's hair. Zoro glances up at him, so pretty through his lashes and Sanji knows he's really fucking gone if he's thinking things about how Zoro's eyes are pretty while his mouth is full of dick. “You feel good.”

Zoro hums and the light vibration has him gasping, hooking his ankle around Zoro's torso just to pull him closer. Zoro seems to take it as an invitation because he shoulders Sanji's thighs and sucks Sanji's dick all the way down his throat. 

Sometimes he doesn't know why they didn't start doing this from the moment they met, fucking like rabbits from the very first. A shared drink in an alley at Cocoyashi that could have been sloppy, heavy kisses and hands down each other’s pants and if Zoro had been convincing, Sanji's mouth on his cock just like this. 

But he hadn’t known then that he'd want anything like this. Let alone the intensity of it. 

Zoro pulls off of him with a lewd noise and strokes his cock next to his cheek. His lips are wet, edging into swollen, as he once more looks up at Sanji. “How's it going up there, cook?”

Sanji huffs out a wavering breath and fists his hands in the blankets. “Your mouth is so—”

“Yeah?” Zoro asks, licking a line along the underside of Sanji's dick before dropping his legs and shifting closer. 

Sanji shudders as Zoro works over him with his hand. His orgasm unspools inside him, an unbearable release of heat. Zoro makes a pleased noise as he comes over his fist and some hits his mouth and neck. It hardly makes sense to Sanji, but it strikes at something in him. He wonders if Zoro has been feeling turned on about the sight of his come on Sanji's legs and belly or if it's different for him.

Zoro rises up to kiss him and Sanji holds up his hands to keep him at bay. “I know you're into come eating but I'm not.”

“You eat my come all the time,” Zoro grumbles, but he doesn't press the issue as he gets up to pull a shirt from the laundry basket and wipe his face.

“I let you come in my mouth. It's different,” Sanji argues.

“I've definitely spit your come into your mouth. I remember because it was hot and we went another round right after,” Zoro says, tossing the shirt into the basket.

Sanji flops back onto the bed and stares at the ceiling, a bubble of contentment floating behind his breastbone. His dick is still out, but he doesn't really care. He can't believe he's happy arguing about come eating with Zoro. It feels silly but he can’t stop the smile that overtakes his face. Part of him wants to fight it, but what's the point?

“Do you want me to suck you off?” he offers, and Zoro is still moving around, doing something on the other side of the room.

“I got what I wanted,” Zoro says like a cryptic little freak.

“My come all over you?” Sanji asks, rolling onto his side to look at him where he’s shrugging on a shirt—it doesn’t look like the one that he just cleaned up with but who knows?

“Something like that,” Zoro says. His gaze lingers on Sanji's face for a moment before his expression smooths and he goes to the door. “I’m going to wash up.”

Eventually, Sanji does manage to heave himself out of bed to go shower and when he comes back, there is a pointed cup of water sitting on the bedside table with the little packet of medicine leaning against it. Zoro is laying on the pillows with his eyes closed like he had nothing to do with it.

“I'm not taking that,” Sanji says again, running his hand through his slightly damp hair. 

Zoro's eyes slice open, and he sits up. Before he can start to argue with him, Sanji says, “The doctor said the others were sleepwalking. Maybe what happened to them is happening to me too.”

“Another reason you should take the medicine,” Zoro reiterates with growing irritation.

“No,” Sanji says, “it could give us information about what happened to them.”

Zoro pulls his knees up and leans over them, hands hanging down by his ankles. “That’s a stupid idea.”

“I'll wake up if anything bad happens. The furthest I've gone is the street outside the inn and that woke me up.”

“I'll follow you. If you walk out,” Zoro says with a determined frown.

“I can handle it,” Sanji insists.

“You'll be asleep,” Zoro replies, and his irritation is clearly not going anywhere.

Sanji growls in frustration as he drops on the end of the bed so he can smoke another cigarette out the window.

“Whatever happens,” Sanji says after a few minutes of quiet, “don't wake me up.”

Zoro breathes out through his nose like an agitated horse and leans back against the pillows. “Fine.”

Sanji smashes the end of his cigarette on the window sill and tucks it into the cup that's been serving as an ashtray for weeks before closing the window and crawling up the bed. Ignoring the fluttering in his chest, he presses a kiss to Zoro's mouth. “Thank you, marimo.”

Zoro's hand curls around his elbow before passing up his shoulder and moving to cup the back of his neck so he can draw him down into another kiss. He tastes like toothpaste. “I know you care a lot about shit like this, but it's stupid to take risks when there's no pay off.”

Sanji bumps their foreheads together and pulls back. “You're one to talk. You jumped into the ocean and nearly got your leg blown off for no reason whatsoever. What sort of risk was that?”

“It was to help you,” Zoro says, deadly serious. “That’s a pretty good reason.”

Sanji wants to crawl back on top of Zoro, sink inside him. He wants to yell at the unfairness of it all. When he had a crush on Nami and he fluttered and flirted after her, sometimes his heart would skip a beat when she touched him or when she looked particularly beautiful. But this fucking soul-crushing want is unbearable. 

With no outlet for it, Sanji bares his teeth and says, “I would have survived, shitty marimo. Don't worry your mossy head about me.”

Zoro's eyes slide shut, and he tugs Sanji down beside him. “You’re such a dumbass.”

He's doing that thing where he pets Sanji's back and Sanji thinks he's being placated. Which is annoying, but he won't press the issue because he's tired and to be honest, it's pretty damn soothing. He falls asleep to it, rousing only slightly when Zoro moves to click off the light.

Sanji doesn't think he's dreaming when he sees the spiders on the bed. The fear that tears through him is so intense he feels cold, and it's only when he can't move that he realizes what's happening. Stuck. Paralyzed. 

The bugs crawl up over his hands and he starts to cry. He can't even be ashamed about it. Worse, behind that terror there's a looming shadow in the doorway, but he can't turn his head to look. He’s afraid. So afraid of what he might see there. All he can do is flick his eyes in that direction.

It's Zoro. His skin is pale, from his face all the way down his bare chest. There is blood streaked from his temple and Sanji can see the wound festering on his arm. Familiar injuries. The ones from when they washed up here. 

Zoro's eyes fall to Sanji and his lips peel back in a sneer before he starts to limp towards the bed. Sanji's heart thumps. It makes his head hurt, his teeth ache. The tears from before haven't stopped and he can't do anything but watch as Zoro climbs onto the bed, bone protruding from his broken leg, blood smearing over the sheets.

One hand pushes into the center of Sanji's chest as Zoro leans down over him to press a kiss to his mouth. It's sour, rotten, biting.

“Is this what you wanted, pretty brow boy?”

Sanji wakes with his feet in the sand, staring over a burbling estuary as it runs into the sea. He’s so close to it that the ground is wet, making his toes cold. There are sandpipers dipping their beaks into the water, occasionally hopping and flapping their wings.

The sky is still dark, but there are enough clouds that he can’t see the stars and the steady sound of the waves threatens to put him right back to sleep even though he’s standing. He feels like he has gotten no rest at all. 

Zoro comes up beside him, the thump of his boots in the sand disturbing the sense of unreality that still hangs over him. “You woke up.”

“How far did I go?”

“The docks are just back there,” Zoro says, jerking his thumb back over his shoulder. It’s clear that Zoro followed after him in a rush. He’s shirtless and he’s pulled on a pair of underwear— Sanji’s, too tight at the waist. If someone caught him on the street, he’d probably be arrested. At least he’s wearing shoes, unlike Sanji.

Sanji turns and sees the lights of Newport, few and far between here in the middle of the night, and the sight of boats rocking in the harbor. “Huh.”

He looks down at his hands, his feet. The clawing fear from his dream is ebbing, but he still feels cold. He thinks about what the doctor said. A disease. What a strange theory. Were all the people who disappeared sleep walking?

“You should tell me what you're dreaming about,” Zoro says and Sanji balks immediately. It seems pathetic to have such strong fears, like he should be able to purge them. And this is Zoro who goes through his life seemingly without any fear at all.

But Sanji takes a breath. “I don’t know how to explain it.”

“You sound afraid. In your sleep.”

Sanji hates that. He hates this. He doesn't want to peel himself open. He glances at Zoro out of the corner of his eye. He just looks serious; there's no laughter, no judgment. 

“You're going to think I'm an idiot.”

“Maybe.”

Zoro says that but he also reaches for Sanji's hand and tugs at him, pulling him across the sand until he can slip an arm around his waist. Sanji feels even more pathetic as he drops his forehead against Zoro's shoulder.

“It's like I’m trapped. And then I see things. Things that I…” Sanji trails off. He doesn't want to explain it. It's embarrassing to admit what he's seeing. He's afraid Zoro will dismiss it outright.

Zoro’s breath disturbs Sanji's hair, and he says nothing. He doesn't push and Sanji is grateful for it. But Sanji can’t bear this needless intimacy so he pulls back before it starts to crush him.

His fingers curl tight at his sides, and he pushes past Zoro. “Let’s go back to the inn.”

Zoro follows after him. The silence leaves Sanji uncomfortable and he’s not sure why. Like Zoro has something he wants to say but won't. It's agitating and Sanji can't handle it so he says something else. “Aren’t you cold like that?”

“Not really,” Zoro replies. “You’re not dressed to be outside either.”

Sanji crosses one arm over his chest just to tug on the short sleeve of his oversized pajama shirt. He’s been using it since they came here, long borrowed from the previous Rosewood cook and often pulled from his body by Zoro himself. “Maybe I should have slept in my shoes.”

“And get the bed dirty? You’d rather die,” Zoro says with a light scoff. 

Sanji laughs and the mood lightens between them as they step back onto the boardwalk that leads into town. “Fair point, marimo.”

The clock tower reads three in the morning and when they step inside the Rosewood, the entire place is dark. Not that Sanji is surprised given the time. 

He sighs and rubs his eyes. “I’m going to go wash my feet. You can go back to bed.”

To his surprise, Zoro goes without argument and when Sanji gets back to the bedroom, the lamp is on. Zoro is tucked into the sheets. It’s a cozy, sweet picture, but Sanji is too tired to fully appreciate it.

Zoro yawns when Sanji shuts the door behind himself. “You should get some rest. If you don’t want to be miserable tomorrow.”

Sanji knows he’s right. He feels exhausted as it is. So with a sigh, he climbs in beside Zoro who rolls over to flick off the lamp. Sanji isn’t even surprised when he tosses his arm over Sanji’s waist. 

He’ll miss this, he thinks, when they get back to their old life.

It doesn’t matter how much sleep he gets because he still feels like a corpse the next morning. Zoro is in a particularly foul mood so Sanji waves him off and tells him to go back to bed. He doesn’t argue, just pulls the pillow over his face and falls back into the steady rhythm of his snoring. The fact that Sanji feels affectionate about it is truly a terrible sign.

He goes outside to smoke a quick cigarette and that helps wake him up, but when he gets into the kitchen and finds Iris standing by the pantry, he thinks he might still be asleep. 

“What are you doing in here?” he asks, too startled to lace his tone with any sort of sweetness. Iris seems to be equally startled, but her expression settles into something more flat and familiar.

“You lied to me,” Iris says, but there is an element of a question in her words.

Sanji leans against the counter and crosses his arms over his chest. “What are you talking about?”

“You said that you and Zoro weren't together,” she says, crossing her arms too in order to mirror his pose.

“Heh?” Sanji asks, completely taken aback and Iris scrunches up her face.

“I saw you two kissing in the kitchen and you’re touching all the time. Was it supposed to be a secret?” she asks.

“We're not—”

“It's fine, you know,” Iris snaps. “I'm not a little kid.”

Sanji bites his tongue. That's not the issue he's having with the accusation. First, it's not true and second, it's making him feel funny to talk about this with someone else. Even a thirteen year old girl.

“I don’t think you are,” Sanji says, pushing off the counter. “I think you’re a strong person.”

“Don’t be weird,” Iris says with an obvious frown.

Sanji shrugs. Iris is mean. She bites, but Sanji doesn’t dislike her. “You've dealt with a lot and yet here you are, working hard. I think you’re coping the best you can with everything that’s happened to you.”

Sanji doesn’t know what he expected from Iris in response to that. Maybe, finally, a positive interaction. Maybe some understanding. They’re not so different really. But inexplicably, Iris starts to cry. Sanji shifts into emergency mode at the sight of a woman in tears. He puts the kettle on and grabs a towel before rushing over to Iris and handing it to her. “What's wrong, chickadee?”

“I didn't want anything bad to happen to them. It's not my fault,” she says between hiccupping sobs that seem too big for her small frame. It's such an alarming thing for her to say, but more than that, her distress is so intense that it's all Sanji can do to calm her down. He urges her out to a table in the dark dining room and then hurries to get a cup of tea. 

When he finds her again, she's cleaned up her face and once more remains stoic, reminding him of Rose. “Do you want to tell me what happened?”

Iris fiddles with her steaming tea cup. “No.”

Sanji doesn’t want to be an asshole, but he also doesn’t think he should let this go. “Do you want to tell Rose?”

“No!” Iris says hurriedly. Then she slumps. “Don't tell Rose. It’s not her fault either.”

Sanji sits with his tea and waits. She’ll talk in her own time, fragile as she seems. Eventually, she does.

“For my birthday,” Iris ventures slowly, “Rose gave me a Sandpiper figure for my room. She doesn't believe in that stuff, but she knows I like it. I was using it to pray. About my parents. My friends. And then it showed up one night and asked me. It asked me what I wanted.”

“It asked you,” Sanji repeats flatly. This sounds dumb as shit.

“Don't make fun of me,” Iris snaps, clamming up.

“I'm not,” Sanji says. He really wants a cigarette. Like it might help him think. “If it asked you, what did you say?”

“The cook before you was worse than you,” Iris admits. “He drank. He was an asshole. Rose threatened to fire him all the time, but we didn't have anybody else. They got in a huge fight, and he said he was going to leave. That was the night it came and asked, and I said I wished he would disappear.”

Sanji taps his fingers against his own tea cup. “And then he left.”

Iris starts to look like she might cry again and Sanji is torn between trying to comfort her and feeling sure she will snap at him if he does. 

“I didn't think—it's not my fault. This isn’t why this is happening, right?”

He hesitates and tries to strike a delicate balance between the honest disbelief he feels and reasonably knowing that weirder things have happened on the Grand Line. “Did you ask the, uh, statue for Cat to disappear? Or for Nora to die?”

Iris looks like she wants to curl up into a ball as she clutches at the tea in her hands. “Not the statue. The Sandpiper. It never visited me again after that. I don't know why.”

“So a bird came and talked to you?”

Iris’s gaze goes a little distant. “It looked more like a spider.”

Sanji's stomach turns at the thought. “Why did you think it was the Sandpiper if it wasn't a bird?”

“What else could it be?” Iris asks like Sanji’s dumb and also like she wants the conversation to be over. “It wanted to grant my wish.”

Sanji doesn't really understand what it's like to have faith like that. He likes the practicality of facts in front of him and right now he feels like he has very few. He drains his tea. “How about I make you something special for breakfast, chickadee?” he asks as he stands. “Eggs and toast?”

Iris blinks up at him and then her eyes narrow. “Why do you always talk to me like that? What do you want from me?”

“Nothing,” Sanji says. “I just think ladies should be treated right. And you’re a lady, aren’t you?”

Iris huffs and sips her tea in a way that Sanji can only call aggressive. “Fine. Make eggs or whatever.”

Sanji puts the porridge on and while it cooks, he makes four fried eggs. Two for Iris and two for Zoro because he knows how tired he is of the porridge that has become a mainstay of both their diets. While he cooks, he considers what Iris just told him. To be honest, it sounds like nonsense. Like something Iris dreamed up. But all of this has felt like nonsense and Sanji has to admit that dismissing it outright feels wrong. Maybe he should talk to Zoro. Except what could Zoro possibly do with the information either?

Deciding he’ll take more time to think before he bothers Zoro with any of this, he delivers Iris’s eggs with a flourish and a second cup of tea. She thanks him with a little grumble but digs in all the same which is really all he can ask for.

As for Zoro, Sanji finds him still snoozing on his belly under the sheet, one hand hanging off the bed as he drools into the mattress. And this is who Sanji has fallen in love with.

Sanji sets the plate of eggs, toast and its carefully sliced peach on the side table before slapping an open hand between Zoro’s shoulder blades. He can harbor a million feelings for the man, but he’s not going to go soft. That would be far too embarrassing.

Zoro jerks in his sleep and his eyes peel open slightly. “What do you want?”

“I made you breakfast.”

“Don’t want it,” Zoro says, shoving his face into the mattress with a groan.

“It’s not porridge,” Sanji offers and that makes Zoro look over at him again. He rises up onto his arms and flops onto his back.

“You made me eggs,” Zoro says when Sanji shoves the plate into his lap.

“If you say you don’t like eggs I will stab your eyeballs out with that fork,” says Sanji.

“Have I said anything?” Zoro snaps.

“I’ve got to get back to the kitchen.” Sanji turns but before he can go, Zoro grabs his wrist and tugs him back over, reaching up to pull him down into a brief, closed mouth kiss. 

“Thanks for the food, curly,” Zoro says when Sanji pulls away.

“I gotta—” Sanji says. His feelings are suddenly overwhelming, and he needs a few seconds to tuck them back away before he does something he regrets like confess his undying love and devotion.

“Yeah, yeah,” Zoro says as he turns his attention to the plate. “Go cook. I’ll come help clean up in a bit.”

Sanji retreats and finds Rose waiting for him in the kitchen.

“Leave Iris alone. She’s gone through enough. I don’t want you upsetting her.”

“She spoke to me,” Sanji says as he turns down the heat on the stove. “Is she not allowed to do that?”

Rose looks incensed. “We don't need outsiders digging up the past.”

“Really, Miss Rose? We aren't outsiders. Not anymore.”

“You think I don't know who your green-haired boyfriend is?” Rose says and Sanji's eyes go wide. He feels like he's been struck multiple times in quick succession. Rose knows. She hasn’t done anything. Also, boyfriend.

Sanji, focus. 

“You’re lucky the marines don’t come through here or you’d both be dragged in.”

“Miss Rose,” Sanji starts to say, a bit plaintive, and Rose scoffs.

“I won't turn you in. You're a good employee and you've made me a lot of money. Just leave Iris alone,” she says with finality.

“I won't ask her anymore questions,” Sanji says as reassuringly as he can. He doesn’t know what he would get out of speaking with Iris any further. Though he does have one thing that maybe Rose can answer.  “But will you tell me something?”

Rose’s mouth goes flat. “It depends on what it is.”

Sanji braces himself. It feels like the stupidest question, but he wants to know. “How do you pray to the Sandpiper?”

She gives him a weird look, like he's lost his marbles. “What? Do you have a wish you want granted? That shit’s not real. True love? Good fortune? What the hell does that mean in the face of hard work? If you want something, knuckle down.”

Then she leaves and Sanji's left feeling more lost than ever.

Chapter Text

Sanji’s sleep starts to deteriorate.

At first, he and Zoro try to explore the beach where he first woke up, but the estuary holds no answers. It disappears up into the rocks and woods and there’s nothing there for them to find. It's disappointing and yet, Sanji is not surprised. 

He keeps dreaming. Zoro mutilated. Zoro dying. The other Straw Hats start to make appearances, dead, suffering, while Sanji is stuck to the bed, unable to move. The fear seems to be getting worse. It’s this persistent certainty that it must be his fault that this is happening to him. He’s sick. He’s weak. He should be able to fix this.

Halfway through the second week, he gives in and takes Halloran’s medication and the dream he has is so disturbing he doesn’t try again.

It’s Zoro, sitting on top of him, peeling Sanji's skin off in strips with his sword until he’s able to crack open his ribcage. Sanji can’t feel the pain of it, but he can hear the bones as they snap. Zoro's face is impassive as he works, fingers sunk in his chest. The worst part is Sanji sleeps so deep that nothing wakes him. He sleeps straight through until morning. Despite that, he doesn't feel rested.

He goes back to sleepwalking. Always, always, he wakes up in some strange place—throughout the inn, in the middle of Newport, by the docks, on the beach. Every time, he surges back to consciousness with terror clutching at his throat. He thinks he should be used to the things he’s seeing by now. He should be stronger than this and he hates the proof of his fragile heart.

He takes to wearing socks to bed simply so he doesn't have to keep washing his feet. Sometimes Zoro follows him, walks him back to the inn in tense silence. Other times, he doesn't manage it, either getting lost or not waking up when Sanji leaves.

The lost sleep—or the feeling of lost sleep—has Sanji in a daze. His thoughts linger on the things he sees at night. Now that he’s so tired, it’s hard to shake the fear that clings to him like a cobweb.

He's so out of sorts that he makes mistakes he hasn't made since he was a kid. Overcooking rice. Forgetting to turn on the oven. He feels like an absolute mess.

Zoro finally intervenes when Sanji starts to fall asleep while cooking a piece of fish. The pan is smoking and Zoro slaps off the burner before pulling him aside.

“That's it, idiot cook,” Zoro says as he drags him to the door of the kitchen. “You're going to bed.”

Sanji sways, trying to dig in his heels and blinking at him. His eyelids feel heavy, a dark itch behind them. “What?”

Zoro pulls harder, putting his weight into the way he tugs at Sanji. “You're not going to keep working like this. I'll take care of it.”

“You can't,” Sanji protests. His voice sounds distant. “It's my job.”

“I know enough to make rice and fucking fish,” Zoro says. His hand is very warm where it’s clamped on Sanji’s arm and that makes Sanji feel sleepy. “And you'd be pissed at yourself if you served the crap you're making right now.”

Zoro bullies him out of the kitchen, ignoring his continued, futile protests before shoving him into the bedroom. “You need to sleep, curly. If you can't do it at night, maybe you can do it during the day.”

When Sanji tries to leave again, Zoro drops a kiss to his mouth. It's a soft little thing, but it hits Sanji like a side swipe, nearly taking the legs out from under him as he realizes they haven't fooled around in almost two weeks. Not since his sleep has gotten worse. If he thinks on it, he knows Zoro has tried to reach for him and it’s Sanji that has shied away. Maybe it's the dreams, sinking their teeth in. When was the last time they kissed? Sanji misses it with an intensity that burns.

He grasps Zoro’s haramaki and kisses back, harder than Zoro probably intended, licking into his mouth because he can and because he wants the sort of closeness only this can afford. Zoro’s hand comes up to curl around the side of his neck as he returns the kiss—lets Sanji kiss him. He thumbs the cut of Sanji’s jaw before he pulls back.

“Sorry,” Sanji says, a little shaken and a lot aroused. “I just—we haven't done anything in a while and I'm more pent up than I thought.”

Zoro grins at him, slightly feral, which is annoying but also Sanji thinks it's sort of cute which is more annoying. “If you can get more than three hours of sleep, we can fuck.”

With that, Zoro shoves him back onto the bed and says, “Sleep. I'll take care of dinner.”

The door closes and Sanji is so tired he doesn't even undress or climb under the blanket, he just takes off his shoes and lays on the bed. His mind has long started to register sleep as a threat so it takes him some time to fall asleep, the light filtering in from the alley window shifting into warm evening temperatures until he fades into sleep.

The sense of being choked settles in quickly. Then being held down. Sanji doesn’t even struggle against it because it’s not the worst part. That’ll come next.

As always, Sanji’s eyes are weighted shut. He feels the stomach-turning yet familiar sensation of someone watching him. The threat that something is going to crawl onto the bed. He doesn't want to, but his eyes slip open all the same. 

Zeff is slumped on the windowsill. He looks just like he did that day on that wretched rock. Like he's dying. Blood drips from his missing leg, a black stain down the wall. His dull gaze flicks to Sanji, goes sharp.

Sanji’s eyes slide shut. Then open. It’s Zoro in the window. Of course it’s Zoro, except his leg is gone too, cannibalized right to the socket. Sanji doesn’t want to look anymore.

Sanji jerks awake to somewhere new, and it takes a moment for his vision to adjust. Wherever he's ended up is nearly pitch black. There’s a thin stream of light slipping in from his left and it illuminates the cave Sanji is in. He’s so disoriented from his dream that it’s difficult for him to understand his change in position.

Wrapped around his legs and arms is a thick, web-like substance attaching him to the cave ceiling and to the floor like a column. Sanji tries to move his limbs and he might as well have not woken up. He feels just as paralyzed.

There's a shuffling behind him and he turns his head. To his right, there are a few other webbed stalactites but that doesn't matter as much as the large pale spider-thing that slides into his view. A scream lodges in his throat and sweat breaks out cold at the base of his spine. He’s never seen anything like this, and he never wants to again.

It's not exactly a spider though. It's pale, with a human face and too many limbs. In the dim light, Sanji recognizes the cut of its teeth from that night when he had first started to see things in his sleep. His breath comes out hard and fast as his lungs go tight.

“I'm glad I finally caught you,” it says and as it reaches out, fine webbing starts to spread from the center of its palm, continuing to encase Sanji’s arms. “The others were so easy. One, two, three nights of lost sleep and they came quietly. But you? You fought kicking and screaming every step of the way. Always waking up before I could bring you along.”

Sanji’s mouth opens, but his tongue feels heavy. He forces it out, because it’s the only thing he can think after what Iris said to him. It looked like a spider.

“Are you the Sandpiper?”

The thing cocks its head and pauses in its efforts to wrap him up. “It’s funny. Every single one of you has asked me that. What is this island’s obsession with that damn bird?”

Sanji tries to kick out his legs and the webbing gives slightly. He's so fucking tired, but he’s not looking to be made into a spider’s web. This is the worst. Why couldn't it have been a fucking bird? He rolls his tongue in his mouth just as a reminder that he can move something.

“I tried to leave you alone after I first washed up with you two,” the spider says as it continues its slow crawl around him. “There were easier meals. But your fears are too delicious. I couldn't forget the way they tasted. All the others were so boring. Bland. Being burned alive. Fear of the dark. Drowning. That little girl at that inn of yours? Afraid of death. That’s not even worth eating.

“But you? You're afraid of so many things. Like a little feast.”

Some of Sanji’s horror starts to fade, replaced by a sharp anger. It makes it easier to breathe, to think. Sanji’s going to crush this thing’s skull into a million pieces.

“Fear of bugs is one thing—but your father? Being alone. Failing. Being unlovable.” The creature grips Sanji's arms, seemingly to finish binding him. “That one tasted the best.”

Sanji kicks hard and the webbing around his knees breaks. It affords him enough movement that he's able to swing forward and slam his knees into the creature’s face. It stumbles back and he rips his arms down. The webbing still has them trapped tight in front of him, but he really only needs his feet. Even though he’s not wearing shoes, hasn't slept in days, and feels wildly off balance, he knows he can do this.

“What the hell are you?” Sanji demands as he kicks the spider in the chest and slams it back into the wall.

It pulls itself back up before baring those sharp teeth. “Are you afraid of me? I like that. This has been such a lovely place to recuperate after being trapped. All these people’s fears. A snack here—a snack there while I found a few worth harvesting.”

“Fuck off,” Sanji growls and he continues to work on wresting his arms free of the webbing. He's only partially successful and he tries not to tip over as he moves to kick at the spider’s head despite his shitty balance.

The creature grabs his leg and sinks its teeth into his ankle. He grunts in pain and his vision flickers. When it finally focuses, the spider is gone. Sanji blinks up at the black ceiling of the cave. He tries to move but his body is weighed down, limbs stuck in that way that has become so familiar.

“Are you asleep, sweetheart?”

Sanji knows the voice but the words are wrong. Zoro wouldn’t call him that. Shithead. Cook. Curly. His eyes flick to Zoro as he kneels down over Sanji’s legs. There’s blood on his mouth, smeared over his jaw and neck like he’s bitten out the throat of some enemy. It feels like a threat as he leans forward and pushes his hand over Sanji’s face so hard it makes his teeth creak before sliding it down to wrap it around his neck.

“You’re so desperate, you’ll let me do anything to you.” Zoro squeezes down harder on his windpipe and Sanji can’t even struggle. “Worthless little rat, dying in the dark.”

He needs to wake up, wake up, wake up.

The world shifts and his arms twitch where they’re stuck together when his eyes open. There’s still a hand on his throat and his lungs are seizing as he chokes. The creature bears down on top of him, and he’s forced to shove aside the heavy wave of revulsion that threatens to crush him. He can’t think about it. He can’t be tired. He can’t be afraid. 

He has to fight.

He uses the leverage afforded by the flexibility in his legs to flip them and send the spider onto its back. The move dislodges the creature’s grip and Sanji rolls to his feet. The spider is slower than he is; it has too many limbs to coordinate. Sanji brings his foot down on its skull and watches as it slumps to the ground.

Even though he’s struggling to breathe, and the thing is down, not moving at all, he shoves his heel into its throat for good measure. 

Altogether a disgusting business as black blood seeps into his socks, but he wants it dead. Sanji sucks in a huge breath and rips his arms the rest of the way free so he can collapse forward onto his knees, hanging his head as he wills the world to stop spinning. He feels like shit.

What the hell? This thing had been sitting in this cave doing what? Kidnapping people in their sleep by manipulating their dreams? Sanji doesn’t like the implication that his dreams are worse than other people’s. That some function of his fears are more appealing to a creature like this. It’s a shitty thing to consider and something he won’t think about unless he has to.

Sanji turns to the other webbed structures and has a sinking feeling he knows what’s inside. It takes a few well-placed kicks but one finally thumps to the ground. More than anything, the effort comes when he’s forced to tear open the webbing with his hands. Briefly, he wishes Zoro were there so that he might have something sharp to use. 

The body inside is emaciated, the clothes damp from sweat and other bodily fluids, and the skin is sickly pale. When Sanji peels back the web from the face, he recognizes the carpenter’s daughter.

He doesn’t have a lot of hope that she’s alive, but he reminds himself he has personally survived some pretty terrible circumstances as he leans down to listen for her breath. When he hears the slight rattle, he falls back on his ass, so relieved he thinks he could pass out and sleep for a few hours right there on the cold ground. But he can’t. He has work to do, no matter how exhausted he is.

He tears down what he can only think of as cocoons and is forced to acknowledge that he’s not capable of carrying four bodies back to town. Of the four of them, it’s no surprise that the man—the cook—is in the worst shape. He’s been there the longest. Sanji isn’t even sure if he’s alive and he’s even less sure if moving him by himself is a good idea. 

He needs a doctor. He considers the other bodies and if taking them back to town is a good idea. Moving any of them seems risky and he doesn’t even know where town is in relation to this place. It feels bad to leave them, but he knows he’ll come back. He’ll bring help.

Casting a final look over the grim scene on the stone floor, he walks out of the cave and into the night. He’s on a long cliff edge overlooking the sea where waves crash down below. The moon casts shadows over the sea grass and Sanji doesn’t know which direction to walk in. There are some trees leading downhill and the cave itself is carved into the craggy rock that has always risen in the distance behind Newport. He reasons it can’t be far if the monster had been taking people from the town itself. So he winds his way through the trees, socks squelching with blood and gritty sand. 

He walks for some time before the trees thin out. A few times, his vision goes spotty, and he’s forced to lean against a tree. The clock tower reads ten in the evening when he finally sees the edge of town, but despite that, when he finally knocks on Halloran’s door, he’s greeted by an irritable doctor. 

He’s far too tired to be nice or reasonable or to beat around the bush. “I need your help.”

Halloran grips the edge of the door like he regrets opening it and frowns as he looks him up and down. His eyes linger on Sanji's socked feet. “It’s the middle of the night. Can this wait until morning?”

“Unless there’s another doctor in town, you’re gonna want to put on some shoes,” Sanji says tersely and when he goes to explain the situation, Halloran’s expression shifts from frustration to disbelief.

“Why are you here? You should get the police,” Halloran chides. He leaves the door open as he starts shuffling around the room to put on shoes and to grab his bag.

“I can do that,” Sanji offers, but the thought of another task makes him want to tear his hair out. He wants a cigarette. And to lay the fuck down. “Where are they?”

“Come on,” Halloran says, shoving past him and out onto the street. “You’ll have to show me where we’re going anyway.”

Sanji shoves a filthy hand through his hair and tugs just to wake himself up as he follows Halloran down the street. The business of managing this is not what he signed up for. He didn’t sign up for any of it.

The policeman on duty, sitting at the little desk in the police box, seems disinclined to believe Sanji until Halloran steps in. “If people die because of you, what then?” the doctor bites out.

It’s comforting to know Halloran is a bit of a dick to everybody. 

The three of them climb up the hill back to the cave and when the young policeman lights a cigarette, Sanji is able to beg one off of him. It wakes him up a little and he waves the other two men into the cave as he leans against one of the weather-beaten trees a few yards away to smoke his prize.

He hears some chatter and the sound of a den den mushi. He sighs. He wonders if he can leave, but then the policeman comes out, looking shaken. 

“I’m going to have to ask you some questions,” he says, wavering a little as he pulls out a small notebook. Sanji understands. What could a policeman in a town like Newport possibly have seen in his life to prepare him for this?

So Sanji tells him the basics. Ultimately, it’s really fucking weird, but it’s also not his problem if this guy doesn’t believe him. There’s a disgusting, monstrous corpse in the cave and that’s a fairly strong piece of evidence supporting his story. By the end, several other policemen have arrived with stretchers and Sanji gets dismissed. He wants to check in with Halloran. He wants to know how things have gone with the girls, with the cook, but it will have to wait until morning.

He hauls himself down the hill, through the quiet streets of Newport, and into the dark entryway of the Rosewood.

Zoro is sleeping at the check-in desk and the minute the door shuts behind Sanji, he’s on his feet.

“What the hell, cook?” he demands and, for a moment, it’s strange that he doesn’t have his crutch. There’s no wooden sound accompanying his steps and Sanji pushes his dirty fists into his eye sockets as he groans.

“Sorry,” he says, “some stuff happened. What are you doing? Rose will skin you for scaring the guests like a fucking moss-covered guard dog.”

“I finished dinner and when I went to our room, you were gone. I didn’t even see you leave,” Zoro grits out. Sanji doesn’t want to deal with this. He doesn't want to fight. He wants to lay down. He wants to sleep.

“There was a whole thing,” Sanji says as he steps past Zoro to head to the showers. Much as he’d like to, he can’t sleep in the state he’s in. “Everything’s good now. I’m going to shower. You go to bed.”

“I’m going to kill you,” Zoro growls. “Can’t you let someone help you for five fucking minutes?”

“And how would you suggest I do that?” Sanji snaps. The spots are back and he feels dizzy. “I had no control over what was happening. And I handled it, didn’t I?”

“You’re always like this. Saying shit like ‘I handled it.’ ‘It’s fine.’ ‘Don't worry’,” Zoro sneers and it’s hard for Sanji not to feel like he’s being made fun of except Zoro reaches out and curls a hand around his wrist. The touch is gentle despite the fact he looks like he wants to beat Sanji to a pulp. “But you're not here alone.”

Sanji has to fight the urge to pull away, to walk out of the room and leave this entire place behind. “I can handle–”

“I’m not saying you can’t,” Zoro says with a scowl. “I'm saying sometimes it's good to ask for help so you don't die.”

“I wasn't going to die, shithead,” Sanji grumbles. His heart is starting to kick up. It sucks to react this way. As if, even exhausted, Zoro has a hold on him.

“You've barely been alive all week,” Zoro replies and he tugs at Sanji so that they’re leaning together. Sanji would call it a hug if that didn’t feel too sentimental. “I fucking hate it. You haven't been a bitch at all.”

Sanji is almost too tired to give that remark the response it's due and his eyelids go heavy as he leans against Zoro. He is so weak against this easy affection. “You've been a big enough bitch for both of us.”

“Big shoes to fill,” Zoro replies. Sanji huffs against Zoro's neck and closes his eyes. He thinks he could probably sleep standing up given half the chance. But Zoro nudges him.

“Come on. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

For the second time that day—is it even the same day?—Sanji lets Zoro lead him from the room. The showers are quiet when they go inside and Sanji strips off his clothes, fully intending to chuck them directly into the garbage. They are covered in sand and mud and webbing, and he never wants to see them again, strapped finances be damned. 

Zoro also undresses and Sanji realizes he means to follow him into the shower. “What are you doing?”

“Returning a favor,” Zoro says as he pushes him across the tiles without the usual force. 

The hot water on his skin is hardly enough, but he's already listing to the side as the warmth starts to relax him. When his elbow knocks into the wall, he’s forced to remind himself to stay upright and Zoro snorts.

“You’re too tired, cook,” Zoro says, scrubbing his fingers through Sanji's hair to wash it before he takes the shower hose down and continues to run the water over him. 

Sanji sighs at the feel of his hands. He shouldn’t be so easy. The touch might be perfunctory, a means to an end, but it still makes his stomach unravel. And that's really what he wants now. Comfort and ease. A reminder that everything will be okay. Because it will be. It always is.

Zoro hooks the shower head back up and his hands return to Sanji’s skin, slightly slower now. Tender almost. “Curly.”

Sanji hums, a bit out of it. 

“Sit down,” Zoro says quietly, urging him down. He takes his time finding a seat on one of the stools, a bit worried he might fall over if he doesn’t go slow.

When Zoro drops to his knees in front of him, Sanji stares at him blankly and asks again, “What are you doing?”

“I’m going to wash your feet, dumbass.”

Sanji doesn’t know what to say. In no world did he ever imagine Roronoa Zoro washing his dirty, disgusting feet. 

The blood from the creature had soaked through his socks, leaving a grayish film behind and Zoro rinses it off before setting aside the showerhead. He picks up the soap to lather his hands and then takes his left foot and rests it in his lap as he begins to wash his toes. He hums with obvious curiosity and brushes his hands over the bite on his calf before moving back down to his feet. His fingers pass over Sanji's soles and his thumbs dig into the sensitive arch. It feels good. He can't deny it. Like he's being taken care of.

Zoro's head is bowed as he pays attention to what he's doing. His cropped green hair has gotten a little longer while they've been staying in Newport and Sanji likes this little evidence of his human nature. He sighs and reaches out to brush his fingers through it. “Thank you.”

Zoro squints up at him suspiciously, pausing in what he's doing, and Sanji continues, “This is nice. You're being nice.”

Zoro scoffs. “I'd be nice to you more often if you weren't such a dick.”

Sanji shoves his foot hard into Zoro's hand and Zoro falls back on his ass. “Can’t you take a shitty compliment?”

Zoro grabs the shower head and for a moment Sanji expects to get a faceful of water, but his foot just gets rinsed before Zoro starts to work on the other. “I thought you didn't like it when I took your compliments.”

Sanji doesn't remember that conversation, but he's starting to get embarrassed regardless. If this is what he gets for being genuine for one fucking second then no thanks.

“Don't constipate yourself,” Zoro says with a snort. “You're thinking way too hard.”

He sets Sanji's second foot down and then stands to shut off the water before getting Sanji a towel. “Dry off.”

Sanji holds the towel in his lap and stifles a yawn. “It's wet right here.”

Zoro shoves at his head. “You're a moron. Walk over to the dry spot.”

Sanji doesn't even have it in him to be peeved at Zoro for calling him a moron. He just gets up and dries himself off from head to toe. Zoro follows suit, patting off the water that’s gathered in the places he’s touched Sanji.

In the absence of clean clothes, Sanji walks back to their room with just a towel around his waist. He only cares a little bit given the fact that it's the dead of night and he’d rather not drag himself back into his crusty clothes.

The bedroom is quiet and Sanji can feel sleep dragging at him as he manages to put on his boxers before getting in bed. Zoro pulls the sheets up and his hands find Sanji's back, fingers splayed over his spine, even as he’s rolled away facing the wall. He exhales and Sanji forces himself awake.

“Why are you huffing like a bull?”

Another exhale.

Sanji rolls over so he can look at Zoro and he finds him lying on his side, arm tucked up under his head. His eyes are dark, like he’s considering something. 

“What happened tonight?” Zoro asks and Sanji reaches out to slide his hand down Zoro's arm, moving to tangle their fingers together between them. His heart pounds a fine and terrible rhythm, but it feels too good to touch him. Too good to stop.

“Some bullshit,” Sanji says and Zoro snorts out a laugh, head ducking as he turns to push his face into his arm as if to hide a little. He looks sweet like this, and Sanji wants to kiss him.

When he sobers, he turns his eyes back on Sanji. “Will you tell me?”

Sanji leans forward and brushes his mouth over Zoro’s, butterfly soft. It surprises him how good it feels, which is stupid, at this point he should know how he reacts to these sorts of touches. “Tomorrow, okay?”

Zoro’s hand settles at his hip and he makes a low noise of agreement. Then he kisses Sanji again, but Sanji forgets to kiss back. He knows he's falling asleep, but he should say something. “Marimo.”

Zoro lets out a questioning hum and his thumb passes over the side of Sanji's waist.

“Thanks for the shower,” Sanji says but it comes out garbled, half-slurred. His head is foggy. Half-asleep. “You're…good.”

Zoro's hand trails up his side in a steady, quiet path. Sanji is dragged under by it. “Sanji. I'm glad…”

Sanji’s eyes are fluttering. He’s not sure he can stay awake. “Hmm?”

“If anybody was going to be stuck together on this stupid rock,” Zoro says, nudging in close to push another kiss against his mouth. This one barely catches his lips. “It’s good it was us.”

That doesn’t seem right. Zoro wouldn’t say something like that. Sanji blinks hard and tries to wake himself up. “Yeah?” he asks, pressing against Zoro’s mouth to take another kiss. It’s nice. Warm and easy. Sweet too.

Zoro exhales against him, hands growing heavy on his skin as he starts to kiss down over his throat.  “I wanna feel you,” Zoro says, nuzzling at his neck. “Be inside you. Make you feel good. That okay? You can say no.”

Sanji’s hands feel lost, sliding over his hair, brushing over his shoulders, unsure of where to land. “I’m not—I might be pretty useless right now.”

Zoro moves over him, rolling him onto his back slow as honey and then rising to his knees. He’s naked as he always is when they’re in bed together and Sanji likes looking at him as he palms over Sanji's thighs, slipping his hands beneath the edge of his boxers.

“I'll take care of you,” he says like it's obvious and maybe Sanji is stupid.

“I—” Sanji wants to bite back at him but that all dies in his mouth when Zoro hooks his fingers in the band of his underwear and starts to pull it off. He's so sleepy, but this feels sleepy too, Zoro moving with him, touching him softly.

“Yeah,” he breathes out as Zoro mouths over his thighs, spreading open his legs and pushing his fingers gently behind his balls. “Okay. Yeah.”

It's relaxing. Like laying down to rest. Zoro's hands between his legs, his mouth on his neck as Sanji's eyes slip shut and he blinks into sleep. 

“— pretty like this, huh,” Zoro says and Sanji drifts back. Lips brush the corner of his mouth before retreating.

“You're pretty,” he grumbles as Zoro presses slick fingers inside him. His hips shift and twitch of their own accord, a steady heat building in his legs.

“Not an insult, curly,” Zoro says before pushing his fingers in just right and making Sanji gasp. His cock throbs against his stomach, dripping a little pool onto his skin and when he forces his eyes open, it's only to see Zoro bend down and lap at it. 

Sanji's slightly dizzy, a whirlpool of exhaustion and arousal spinning him down and as Zoro withdraws his fingers, he whines and arches his back, hips lifting off the bed to chase the sensation. Zoro smooths his hands over the crests of his hip bones and tugs him up slightly, Sanji's legs draping over his thighs, before pushing his cock against Sanji's hole. Sanji doesn’t know when he found time to slick himself, where the lube came from or where it went, but the slide is wet and easy. It makes a lewd sound that drags him from the sleepy state he's fallen into.

He reaches out and grasps Zoro's arms. “Feels good.”

Zoro rolls down on top of him and their mouths meet, hot, slow and full of feeling. Or that's what it seems like to Sanji. This feels like something more than anything they've done before. It feels significant. 

He groans into Zoro's mouth and Zoro hums in response. Any sound Zoro makes in bed is something that Sanji hoards like precious gold. It's so rare and makes Sanji so fucking horny that he feels like he could crawl out of his skin.

“I never thought you’d like this,” Zoro says and Sanji can’t even find the words to respond. He’s puddling into the bed, melted down into nothing at all.

“You feel so good,” Zoro murmurs into his neck. “I wanted it. Thought about it so much. I'd suck you off and you'd make these noises. I wanted to hear them while you were on my cock.”

Sanji's stomach heats so quickly that he thinks he might come just from hearing that. He gasps and digs his hands into the sheets. “Zoro.”

“Yeah,” Zoro says, curving down to bite gently at his chest. “Like that.”

He feels so fucking full, so turned on he wants to tear himself in half. Instead he just wraps himself around Zoro as tight as he can and rocks up into him, letting it all happen and when he does come, it's hardly a surprise, the way it washes over him, tugging hard at the base of his spine as his legs shake and his cock jerks against his belly.

Zoro makes another one of those noises, a heady groan against his chest as he fucks him through it, steady until he too loses his rhythm. “Too fucking—Sanji—shit—”

Oversensitive and hazy, Sanji sinks his hands into Zoro's shower-damp hair. A feeling bubbles up inside him, accompanied by words that he stifles into the roll of his throat.

All that comes out is a stuttered, “My—my—”

He doesn’t know what he’s saying. He’s sex drunk. Exhausted. His brain is a tangled-up mush.

But then Zoro moves inside him a final time, hands clutched on the outside of his thighs as he comes and breathes, “Yeah, yours.”

Sanji's hands fall to the mattress as Zoro pushes his face against his chest before he drops Sanji's legs and pulls out. He rests there for a moment and Sanji thinks he can feel the hammering of his heart.

He can’t possibly have heard him right.

Sanji twists his head to watch as Zoro climbs out of bed to do the bare minimum clean up—disgusting mossball same as always. 

He wants to say something. Pop the quiet like a fucking balloon. But there's come leaking out of his ass and he needs to do something about it.

He gets out of bed and does his own clean up, shuffling out to the hall bathroom in his boxers hoping no one will run into him—and when he gets back, the dark of the bedroom feels oppressive. It smells like sex and soap and Sanji doesn't know what to do.

He's had these feelings for weeks now. Months almost. He'd resigned himself to the knowledge they would be entirely meaningless like every other crush he'd ever had. But maybe Zoro—

“Why are you standing in the middle of the room, cook?”

Sanji startles as Zoro pulls himself up on one arm and peers at him. His hands twitch in need of a cigarette. He's been smoking a lot less since coming to Newport. Maybe it's been good for him in the long run.

“Tired. Sorry,” Sanji says, scrubbing at his face with both hands before he moves to get back in bed.

Zoro grunts. “Maybe you'll get a full night's sleep.”

“Wouldn't that be a dream,” Sanji says as he rolls onto his side and settles on his pillow.

“You're not fucking funny,” Zoro says, jabbing him in the ribs. Sanji slaps his hand away before closing his eyes.

He expects it now, but it still raises goosebumps on his arms when Zoro slides up against his back to put an arm over his waist. 

It settles around Sanji, this quiet possibility like maybe if he rolled back over and spilled this tangled mess of feeling at Zoro's feet, Zoro might feel it too. His heart thuds and he knows he needs to sleep. Maybe in the morning this will all make sense. Maybe in the morning he’ll have the balls to say something.

**

It turns out four hours of sustained sleep isn't nearly enough to make up for weeks of deprivation, but Sanji feels more alive than he has in days when the alarm goes off and he forces himself out of bed. Zoro stirs and clutches at his arm.

“No,” Zoro mumbles, rising from the mattress. He looks half-dead. “Back to sleep.”

Sanji tugs himself away. “Somebody has to cook breakfast.”

Zoro climbs out of bed and knocks his hand around on the side table until he’s able to turn on the light. “I’ll do it. Get back in bed, shit cook.”

Sanji can’t help it. He starts to laugh. Zoro scowls at him for a moment before picking him up and dumping him into the mess of sheets. 

“Don't toss me around,” Sanji says as Zoro tries to wrap him in the blanket but also, he can’t stop laughing. It’s funnier somehow because Zoro is naked and it’s hard to take him seriously with his dick out.

“You did it to me for a week,” Zoro says as he goes to get his clothes.

“You had a broken leg,” Sanji points out.

“You’ve got a broken brain,” Zoro tosses back while he tugs on his pants and shirt. “Now go to sleep before I knock you out.”

Before Sanji can even think to protest again, Zoro disappears out the door so Sanji collapses back onto Zoro’s pillow and falls asleep.

There’s daylight coming in through the alley window when he next wakes up. His leg also itches like hell.

Groaning, he sits up and pulls back the sheets to find that the bite from the monster the day before has done a poor job of healing on his calf. The skin is red and hot to the touch. 

He supposes he meant to follow up with Halloran anyway.

He gets dressed quickly and when he goes out to the dining room, he sees Zoro through the kitchen window chopping something at the butcher block. Sanji slips into the kitchen and Zoro glances up at him. “Feeling better?”

It had seemed easier that morning, cloaked in exhaustion, to be normal about everything, but now standing in the kitchen with nothing but a fish carcass and a block of wood between them, Sanji is stuck in what happened the night before. He had to have misheard Zoro. He’d been half-asleep, caught up in the dreamlike qualities of the night and the sex—

Zoro makes a face and taps the edge of the knife on the wood to get his attention. “Oi, curly, are you alive in there?”

Sanji grabs the edge of the butcher block to ground himself. “Are you okay to finish on your own? I need to go see the doctor.”

Zoro’s knife stills. “That bite on your leg?”

“I thought I should get it checked out,” he admits. “Do we need anything while I’m out?”

“No,” Zoro says, waving him off with the blade in his hand. “Go get it looked at.”

Sanji leaves and he tries not to get too caught in the feeling that seems to be bubbling between them. Why can’t he just be happy with what he has? Things are good. They’re good.

When he gets to Halloran’s, he finds the place is busy. The doctor has called in assistance and all the beds inside are occupied by the bodies of the missing people, hooked up to IVs and looking like corpses to Sanji’s eyes. Halloran is at his desk in the corner, and he doesn’t look much better, eyes sunken, face pale.

“What do you want?” he asks when Sanji comes inside, friendly as ever.

“I’ve got an injury that needs looking at. I thought maybe a doctor could help,” Sanji says, a little sarcastic because if Halloran can be a dick so can he.

Halloran waves him over to the chair beside him and Sanji rolls up his pant leg. At the sight of the bite, Halloran lets out a hum. “It’s not infected but you’re risking it.” He gets up to look through his jars. “You know, that looks an awful lot like the bite your friend had when you brought him in.”

Sanji places careful fingers along the edges of the teeth marks and thinks back to what the creature had said about washing up with him and Zoro. Had it bit Zoro too? If so… “I might need some antidote then.”

Halloran takes that in stride and puts together some packets for him. As he does, Sanji asks, “What about everyone else? How are they doing?”

Halloran glances behind him at the people in the beds, some hidden by curtains. “I don’t know. They were in rough shape. We’ve got them hooked up to fluids, but their bodies were so deprived of nutrients, I’m not sure how things will turn out.”

It’s not very satisfying to hear, but Sanji understands. It’s better than the alternative even if the recovery might be grueling. He remembers what it took to come back from starvation all too well and he wouldn’t wish it on anyone. 

He gets back to the Rosewood with instructions on how to take his antibiotics and a newly bandaged calf, feeling assured he’s not headed in the same feverish direction as Zoro had been in those early days. He took the medication Halloran gave him and he’s got a few stitches which isn’t necessarily pleasant, but it’ll do.

Lunch has wrapped up and Sanji immediately sets to washing up. The ritual of it settles him and it also allows him to ignore his situation with Zoro. He knows it's childish, but he doesn’t know what else to do. Half of him is desperate to say something, and the other half just wants to kick it under the rug and pretend it never happened.

Too caught up in his head, he’s scrubbing at the sauce pot like it’s personally wronged him when hands slide over his sides, causing him to startle and slam his elbow back on instinct.

“What the fuck, curly?” Zoro says, catching his arm and using the leverage to shove him back against the sink.

“Don’t what the fuck me, asshole,” Sanji retorts as he turns around to face him. “At least with the crutch I could tell when you were coming. Why are you sneaking up on me?”

“I wasn’t sneaking — you’re not paying attention. What's got you in your head?”

Sanji glances away and his hands drip onto the tiled floor. He tries to find the right way to say it, to broach the stupid thing that's weighing on him. “You said we were doing this because there was nothing better to do.”

A heavy frown descends on Zoro's face. “What?”

“Yesterday.” Sanji grimaces and goes to push his hand through his hair before remembering there's soapy water still on it. “You said—”

Zoro crosses his arms over his chest and raises his eyebrows. Sanji's starting to feel like he has no idea what he’s even trying to talk about. Like he shouldn’t have brought it up.

“Never mind,” Sanji says. He grabs the kitchen towel to dry his hands. “I need a cigarette. Can you finish the dishes?”

Zoro gives him a long look, suspicion heavy in his gaze. “Never mind what?”

There’s a prickle at the base of his neck urging him to lash out. Even starting this conversation was a dumb idea because it’s making him feel vulnerable in a way he despises and he can’t stop himself from sneering, “If it was just because we’re bored, why are we even fucking around with each other at all?”

He expects Zoro to bare his teeth. To fight back. For them to tussle and shout and to come to some conclusion about this unsustainable situation. But Zoro just shrugs.

“We don't have to be,” Zoro says, moving to brush past Sanji. “Go smoke your cigarette, curlybrowed shit cook.”

The water runs and Zoro starts to scrub the pot Sanji had just abandoned. Everything feels slightly surreal. Sanji knows he said the wrong thing. He fumbled that conversation right onto the ground. He just needs to pick it back up, try again.

But before he can say anything, there's the sound of shouting outside that Sanji can't quite make out. It’s much louder than the typical noises he’d hear from the hustle and bustle of daily life in Newport, and he dries his hands on a towel to go see what’s happening.

He steps down into the entryway and opens the door to be greeted by a familiar voice coming down the road. 

“Sanjiiiii! Zorooooo! The guy at the docks said you worked here!”

Sanji clutches the door and then turns back to the dining room only to find Zoro standing on the step behind him, eyes wide.

Luffy is here.

Chapter Text

They were on Agate Island for thirteen weeks and three days.

While the crew tracks through downtown Newport, they are more than happy to regale Sanji with stories of the pirates they got caught up with after Sanji had been pulled overboard. As they do, a few pieces slot into place.

“They had this huge–huge–” Usopp spreads his hands for emphasis– “zoo on board. There was a lion with three–no, four–heads!”

“And a horse that ate clouds,” Luffy says with a pleased nod.

“He’s telling the truth, cook-san,” Robin adds because they are both well aware of the sorts of stories Usopp tends to tell and that Luffy believes. “They weren’t treating them very well and it took us some time to find the animals new homes. After we convinced the pirates to give them up.”

She says convinced with particular emphasis and Sanji can imagine the type of convincing it came down to. He watches as Usopp and Luffy bounce into a shop that sells handmade goods. He missed them fiercely. Glancing at Robin, he asks, “Were any of the creatures…violent?”

Robin leans against the wall. Her eyes never leave Luffy as he tries to eat some glassblown art and Usopp valiantly tugs it out of his grip. “A few.”

It’s cryptic and it makes Sanji wonder exactly what happened in the weeks that they were separated. 

“There was a log book of their inventory. If you’d like to take a look,” Robin offers. “It’s back on the Merry.”

They eat dinner at the Rosewood. Sanji cooks and everybody makes a lot of noise about how happy they are to eat his food again even though it's simple fish and soup. As they eat and chat, it becomes clear that Nami is annoyed that the island was so hard to track down.

“Do you know what it was like stopping at islands and trying to ask for an eternal pose when you don't know the name of the place you're trying to find, and your only reference point is a whirlpool and a craggy mountain?”

It's strange now because while Sanji still thinks Nami is one of the most beautiful women he's ever seen—an angel sent from the heavens—his heart no longer races when she gets angry. That doesn't mean he doesn't feel the need to worship the ground she walks on. 

“We’re so sorry, Nami-san,” he says, sweet as sugar. “We’ll be more careful next time.”

Nami bonks him on the head. “There won't be a next time. Luffy was chewing through the railing by the third week.” Then she softens and leans closer to him in her chair so she can pull him into a hug against her side. “We missed you.”

Sanji is floored. Both by the hug and the fact that he is not appreciating the way her breasts feel pressed against his arm nearly as much as he should. 

By habit, he glances over at Zoro where he’s seated across the table in the dining room. He’s finished his food and is busy drinking whatever alcohol has ended up in his cup. He doesn’t look at Sanji.

In what Sanji can only feel is a fit of irony, it only takes the log pose four hours to set from Agate. Nami says they’ll stay overnight on the ship and Sanji is grateful. He wants to restock the ship’s stores and, to be frank, say his goodbyes. 

The crew leaves after dinner and Sanji lingers, waiting for Rose in the kitchen. She doesn’t even act surprised when he tells her the news.

“Leaving me in the lurch, cook?” she says with a sigh.

“You’ll find someone else,” he offers but the conversation feels uncomfortable no matter what he says.

Rose claps a hand on his shoulder and gives it a hard squeeze. “Nobody will get me as much business as you.”

She says it with a certain sense of finality before turning on her heel and going back to cleaning up after dinner. Sanji’s eyes prickle. He knows he’ll probably never see her again and while they weren’t exactly friends, she has done a lot for him.

It’s actually Iris who ends up distraught at Sanji’s departure.

“You’re leaving?” she says when he finds her by the welcome desk.

Sanji doesn’t know what to say in the face of her sudden show of feeling. He’d expected her to wave him off and say good riddance. “You saw my friends tonight. They came to get me.”

She scrubs at her nose and huffs. “And Zoro.”

“Yeah. And Zoro,” he acknowledges, ignoring the very complex series of emotions that pass through him. Here at the Rosewood, he and Zoro go together, one and the same. Sanji and Zoro. It won’t be like that anymore.

When Iris hugs him, Sanji's shock might actually bring down the inn. He pats her head and doesn’t say anything. He’s not actually sure what he would say. He’s not good at this. He was barely able to say goodbye to Zeff and the man raised him.

“Fine,” she says with a sniff, obviously trying to sound cool. “Run off.”

All of his goodbyes are hard. He didn’t think thirteen weeks was long enough to put down roots, but maybe he had. All the shopkeepers seem to laugh and wish him luck. Reif gives him a hug and tearfully thanks him for his support. Sanji’s fairly certain the police haven’t informed him of his involvement in the situation with his daughter. It makes the goodbye easier in the end. Agate may not be home, but Sanji will miss it in certain ways.

When he gets back to his room at the Rosewood, he realizes he has nothing he really needs to bring with him. All his clothes are back on the ship, and he doesn’t need his work shirts.

In the end, he still takes them, unsure if he'll want them in the future. He packs his little purse of saved up berries from the drawer and hesitates over the bottle of lube that Zoro bought what feels like ages ago. Their conversation that morning hangs heavy over his head, but he hopes it was just a misunderstanding that he can clear up the next time they are alone.

He holds the bottle in his hand as he drops onto the edge of the bed, replaying the nonchalant way Zoro had said they could simply end this. It makes him feel like he'd been wrong about whatever he'd thought might have happened between them the night before. He feels sick just thinking about it.

Regardless, he tucks the lube in among the folds of his shirts. He can use it to masturbate. If his sex life is about to die a swift death, he's going to get intimately reacquainted with his own hand.

The ship is quiet when he climbs on board and puts away his things in his trunk before taking stock of what they might need in the kitchen. To his surprise, the situation isn't dire. Like the crew knows what sorts of things he keeps on hand and tried to stay on top of it. That warms him and all he has to do is mark down a few fresh goods he'll pick up before their departure.

That night, when everybody returns to the ship, Sanji makes a late night treat for the crew. Just for the sake of it. Being back in his kitchen is like slipping into well-worn, beloved shoes. It's surprising really how at home he feels on the Merry despite the fact that he hadn’t lived there for very long before getting stranded on Agate. But he knows it's the crew—the people that make him feel like this is where he belongs. He could have been on Agate for a year and still wanted to come back to this.

Luffy is overjoyed to have everyone back together on the ship while Usopp pretends not to be tearful. Chopper and Robin give him pleased smiles. Even Nami seems satisfied. Zoro, on the other hand, is quiet. He doesn't even eat the tart Sanji had made and for some reason it's irritating as hell. 

It's only as Sanji is cleaning up after everyone leaves that he realizes Zoro's behavior is normal. This is how he has always acted on the Merry. Quiet more often than not. Speaking more when spoken to. Sanji had just gotten used to something different.

Sanji closes his eyes for a moment in between dishes. The kitchen is entirely empty. No Zoro. He won't be coming in to help. He's not beholden to now that working isn't part of keeping them housed and fed. 

He's probably off sleeping somewhere. Or training. Living the life he wants. Maybe Sanji needs to accept he has no part in that.

**

The first night on the Merry is hell.

The hammock is too cold and while he can hear Zoro’s soft snores, he feels too far away. There is no body weighing down the bed beside Sanji. No warm arm around his waist. No ability to simply roll over and seek out touch.

Sanji hates it.

Sanji tries to curl in on himself and ignore the way his body seems determined to remind him of a time when he was happier.

Not that he isn’t happy now. He is. He loves the crew. He's wanted to be back on the Merry since the minute he woke up on that beach. But his heart has always been weak to any sort of affection. And now it's four feet away, stuffed in the hands of someone who doesn’t even want it.

He supposes he'll get over it eventually. It's probably a rite of passage to go out in the world and have your heart magnificently broken.

It might be a little easier if it weren't by some guy he has to look at and cook for every day.

In an effort to distract himself as they set sail, he seeks out Robin and the little book they’d liberated from the pirates that had forced the Straw Hats so far away from Agate.

“It’s an interesting thing,” Robin says as she hands it over to Sanji before taking a seat at the table in the kitchen. “They were running experiments on some of them.”

Sanji sinks into the chair across from her and smokes his cigarette as he scans through the book. It’s full of all sorts of fantastical things that he’d never believe could exist—monsters—and there, plain as day, an entry about a creature with eight arms being studied for its ability to manipulate sleep. The entry is underlined and marked with a note: too volatile - dispose. The handlers remark on the way it knew their fears. The scribbled notations are vague, but Sanji understands what they don't say outright. He didn’t like it either.

He shuts the book and sighs before tamping out his cigarette. He’s still smoking less than he used to, the break over the last three months making it so he doesn’t crave it as much, but he thinks he’ll probably work back up to it.

“Find what you were looking for?” Robin asks smoothly, turning her cup on her saucer as she looks at him gently.

“Sure,” Sanji says before pushing to his feet. “Something like that.”

It takes four days for Zoro to speak to him again. Sanji didn’t really think it was possible to go that long without speaking to someone in a crew of seven people, but he manages it. The streak of silence only breaks because Sanji is meant to take over watch and their shifts overlap. It’s the dead of night when he climbs up into the crow’s nest and Zoro is sitting with his knees pulled up.

“My watch,” Sanji says. He stuffs a cigarette into his mouth rather than saying anything more.

Zoro pulls himself to his feet. It’s chilly at this stretch of sea and Sanji can see the plume of his breath for a moment before the wind pulls it away. “I thought it was Usopp tonight.”

“He has a cold and Chopper wants him getting a full night’s sleep,” Sanji says, exhaling smoke. “I said I could do it.”

“That puts you on two shifts,” Zoro says.

“And?”

Zoro huffs and he moves away before hopping down out of the nest. “Do whatever you want.”

Pathetically, Sanji curls down into the spot where Zoro was sitting, feels the heat of his body where it has already started to seep out of the wood and thunks his head back against the side of the nest. 

This fucking sucks.

Sanji resolves to get things back to normal between them. At some point, the crew is going to notice something, and he would be mortified if somebody asked him what was going on. So when they land at the next island, he goes out with Luffy and Usopp and decides he’s going to do what he likes: flirt.

The little restaurant they find can barely keep up with Luffy’s appetite, but Sanji isn’t really there to judge the food or the service. Instead, he drinks the mediocre wine and thinks about whether or not he wants to hit on their waitress.

“Sanji,” Luffy says around the mouthful of rice and meat that he’s been chewing on.

Sanji tears his eyes away from the woman’s legs as she saunters back to the kitchen. Luffy looks at him expectantly.

“You’ve been acting weird,” Luffy says and Sanji swallows hard around the wine in his mouth.

Usopp nods sagely. “You haven't even spoken to the waitress yet. Are you sick?”

“I—” Sanji doesn’t know where to start.

“Do you miss that island you were stuck on?” Luffy asks. “You probably made a lot of friends there.”

“No, not really,” Sanji says. He lights up a cigarette which is an easier thing to do than explain. Which is that he does miss it. What he misses is not the grueling work of being an inn cook. But rather the warm connection he had with Zoro. He’d felt so fucking happy and having that ripped out from under him has been difficult to adjust to.

“You know,” Usopp says, “I was stuck on an island once. For a whole year. I had to survive on only coconuts and crabs.”

“Really?” Luffy asks, still shoveling food into his mouth. He sounds intrigued.

Sanji laughs around his cigarette, glad for the distraction. It’s nice to know they care—of course they care—but they don’t need to know all the details. 

He ends up drinking more than he means to, and ultimately, not hitting on their waitress, because he feels too sloppy to do it any justice. No woman deserves him falling into their lap. He stumbles his way back to the ship feeling bleary and slightly nauseous. The wine really had been bottom shelf.

When he hauls himself down to pass out in his hammock, he finds Zoro spread out on the couch, his own bottle in hand. It gives Sanji pause, but he’s really too drunk to care about tip-toeing around the situation, so he just sighs and peels off his jacket, leaving it in a heap on the ground before doing his best to get himself into his hammock. But it keeps swinging and Sanji’s coordination is shit so he ends up standing there, thinking he really might hurl if he tries again.

“I’m sleeping on the floor,” Sanji announces to the room at large. Then more directly to Zoro, “Don’t be a dick about it.”

Zoro’s head tilts in his direction and his eyes slit open. “You’re the dick.”

Sanji kicks him in the ribs, but his balance isn’t great so when Zoro manages to grab his ankle, he tips back and falls on his ass on the floor. Groaning at the change in position and the sharp pain in his tailbone, Sanji stretches out his arms. “I’m gonna kick your ass when I’m sober.”

“You wish,” Zoro says and when Sanji twists over to look at him, his eyes have fallen shut. He’s still got a grip on Sanji’s ankle, foot tugged against his belly and Sanji considers yanking it away, but it's also the most physical contact they’ve had in over a week and Sanji is pathetically obsessed with it. 

Zoro’s hand curls around Sanji’s ankle and Sanji’s breath catches. 

“You never told me,” Zoro says, not opening his eyes. His voice holds that sleep-rough, alcohol-laden scratch. “You said you’d tell me.”

Sanji once more rolls his head on his neck to peer at him, but that doesn’t give him any hints as to what the fuck he means. “Huh?”

“About what happened that night. You said tomorrow. But then tomorrow came…”

Sanji realizes what he’s asking about, and he breathes through his dizziness. “This monster washed up with us from that whirlpool. The thing that bit you. It was making people sleepwalk and fucking with their dreams. My dreams.”

Zoro grunts in understanding. “What happened to it?”

“I smashed its head like a grape.”

Zoro’s fingers dip up the edge of his pant leg, skimming the edge of his sock and putting Sanji in a new type of daze that has nothing to do with alcohol. “What about the other people?”

Sanji tries to work his mouth, but he’s not doing so well. He clears his throat. “They were recovering when we left.”

“That probably made you happy, huh?”

Sanji wants to keep talking, but he’s too drunk. He can’t believe they’re even having this conversation. “Zoro, I’m drunk.”

That makes Zoro snort, and the sound curls up warm in Sanji’s chest. Zoro doesn’t say anything else and so he takes that as permission to finally pass out, half-hanging off the couch, drunk off his ass, and wondering if maybe this is how they get back to normal.

When he wakes up in the morning, his head is pounding, and he’s still in a weird position on the ground. Zoro is gone and Sanji groans. At least he hadn’t done anything really embarrassing like crawl on top of him and beg.

He peels himself off the floor, ignoring his snoring crewmates and climbs back up onto the deck. Zoro is near the bow, shirtless — fuck — lifting weights and looking sweaty and Sanji’s hangover suddenly makes everything feel worse because now he’s horny on top of it. He leans against the wall and curses himself for ever discovering he wanted to fuck men in general and Zoro in particular. 

“Are you okay, Sanji-kun?”

Sanji turns a bright smile towards Nami. “Why yes, my brilliant angel, can I get you anything?”

Nami’s eyebrows are pinched, and she doesn’t look convinced. However, as Sanji herds her into the galley, she lets him make her tea and sweets and doesn’t press. 

Zoro appears in the kitchen not too long after, sweaty with his shirt half tucked into his haramaki and Sanji’s stomach twists up so hard he thinks he might vomit in the sink. 

“What are you doing, mosshead?” Sanji demands before he can really process the fact that it's not abnormal for a member of the crew to be in the kitchen. He needs to calm down, but he doesn’t want to feel this way.

“I’m hungry,” Zoro says. There’s a slight tension to his words as he looks at Sanji. “You got a problem with that?”

“You are not allowed to eat the snacks I made for Nami-san,” Sanji hisses, “you disgusting, muscleheaded brute.”

Zoro pauses for a moment before his lips peel back in an expression of absolute revulsion. “Say that again, dartboard.”

“You guys,” Nami says plaintively. “You were doing so well after coming back.”

“Shut up,” Zoro snaps at her and Sanji sees red. He marches across the room and grabs Zoro by the front of his shirt. It’s warm, damp from the sweat of his body and he’s forced to ignore the flare of arousal that’s so instinctive he might as well be a fucking animal. 

“Do not talk to Nami-san that way.” Sanji shoves at him, hard enough that Zoro falls back and then he kicks him through the door. And instead of leaving it at that—Zoro is out of his kitchen. He should be able to breathe—Sanji follows after, and they fight. 

They haven’t come to blows in a long time. Not like this. 

Zoro presses the flat of his blade against the hard sole of Sanji’s shoe and bares his teeth. “What is wrong with you?”

“Me?” Sanji repeats. “What’s wrong with you?”

Zoro lands a lucky hit, jamming his elbow into Sanji’s belly and he flies back into the railing. It knocks the wind from his chest. “I haven’t done shit to you. You should be fucking happy.”

“You don’t have to do anything. You piss me off just by existing,” Sanji says, dropping down so he can spin a kick right into Zoro’s jaw. Zoro dodges it like a bastard and, the minute Sanji's feet hit the deck, slams his fist into his thigh. It forces Sanji down onto one knee and he sees Zoro move to press his blade to his throat, to tell him to yield. But he’s smarter than that. He drops onto one hand and swipes Zoro’s legs out from under him with a well-timed kick.

To his delight, Zoro goes down and Sanji lets out a whoop of success, moving to press his knee into Zoro’s chest and hold him there.

“I win, marimo,” Sanji says, and Zoro lets go of his swords, hands going to Sanji’s thighs. For a moment, he expects to be shoved off, but his hands just sit there, heavy and warm. The expression on Zoro’s face cuts right down to Sanji’s core. He hasn’t seen it in weeks. Soft, like they’re in bed together at the Rosewood and Zoro’s about to pull him in for a kiss.

Sanji falls forward onto one hand, fight-messy hair hanging into his face. “Zoro.”

Suddenly, the expression disappears, and Zoro knocks him onto his back. “Fuck you.”

Off kilter, Sanji doesn’t even move. He just listens to Zoro stomp off, feeling like he doesn’t understand what’s going on at all. 

**

When they drop anchor at the next inhabited island, Sanji stays behind on the Merry to reorganize the galley after a restocking trip. He’s been feeling confused since his fight with Zoro, unsure of what to do, and on edge about his own feelings. He knows he needs time to figure himself out and being alone is the only way he knows how.

He’s pulled out the entire contents of the spice cupboard and is trying to decide if he needs to restock the coriander when the door to the galley eases open. Sanji turns, startled to see Zoro who he thought had long departed with the rest of the crew. Zoro pauses, door still in his grasp, like he’s thinking about turning right back around, but ultimately, continues inside, marching to the wine rack.

“You can drink in town,” Sanji points out, trying not to sound irritated and failing from the start.

“Drinking in town is expensive,” Zoro counters and Sanji sighs.

“You can have one bottle if you do the dishes.”

Zoro gives him a narrow-eyed look but plucks a bottle seemingly at random from the rack which he sets on the table before heading to the sink without complaint. Sanji closes up the spice containers and rises to his feet, snatching a towel to help Zoro dry.

Zoro glances at him from the corner of his eye. “Why tell me to do it if you’re just going to help?”

“The washing’s the hard part,” Sanji says as carefully sets aside the dishes in the drying rack to put away once they’re done.

“You can ask for more help in the kitchen, you know,” Zoro says. “You’re always doing all the work.”

“What do you care if I take on extra work?” Maybe his tone is a little mean, a little more acerbic than is warranted, but Sanji is tired and his head is a mess.

Abruptly, Zoro slams the pot into the water and soap bubbles fly everywhere. “Dammit, cook. I don’t—fuck you.”

Sanji sets down the plate in his hand and pulls the cigarette out of his mouth to snuff it out, so it doesn’t burn down too far if they’re going to get into it like this. He’s got another sharp retort on the tip of his tongue but Zoro barrels over him.

“You’re such an asshole. I didn’t put up a fight when you dropped me out of nowhere, but I’m done pretending we didn’t spend three months all over each other.”

Sanji is starting to get pissed off. “Who dropped who? You’re the one who said you were just doing it because there was nothing better to do! And when I tried to ask you, you said it was fine if we stopped!”

“When did I fucking say it was because there was ‘nothing better to do’?” Zoro demands.

“Literally right after I sucked you off the first time,” Sanji hisses.

Zoro rolls his eyes. “You’re such an idiot. We’d fooled around what? Twice? I wasn’t in love with you after a hand job and a shitty blow job.” 

“It wasn’t shitty,” Sanji says, shoving at Zoro. “You’re shitty for not telling me what was going on! In love with me? Bullshit! If you cared so much, why didn't you say anything?”

At that, Zoro looks furious. He shoves Sanji in return but Sanji only sways, feet planted firmly on the floor. 

“Do you think I cuddle with every guy I hook up with? Fucking talk about feelings with them? Half the time you were all over me and the other half you acted like I wasn't even there. I wasn't going to beg to stay in a relationship you barely wanted.”

Sanji recoils, stomach turning into an icy pit as a sharp feeling of raw exposure rushes over him. He didn't think it had been that bad. He bares his teeth.

“A relationship? Since when were we in any sort of relationship?”

“Maybe it wasn't whatever fairytale bullshit you have in your head, but it was something. Sorry if I didn't read the damn rulebook,” Zoro says with a scoff that sounds so derisive Sanji wants to wring his neck.

“Don't put this on me,” Sanji bites out. “You told me the sex didn't matter. I was sitting there thinking I was an idiot for weeks. You know how dumb I felt for having a crush on you?”

Some of the anger shifts from Zoro’s expression and it's like the sun coming out from behind clouds as a smile breaks over his face. A moment of brightness, of relief. “A crush, huh?”

“Shut up,” Sanji says, crossing his arms over his chest. He is finding it hard to stay angry with Zoro smiling like that. He should though. He knows he should. “You didn’t deserve it.”

Zoro’s grin grows and he reaches out to grab at Sanji’s hips, sliding his hands up under his vest to tug at his belt. “Did you think about me a lot? Did you moon over me?”

Sanji wants to move away from him, but also being close to Zoro feels so fucking good after days of distance. “I thought about how disgusting you are and how ridiculous it was that I wanted you.”

Zoro laughs and it unclenches something inside Sanji. He hasn’t heard that laugh since they’d come back to the ship. Not in his vicinity at least. “I thought about how dumb it was that I wanted someone with eyebrows as stupid as yours. How about that?”

Sanji shoves his hand in Zoro’s face just to knock him away and Zoro licks his palm before pulling him closer by the waist. Sanji lets him because fuck it all, he’s wanted him so bad over the last few weeks that his higher function is compromised at this point.

When Sanji drops his hand, Zoro is still smiling. Sanji has that horrid thought again that he’s so attractive, but he realizes now maybe it’s not so terrible because it’s safe to have thoughts like that. He’s not chucking himself off a cliff into a pit by admitting he might be in love with someone. 

Sanji thinks maybe—probably—it’s worth it to choke down the fear in order to get what he wants.

“Do you still want…” he offers. Even he can acknowledge it’s a weak start.

“I left you alone because you told me to,” Zoro says and Sanji grimaces.

“I never fucking told you to—”

Zoro kisses him and Sanji likes it so much that his brain blanks out and he pushes Zoro back against the sink just so he can kiss him harder. Zoro lets out a little grunt but lets him do it. It's familiar now, the way his mind slips into silence just from kissing Zoro, into that needy happy place. For a moment, he wants to recoil from it, shame and fear of falling too hard kicking in fast, but it hits him now that it doesn't matter because he was right. Zoro does feel this too. He wants this.

Sanji twists his fingers in Zoro’s haramaki and must push a little too hard because his swords clink back against the sink and Zoro breaks off just so he can peel them off and set them aside. Sanji's body lights up with possibility as he dives back in for another kiss, fingers scrambling up under the fabric of Zoro’s clothes.

“Can I—” Sanji stammers out. He feels like a flurried flock of birds, unsure where to land.

Zoro pushed his mouth up against his throat and drags his teeth over his pulse. “Whatever you want. But I've been jerking it for the last week with my fingers up my ass and wishing it was your dick so…”

“You would want that?” Sanji gapes at him. “You never said.”

Zoro pulls back and scowls. “I wasn’t the one being all emotional about his fantasies about getting his dick wet for the first time with some perfect girl.”

Sanji takes a step back and his ass hits the table. “Wait…I only mentioned that once. Did I hurt your feelings when we talked about that?”

“No,” Zoro says defensively, and his hand drops to his hip. His swords aren't there so he ends up leaning back against the sink. It’s so uncharacteristically nervous, so uncool. “It's all your normal love-cook bullshit.”

Sanji isn't sure how to react. This is a lot of information to take in. He reaches out and takes Zoro by the arm to pull at him. “It was an old fantasy, you know. I only wanted you.”

Zoro grunts but he doesn’t protest when Sanji pulls him close to kiss over his neck as he continues, “I want to. But do you really want it on the dirty ship floor? It won't be very romantic.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Zoro sneers. “I don't need low light and candles if you're going to fuck my ass. You're so pathetic and sensitive.”

“You're the one who said he was in love with me!” Sanji protests. He pushes at Zoro and takes the opportunity to look at his face, noting the little flush there. Maybe he’s embarrassed. Maybe he’s turned on. Either way, it’s a nice look on him.

“That doesn't mean you're not a pathetic loser, shit cook.”

The fact that Zoro doesn’t deny it outright makes Sanji’s heart race despite Zoro’s characteristically shitty statement. “What if I want romantic? What if I want to make love to you?” he asks with a little irritable huff. “You know what you're signing up for with me.”

Zoro’s hands tug his shirt out of the waistband of his trousers just to creep up against his skin, to hold his waist. “Yeah, I know, you perverted little freak. But also, maybe you could make love to me on a blanket on the floor or something because the rest of that stuff is dumb.”

“You're really desperate for it, aren’t you?” Sanji asks, taking the opportunity to tease a little because Zoro is being an ass. 

“We haven't fucked in two weeks,” Zoro complains, mouth pushing against his throat as he tries to work open Sanji’s buttons. “And you're really hot.”

Sanji’s hands fist in Zoro’s shirt. “Is that your way of saying you missed me?”

“Sure,” Zoro says as he leans back in to kiss him. “Whatever.”

“Can’t you say anything romantic? Humor me a little?” Sanji asks but Zoro just nips at his chin.

“Do you have lube?”

Sanji doesn't even know why he asked.

“I took what we had from the Rosewood,” he admits. “It's in my trunk.”

Zoro grunts and pulls at him. Sanji is helpless but to follow after, trailing him down into the cabin. “Shouldn't we stay on watch?”

“We’ll hear it if something goes wrong,” Zoro says dismissively and that startles a laugh from Sanji as they both crawl down the ladder. Sanji doesn’t feel like the business of rummaging through his trunk for a bottle of lube is romantic, but when he turns back and Zoro has lit the lamp and spread out one of the blankets, his chest tightens up. He never thought this would be the thing that he'd want—filthy sex on the floor of a pirate ship—and yet the prospect of it is already surging so much joy and warmth inside him that his knees are weak.

“Zoro,” he breathes, dropping onto the blanket in front of him as he starts to peel off his unbuttoned vest. Zoro frowns at him.

“What's with that?” he asks, holding up a hand to stop Sanji as he tries to bear him back onto the blanket.

“What?”

“That tone,” Zoro says, narrowing his eyes up at him.

“I—” Sanji chokes as he presses into Zoro and finally gets him to stop tensing like a stone wall so he can nuzzle his chest. “You said it was fine.”

“What was fine?”

“If I got like this,” he says, and it sounds like a whine.

Zoro ignores him as he tears off his shirt and haramaki. “You gonna do it or just wriggle on top of me?”

Sanji shoves him down onto his back. “Let me do what I want.”

He looks unimpressed but lets Sanji run his hands over his chest for a moment before he pushes Sanji away to tug off his own boots and then his pants. The sight of him bare on the blanket makes Sanji’s mouth ache. Like he can’t decide where to kiss him first. Like he wants to sink down and bring him pleasure every way he can. His cock is already hard, curved up against his stomach and it’s dumb to think someone’s dick is pretty but here Sanji is having that exact thought.

Sanji brushes his hand over the base of Zoro’s throat, drifting his hand down to thumb at his nipples so he can trail his fingers down over his belly button. “Do you want me to use my fingers first? Like you do?”

“Should I give you written instructions?”

Sanji slaps his thigh. “Stop being an ass.”

Zoro just looks up at him expectantly and Sanji once more feels overwhelmed, too full, and he's forced to drop his head against Zoro’s stomach because looking at him makes him feel like combusting. Zoro slides his hand into Sanji’s hair, scratching his fingers over the scalp.

“Are you good or do you need a break? Because you haven't even put your dick in yet and—”

Sanji growls and looks up at him, dislodging his hand. “I'm having a fucking emotion. Do you have a problem with it?”

Zoro’s expression slips again into that place that Sanji recognizes from so many moments before. From their time together in bed, from the kitchen at the Rosewood, to that day at the bar by the docks. He brushes Sanji's hair back from his face. “Do whatever you want, curly. It’s your show.”

Sanji takes a moment to sit up and unbutton his shirt, leaving it in a pile with their other clothes, before once more leaning down to kiss Zoro. It’s so sweet, like the cool relief of water on a hot day, and he sighs into it as their tongues slide together, heavy, then soft, then parting when he has to stop so he can focus on other things.

He’s never done this before, but he knows how it goes. He knows how Zoro made him feel when he’d opened him up so slow and almost gentle. He wets his own fingers then he slides between Zoro’s legs. Zoro’s eyes are dark, watchful, as he hitches up one knee and lets Sanji press his hand behind his balls, nudging up against his rim with a soft touch.

Sanji has had lots of time to consider what it would be like to finger a girl—less to consider what it would be like to finger Zoro—but the first feel of being inside him is transcendent and more than that is the look on his face. The way his mouth parts slightly. The way his eyes drift shut. 

“Do you like that?” Sanji asks, trying to emulate the things Zoro has done that felt good. It's strange to do it from the other side but he also likes it. He likes it a whole fucking lot. 

Zoro lets out one of those soft breaths and Sanji seeks it out, fucking him a little faster with his hand. He's so warm and Sanji can't imagine being inside him with his cock. He thinks it might break him. 

“Fuck, Zoro, you're so perfect,” he says, unable to handle the way Zoro's body takes him. He leans forward and falls onto his other hand beside Zoro’s belly as he continues to work him with his fingers. His head hangs as he watches his hand move and he tries to remember to breathe. “Do you want more? What do you need? Is this good? I'll do whatever you like.”

Zoro's eyes slide open, thin slices of grey that fix on him. One hand comes up to tug at his elbow. “Curly, calm down.”

Sanji doesn’t know if he can calm down. He leans in, pressing his fingers in a little harder until he hears the sharp exhale that means Zoro feels good. He recognizes it. Sanji drops down to kiss over his chest. It registers then that Zoro smells different, no longer like lavender soap. More like steel and salt. 

“Are you ready? Can I fuck you?” Sanji asks, chest constricted and body wound tighter than is probably reasonable.

“You could have done it whenever,” Zoro says.

Sanji pets his hand over Zoro's side. “Is there a way you want it? I'd really like to be able to kiss you.”

Zoro tugs at his shoulder to pull him down like he’d like a kiss already. “As long as it gets your dick in me, I'm happy with it.”

Sanji lets himself be pulled and they kiss for a long moment. He needs to get his pants off, but he also can't help but savor the hot pressure of Zoro's cock against his belly where it smears a little slick drop against his skin. It feels intimate, like they know each other’s bodies in a way only they can. Like Zoro is comfortable with him.

Sanji slips his fingers free, and pulling away to strip off his pants is excruciating, but he manages it. When he looks back, he finds Zoro staring at him.

“What?” Sanji asks.

“You're nice to look at,” Zoro says as he sits up and pulls Sanji back by the waist until he's tucked in between his open legs.

Sanji stammers over his words, making a few inarticulate sounds. He didn’t expect Zoro to say that.

“And smart too.” 

Sanji shoves at him until he falls back onto the blanket. “Can’t you be romantic for five minutes?”

“Five minutes?” Zoro asks, tugging at his hands so that Sanji comes down on top of him. “Not very good stamina on your end.”

Sanji goes to say something biting, but Zoro cups the back of his neck and the next kiss drives every thought from his head. It’s heady and deep in a way that reminds him of stolen moments at the Rosewood, kissing in the pantry, against their bedroom door because it felt good—no, because they wanted to. Because Zoro wanted him.

“The last few weeks have sucked,” Zoro mumbles against his mouth. “Looking at you and not being able to do anything about it.”

“Did you miss fucking me, marimo?” Sanji teases, feeling pleased as he pulls back and resettles himself between Zoro's legs.

“I missed talking to you. Being in the kitchen with you. Sleeping next to you,” Zoro says. Each sentence hits Sanji like a strike to the chest but Zoro is just saying it like they’re talking about the price of bread at the nearest market. “You were too far away.”

Sanji can’t bear it anymore. He’s done talking. He scrambles for the lube and slicks himself before he encourages Zoro's hips and legs back. Sanji's cock slips over his skin once before catching against his hole and slipping inside.

He's actually grateful that they've fooled around so much. That he’s used to the hot pleasure of a mouth around his cock and the expert touch of Zoro's hand. If he weren’t, sliding into Zoro's body would be too much too fast. 

Zoro is no help at all because he fucking moans and gasps as he arches his back, looking better than any wet dream.

“You can't—” Sanji stutters out as he tries to still his hips. Instinctively, he wants to slam inside, fuck Zoro hard and fast. But that won't be good for either of them.

Zoro's legs go tight around his waist and it's all Sanji can do to fist his fingers in the thin blanket they've laid down to make this even moderately more comfortable. He feels like he’s shaking but he can’t say for sure, a moan shattering out of his mouth as he drops forward to kiss Zoro. It’s a messy slide of lips. More a gasp between them as they breathe together, and Sanji tries to keep a steady pace even as his body screams at him to fuck Zoro harder. He doesn’t want to. He wants this to be sweet. 

Every time Sanji thrusts into him, Zoro makes another sound. He's so beautifully reactive and Sanji wonders if this is why Zoro has enjoyed fucking him so much, the way it feels like he’s able to take him apart.

“You’re gorgeous,” he says before ducking down to lick at Zoro's throat. Zoro lets out another stuttered moan and his hands dig into Sanji's back. There’s sweat starting to gather in the dip of Sanji’s spine and Zoro’s fingers slip over it.

“Does that feel good?” Sanji asks. He needs to know. His body is trembling, poised on the very edge but he wants to be good for Zoro. “Tell me it feels good.”

Zoro exhales hard. “You’re so needy.”

Sanji whines as he tucks his face against Zoro's neck. He is needy. He can't deny it. He wants so much. 

Zoro tugs at his hair and drags him into a filthy kiss that reminds Sanji he can taste the sounds he’s making. “You feel good, curly. You're doing good.”

Sanji groans as he drops his head and presses his mouth against Zoro’s collarbone. His heart feels big, and he knows this feeling, dumb and drunk and lovesick. But this isn’t a woman he can ply with sweet treats and pretty words. It’s Zoro, who thinks romance is bullshit and won’t hesitate to call him a dumbass even when he’s balls deep inside him. But Sanji thinks he might die if he doesn’t say something. “Will you hate me if I say the stupid shit in my head?”

“Try it,” Zoro gasps out when Sanji moves with him once more, bodies rolling together in a slow press of heat.

“You're perfect. And beautiful. And you're so sweet to me and I know you’d never want me to say it, but you are and it makes me so fucking happy.”

Zoro laughs. He laughs and then he says, “You’re right. That’s lame as hell.” But he pushes a kiss against the side of Sanji's mouth as another moan slips free when Sanji thrusts into him. “But that’s ok.”

Sanji shudders, moving to slide an arm beneath Zoro's lower back just so he can lift him a little. He wants to fuck him better. He wants to fuck him right. 

It must do something because Zoro's eyes close and his hands clamp hard into Sanji's back. He’ll wear those bruises proudly. “Like that—fuck.”

Sanji is not going to last. But it doesn’t matter because he thrusts into Zoro three more times and then feels the way his body goes tight as he comes just from Sanji fucking him. He wants to feel smug about it but he's too busy admiring the gorgeous flush on Zoro's cheeks and the fucked out look on his face. 

It tugs out Sanji's own orgasm and the feeling of coming inside Zoro is unlike anything he could have imagined. He babbles something incoherent and nearly collapses on top of him, barely able to drag himself to the side in a pile of sweat and loose contentment. Zoro drops his hand onto Sanji's belly and belatedly Sanji realizes he wants Sanji to take it, so he does.

“How’d it compare to the fantasy?” Zoro asks after a few moments of breathing in silence.

“What?”

“Romancing some girl?”

Sanji rolls over until he can rest his chin on Zoro's chest. “I don't think my imagination could have come up with something as good as this.”

Zoro hums. “I'd do it again.”

“Add it to the rotation?” Sanji offers.

Zoro wraps his arm around Sanji's back and starts to pet down his spine. Sanji missed that. “When we can spare the time and nobody’s around to bother us.”

Sanji blows out a breath and groans. Reality is coming back hard and fast, puncturing the contented bubble he'd been living in. “Shit. What are we going to tell the crew?”

Zoro is quiet for a long time. So long that it forces Sanji to sit up. “Zoro.”

Zoro looks faintly guilty. “Luffy and Nami already know.”

“What?” Sanji can't even modulate his volume as Zoro sits up too.

“Luffy noticed that something was wrong and asked and I wasn't going to lie.”

Zoro stands up and moves towards the pile of clothes. His body casts long shadows in the light of the lamp, and while Sanji can admit he looks unfairly good, he’s also mortified right now.

“And Nami-san? You couldn't lie to her?”

“She noticed we were acting weird and cornered me,” Zoro admits, and he has the decency to sound sheepish, like he knows Sanji will be pissed. “Obviously, they don't know we’re fucking now. But they know that we were.”

Sanji puts his head into his hands. “Fine. It's fine. I mean it's true.”

Zoro has his shirt in his hands and is searching for his pants. There’s this look on his face. Like he’s purposefully trying not to have an expression. It’s making Sanji suspicious and also feel guilty for reacting the way he did. 

“What do you want to tell them? Or not tell them?” Zoro asks, not looking at Sanji as he cleans between his legs with his shirt before pulling on his pants. 

Sanji wants to get dressed too but he knows he should probably say something first. “Hey. It's not that I want to keep it a secret. It's just also a big deal. Isn't it? It’s not just fucking. Right? We're in this.”

Zoro turns dark, still expressionless eyes on him as he zips up his pants. “I am.”

Sanji grabs Zoro by the wrist and tugs him back down onto the blanket. “Me too. I just want a plan, asshole. Calm down.”

“Who said I wasn't calm?” Zoro huffs.

“You made a face.”

“Am I not allowed to have a face?”

Sanji shoves Zoro onto his back and flops on top of him. “Alright. Fine. Be a dick. I think we just do it all at once. Next meal time. We say, we’re together. We’re not taking questions.”

“Do you think they'll have a problem with it?” Zoro asks, arm once more coming up around Sanji.

“It's not very good luck to have a couple on a crew,” Sanji says. “When it ends, it can get messy. Especially on a crew as small as this.”

“I’m not exactly looking to break your heart, cook.”

Sanji doesn't know what to say to that. It somehow feels more romantic than anything Zoro has ever said to him. He raises himself up on one arm to look down at him. “Me neither.”

Zoro gives him a small smile, so genuine that it makes Sanji’s heart thump. Before Sanji can say anything else, the hatch opens and Luffy’s head drops in. He pauses and says, “Oops. Hi, Zoro. Hi, Sanji.”

Then he disappears again and shouts, “Zoro and Sanji are having sex down here so we should wait a little.”

Sanji collapses down on top of Zoro in a puddle of shame and embarrassment and Zoro starts to laugh. “I guess we don't have to worry about telling them.”

END 

EPILOGUE

“Get down here!” Nami calls up from the shore, “Luffy wants to explore the forest!”

Sanji sighs and peels himself up from the grass on the Sunny. Unsurprisingly, Zoro doesn’t wake up where he’s resting his head on Sanji’s belly. The weather is pleasantly warm. The sun is shining bright, and he has a tendency to sleep harder on days like this, especially if he can curl up next to Sanji. Sanji doesn’t often have the time to let him, given his own work, but when he does, Zoro rests.

Because Sanji can, and he knows it will be entertaining, he pokes Zoro between the eyebrows. Zoro’s face scrunches up in that familiar cute way. Not that Sanji would ever call him cute out loud. Some things are too fucking embarrassing. 

Over the last month, he’s tried to get better at expressing his feelings since stoppering them got him in so much trouble in the first place. It still makes him nervous and sometimes he finds himself clamming up unless an orgasm is imminent. He knows he says the most horrifying shit when he's about to come. He tries not to think about it.

For his part, Zoro traipses around declaring whatever he likes. Shit like, ‘hey, your ass looks good in those pants’ or ‘come here, we should fuck.’ If that counts as feelings. Sanji's day-to-day affection looks more like finding Zoro wherever he is on the ship—training, napping, playing around with Luffy—and bringing him snacks and drinks, checking up on him until Zoro gets annoyed and tells him to ‘stop hovering.’ Usually that pisses Sanji off enough that they end up fighting. Which is fun in its own way because fighting these days sometimes ends with making out on the deck until someone yells at them to stop. Usopp has started talking to Franky about installing a hose.

“Hey, sleepyhead, wake up,” Sanji says, poking him again.

Zoro grabs his wrist and grunts. “Stop jabbing at me.”

“Stop sleeping.”

Zoro groans and sits up. “Why?”

“Luffy wants our help on the island.”

Zoro rises to his feet and then offers Sanji a hand. He takes it as Zoro grumbles, “I thought we stopped here for a break.”

“Well, you know Luffy’s definition of a break,” Sanji says. They make their way off the ship and down onto the beach to find the others. Sanji likes the Sunny. As hard as it was to say goodbye to the Going Merry, the Sunny is starting to feel like home. Franky put so much effort and thought into every corner of the ship, and the kitchen is like something out of a dream. Sanji knows he will adjust soon enough. It’s the crew that matters more than anything.

Luffy and Usopp are chattering by the edge of the tree line where it rises sharply out of the rocks and sand, and upon Zoro and Sanji’s approach, they grow even more energetic.

“Sanji, you’re with me and Chopper. Zoro, you go with Usopp and Franky!” Luffy cries and without much consultation, they get separated for the rest of the afternoon.

The forest doesn't yield much, but Luffy gets excited about the small rabbits and various birds. They find some edible berries and tree fruits that Sanji is already calculating including in their next meal as they make their way back to the shore. The island holds the sort of happy peace that they so rarely get to experience, and Sanji enjoys it like the sweet thing it is.

As night falls, Sanji is in charge of putting together dinner. He grills some fish and chops the fruit they found into a bright, fresh salad as the crew gets progressively rowdier. Something about being on shore always gets them like this. Not that he minds. It always feels homey. Like family.

He ends up seated next to Zoro after they eat as the fire burns away in the sand. Zoro has been drinking for most of the evening and Sanji can smell the booze on him. He doesn’t seem drunk, but he’s touchier than normal. As soon as Sanji sits down, his hand comes around his back, pulling him closer. Sanji shoots him a look. The rest of the crew is going to start with the smart comments if he keeps that up.

Except when he looks over at the group, Chopper and Usopp are fighting over the strawberries in the fruit salad across from them and Robin keeps laughing at them. It’s nice. Sweet. Sanji loves it. He relaxes a little in Zoro’s hold.

“Do you ever think about that place?”

Sanji turns to look at Zoro. His eyes are still fixed on the fire, and he looks contemplative. 

“What are you talking about?” Sanji asks. They’ve been to a lot of places at this point. Sanji would struggle to name them all.

Zoro hums and takes a drink. “Newport.”

That makes sense. More sense than the last big fight they had. Meeting Franky. Starting their journey on the Sunny.

“Yeah,” Sanji admits, though it seems logical to him. “We were there for a long time. And we…it’s where….”

It feels sentimental and embarrassing to say the words ‘it’s where we fell in love’ but they are the ones that come to mind. He bites his tongue and looks at the sand. “Why are you asking?”

Zoro pulls his hand away from where it’s been idly curled around Sanji’s waist and gestures out towards the waves. “There are sandpipers.”

Sanji looks out at the ocean. Sure enough, there are birds hopping around in the surf where the tide gently rolls in. He laughs. “Did you end up believing in god by the time we left? I thought you said it was bullshit.”

“It’s not about that,” Zoro says with a little irritable whack to Sanji’s hip. “It’s just—every time you’d sleepwalk onto the damn beach there would be a million of the stupid things.”

“Are you talking about the sandpipers?” Luffy asks, drawing Sanji’s attention. “They’re so neat! Did you know they're really good at finding stuff in the sand even when it's buried? Like all the insects and tiny crabs they eat.” He looks a little wistful. “I wish I could find food like that. Even when you hide it.”

He gives Sanji a little petulant scowl and Sanji tosses a small rock at him. “Can’t you already do that? You've got a nose like a bloodhound.”

Luffy laughs and bounces the rock off his skin like he's playing with it. Soon enough he's on his feet and he and Usopp are engaged in a game of catch. Not Sanji's intention but not surprising either.

Sanji stands up so he can smoke a cigarette somewhere besides directly in Zoro’s face and he busies himself cleaning up after dinner. At some point, Zoro joins him silently, drink abandoned in favor of picking up and getting ready to haul the kitchen tools back to the ship.

“I can do it,” Sanji grouses with no actual heat.

“Shove it, cook,” Zoro says, flushed from the alcohol still. “Let me fucking help.”

Together they take everything back up onto the Sunny where it belongs and Sanji blames Zoro for the fact that they end up kissing in the galley against the counter. His mouth tastes like beer and sweet like fruit and Sanji doesn’t really mind.

“Everyone's camping on shore,” Zoro says when they finally take a moment to breathe. “We could have the bunks to ourselves.”

Sanji hums, pushing his hands up under the back of Zoro’s haramaki. It's not that they don't have sex on the ship, it's just fairly rare. They find little corners to make out in and Usopp’s threat of getting a hose is warranted for when things get out of hand on deck. But it's hard to find the privacy both of them want so it's mostly been rushed hand jobs in the bathroom, occasional blow jobs in the galley at night when they're both keyed up from going too long without sex, and sometimes Zoro will manage to convince him to fool around in the crow’s nest. But they're meant to be on watch up there. So watch they do.

“Did you want to fuck, mosshead?” Sanji asks as he traces his nails over Zoro’s back through his shirt. Zoro’s eyebrows go up.

“You must be hard up if you're talking like that,” Zoro teases with a little self-satisfied grin. He emphasizes it by squeezing Sanji’s ass. “Where’s all your mushy bullshit? Let me make love to you, Zoro. You're so beautiful, Zoro.”

Sanji scowls and pinches Zoro in the ribs, earning himself a knee to the thigh. It devolves from there, childish though it may be, as they tussle against the counter which turns into a tussle on the galley floor.

“Dumbass,” Zoro says when Sanji falls on top of him, hair drooping in his face, cigarette tumbling onto the ground.

“You grabbed me and pulled me down here. It's your fault,” Sanji retorts, trying to untangle himself and get up.

Zoro gives him a stupid smile that makes Sanji’s heart beat a little faster. He slides one warm hand up Sanji's back, easy and familiar. “Yeah, maybe it is. What are you going to do about it?”

Sanji huffs and lets himself be urged down into a kiss. His chest feels full in a way he's still struggling to get used to. 

But, for now, he's safe. He's happy. He's in love.

He might not be able to say it as often as he'd like. Not out loud. But the feeling is there all the same.