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“We’re due at Saint Laurent in half an hour,” Nami said, flipping through her scheduler, “With Paris traffic, we’ll barely make it there in time. Break some laws, Usopp.”
Sanji sighed, crossing his legs and staring moodily out the tinted windows of their car. Nami always booked him back-to-back on their international trips, but their schedule was especially tight for their Paris visits. He longed for his home in Utah, open blue skies, no other humans for miles around.
Well, with the exception of one. He turned to look at his bodyguard, hired by Nami after he had come home one day a year and a half ago to a stalker making dinner for him in his own kitchen. The food had been surprisingly good, but Nami had immediately retained a security detail, “protecting her assets” she had screamed when Sanji protested. Now, only Zoro remained of the original five-man team, who had driven Sanji crazy walking around him in their suits like he was the President of the United States. Zoro had been the lead of the team, and Sanji had quickly developed an easy rapport with the stoic man, glad that when the security threat died down, Zoro had stuck around as limited security.
“Mosshead, why so grim?” Sanji teased, noting the look of annoyance on Zoro’s face.
“Nothing, curly,” Zoro grunted. Sanji smiled at the name. When he first met Zoro, the bodyguard insisted on calling him “sir” or “Mr. Black.” “I never use my client’s first names,” he said stubbornly. “I won’t answer to Mr. Black,” Sanji bit back. They had settled into a middle ground of the stupid nickname, which Sanji had grown fond of.
Sanji reached over and poked between Zoro’s eyes, watching amused as his bodyguard went cross-eyed to glare at the offending finger.
“You have the ‘I’m annoyed at some security breach’ face on right now.”
“The Dior photographer was too handsy,” Zoro glared, swatting away Sanji’s finger. Sanji giggled, already knowing what Zoro was annoyed with, surprised that the photographer hadn’t combusted from the force of Zoro’s glares during the photoshoot.
“That’s just Bon’s style,” Sanji said, “He’s a good friend, stop being a stick-in-the-mud.”
“I want to review his background and papers before you see him next.”
Sanji heard a chuckle from Nami and turned back to the window, hiding his own smile. His bodyguard was sometimes overly dedicated to his job. In Barcelona a few weeks ago, Zoro had nearly broken the hand of a reporter who had shoved a mic into Sanji’s face as they strolled along Las Ramblas. Sanji had chided him that the scuffle Zoro caused had drawn more attention to them, forcing them to escape down some side alleys back to their hotel. “I can’t take you anywhere,” he had sighed. “Good. Too much danger in touristy areas,” Zoro had responded.
“We’re done for the day after Saint Laurent, right Nami?” Sanji asked his agent.
“No, you have dinner with representatives from Cartier at Origines. They have a new line of pocket watches that I think you’d be perfect for. I believe it’ll be with Franky and Robin.”
Sanji sighed, at least he’d get dinner at Origines, and he liked the eccentric designers well enough.
“Get some sleep, curly,” Zoro said quietly, reaching over to grip his shoulder, “Twenty minutes away.” Sanji nodded, crossing his arms and leaning his head against the window, letting the security of Zoro’s presence lull him to sleep.
---
Sanji fell face-down into his hotel bed, exhausted after being yammered at for two hours by the excitable head of Saint Laurent’s lingerie collection. “Do they really think men’s sock and shirt garters are going to go back into style?” he had asked Nami exasperated on the car ride back. Nami had sniffed, “I don’t care what these fashion houses think is going to happen, as long as they pay you well.”
“What time is it, Zoro?” he muttered.
“6:30, curly.”
“Shit,” Sanji sighed, “These fucking French people don’t eat dinner until midnight.”
“The reservation is at 8 PM. Do you want me to grab you something from the hotel restaurant to tide you over?”
“Can you do that?” Sanji asked, rolling over to look pleadingly at Zoro, who was perched at the side of his own bed. Zoro stood immediately and headed for the door, and Sanji thanked the gods for his reliable bodyguard. He sat up, deciding to take a bath before dinner. Nami would send someone by soon to redo his hair and make-up but he could at least wash off the product he had worn all day.
Fifteen minutes later, Sanji heard a tap on the bathroom door.
“Curly, they didn’t have any hot meals suitable for you, so I had them give me some fresh fruit and nuts.
“You can bring it in, mosshead, thank you,” Sanji yawned, sinking deeper into the water. His diet was strict, which Zoro was well aware of. Being a model required obsessive calorie counting. Fruit and nuts would have to do until dinner. The door slowly opened, and Zoro entered, placing a tray next to the bathtub with the snacks and a bottle of Perrier. Zoro averted his eyes from the tub. Even after working for him for months and being in the room when Sanji had to practically strip naked to change outfits for hectic runway shows, Zoro still tried to protect Sanji’s modesty when he could.
“If I’m not out of here in ten minutes, can you check on me because I’ll probably have fallen asleep and be in danger of drowning?” Sanji said, reaching for the water bottle. Zoro responded by sitting down cross-legged on the hard tiled floor, and Sanji regretted his word choice. Mention any form of danger to Sanji, and Zoro would immediately react with something unreasonable.
“I didn’t mean you had to sit here with me,” Sanji laughed, “Get out, Zoro, I need some peace.”
Zoro stood up sheepishly and left the bathroom. Sanji listened for a moment and said with exasperation, “I know you’re sitting outside the bathroom now, Zoro. Go relax, I’ll be fine, you’re an unbelievable worrywart.” He heard Zoro’s stomps toward the bedroom and finally relaxed into the warm water.
---
Sanji fiddled with his hair. His hairdresser had brushed his bangs back, holding it in place with mousse that smelled like lavender. It was already giving him a headache. He gingerly touched his eyebrows, something he had grown up hating until he was scouted at the age of fifteen in a mall, and they somehow became part of his signature look. At least he’d been put in a more casual linen suit, a blessing on the hot summer Paris day.
“Thank you for your patience. This way, sirs,” the maître d’ of Origines said in clipped English, beckoning for the two of them to follow. Zoro let Sanji walk ahead of him, looking around the crowded restaurant with suspicion. Sanji’s hair and makeup team had worked on Zoro as well, much to his annoyance, applying a light layer of makeup to make his cheekbones and grey eyes even more striking, and giving his green hair a light trim. Sanji often joked with him that he should consider becoming a model himself with the way he could fill out a nice suit. Zoro merely glared and muttered something about prissy peacocks.
They were led to a table of four toward the side of the restaurant, where Franky and Robin from Cartier were already seated. After a few instances of Zoro being forced to stand at the back of the room all through dinner and not eat anything, Sanji had asked Nami to make sure Zoro had a seat at the table for his working dinners, the price of the meal coming out of Sanji’s earnings. If his bodyguard was on the clock, he would be fed.
Franky smiled, pulling Sanji toward him for kisses on the cheeks. Sanji did the same for Robin, adding an extra kiss to the top of her hand as befitting the gorgeous designer. This part of French greetings always made Zoro emit grumbling noises.
“We’ll leave your guard dog alone,” Franky laughed at Zoro standing ominously behind Sanji’s shoulder.
“Good idea. He bites,” Sanji grinned, sitting down and accepting a menu from Robin. Zoro shook his head when Robin tried to pass him one, leaving it, as usual, to Sanji to determine his meals.
Sanji perused the menu, trying to determine first what Zoro would want to eat, “The fish for Zoro, I’ll have the salade de tourteau.”
“We’ve ordered some carpaccio for the table,” Robin said, adding, “They use fairly lean cuts here.” Sanji smiled at her, grateful that they took into account his food restrictions.
“So Cartier is trying to bring back the pocket watch?” he asked. Franky whooped excitedly, pulling out his sketchbook, “I have some rad ideas. It’ll be James Bond level tech.” “But still classic and understated,” Robin said, touching her partner’s arm in warning. “Right, yes, that,” Franky nodded. Sanji couldn’t help but smile at the two of them, so very different but meeting each other in the middle and creating masterpieces together.
After they’d talked through the designs, and Sanji had agreed to a number of photoshoots for their upcoming magazine campaign, they settled down to chat over dessert. Sanji allowed himself a few tiny bites of the decadent chocolate cake.
“When are you headed back to the States?” Robin asked.
“Tomorrow,” Sanji sighed, “I can’t wait to be back in my own bed again. We’ve been on the road for two weeks now. We’ll have a few weeks off, then off to Italy for the Armani runway show. Ivankov has been emailing me every day with new designs.”
“Any fun plans back home?” Franky asked.
“Vegetating,” Sanji smiled. His work required enough socializing. When he had a break, he spent it cooking and reading in his home, with Zoro lurking nearby glaring whenever a car drove down the usually empty roads.
“I thought models were all party animals,” Franky said, “Spending all their free time drinking and clubbing.”
“If I went to a club, Zoro would have a heart attack,” Sanji laughed, patting his bodyguard’s hand that had curled into a fist at the very idea. He smiled at Zoro, squeezing his hand before turning back to Robin to ask about the new line of bracelets she was working on.
---
After dinner, they wandered back to their hotel, Sanji opting to walk along the Champs-Elysees instead of finding a taxi. Zoro’s eyes flicked around, watching any person within a few feet of Sanji like a hawk, but most passersby gave the imposing man a wide berth. Sanji, as a model, was tall, but Zoro, standing at 6’3 with shoulders wide as a linebacker’s, usually stood out more in a crowd.
A few stores were still open on a Friday night, the bright lights making the world around them feel like day. When they passed by a Longchamp, a bag in the window caught Sanji’s eye. Dark blue leather, beautiful craftmanship, plenty of pockets. His bodyguard had used the same old frayed backpack for travel for as long as Sanji had known him. He pivoted and entered the store, Zoro following close behind.
“What’s going on, curly?” Zoro asked, confused.
“I’m getting you a new bag, one that even you can’t say is too showy.”
“I don’t need a new bag,” Zoro protested, eyes widening at the price tags around them.
“Yes, you do,” Sanji replied, grabbing the bag that he had seen in the window and checking the various pockets and compartments that he knew Zoro would like, “I just got a modeling deal with Cartier, Zoro, I’m going to treat you.”
“Curly, this is too much,” Zoro continued, annoyingly, and Sanji responded by marching to the register with the bag and pulling out his wallet. He paid for the bag, Zoro still making helpless noises behind him, and finally dragged the bodyguard out of the store.
“If you say another word about this being too much, I’m dumping you and leaving you on the side of the street,” Sanji threatened, and Zoro’s mouth narrowed into a thin line, accepting the bag gingerly.
“Thanks, curly,” he said softly. Sanji gave him a one-armed hug around the shoulders and continued their stroll down the beautiful Parisian street.
---
“Are you Sanji Black?” someone whispered, and Sanji sighed, looking up from his newspaper to give a wan smile to the man looming above him. He was seated in the Emirates lounge, waiting for their plane back to the United States. He had hoped to escape recognition with his sunglasses and hat. Zoro had left to get them some drinks.
“Do you mind if I get a selfie with you?” the man asked, pulling out his phone.
“Sorry, I don’t do selfies,” Sanji shook his head, lowering the brim of his hat, “Part of my contract.”
“Just one, I won’t post it on Instagram or anything, it’ll just be for my friends,” the man continued, holding his phone up.
“I would really appreciate it if you didn’t,” Sanji said through gritted teeth, looking down to avoid the lens.
“It’s just one photo,” the man replied, a hint of annoyance in his voice.
“I’m sorry, sir,” Sanji said, trying to put as much venom into his tone as he could, “I’d appreciate it if you’d respect my privacy and move along.”
The man was glaring now, eyes narrowed as he leaned over and poked his dirty finger at Sanji’s forehead, “I heard rumors that you were a distant asshole. Just a pretty boy whose only talent came from his mother.”
Rage flashed through Sanji’s head at the mention of Sora. “Fuck off,” he hissed, “Or—”
Before he could finish his sentence, the man was lifted bodily into the air and brought heavily to the ground with a hand between his shoulder blades. Zoro’s face was murderous as he bore down on the man, who was gasping breathlessly.
“Don’t kill him, mosshead,” Sanji hissed, grabbing at his bodyguard’s arm, who reluctantly stood up, but not before grinding down one more time with the knuckles of his large hand, and standing menacingly over the man. The look in his eyes was almost frightening, frantic and feral. Zoro sometimes took his job a little too seriously.
“I’m suing you,” the man choked out, and Sanji had to grip Zoro’s arm tighter to stop him from lunging forward again.
“Go ahead,” Sanji glared, “Do your fucking best, asshole.” The man scrambled up, adjusting his shirt before turning and fleeing. Sanji looked around, hoping that their relatively secluded location in the lounge meant they hadn’t attracted too much attention. No one seemed to be paying them any mind.
He rounded on his bodyguard, “Is that what they teach you in bodyguard school? Don’t you have to be worried about liability or something? Why are you always so violent?”
“He was touching you,” Zoro said, unrepentant, “I can do whatever I want then. And I’m not a bodyguard any more anyways.”
Sanji looked strangely at him, wondering if there was some special term he was supposed to be using these days that wasn’t bodyguard, but decided he was too riled up to argue with Zoro. He accepted the drink that Zoro had gotten him and slumped down in his chair. Home couldn’t come soon enough.
---
It was a beautiful day when they finally landed in the Salt Lake City airport. Sanji breathed in the hot, dry air when they stepped out of the airport, adjusting his sunglasses and grinning at Zoro. “Made it home, mosshead. Time for our well-deserved break time.”
Zoro smiled back, grabbing their suitcases and nodding for Sanji to head to their car in the parking garage.
“Bag looks good,” Sanji said idly, noting the Longchamp bag on Zoro’s back.
Zoro grunted in response, which Sanji knew to mean he was happy with it. The bodyguard had spent all last evening obsessively packing it, trying to find the best place for each of his limited possessions. As Sanji drifted to sleep, he tiredly warned Zoro that his three favorite knives would have to go into his check-in bag and heard Zoro’s quiet curse as he unzipped a pocket where he had undoubtedly stashed them.
“What should we do first when we get home?” Sanji yawned.
“Looks like you want to sleep,” Zoro said, a small smile on his face.
“I’ll cook something first. What have you been craving?”
“Anything,” Zoro shrugged. They arrived at their car, and Sanji slipped into the passenger seat as Zoro organized their bags in the trunk. He touched the green dice hanging from the rearview mirror, a gag gift he’d given to Zoro after a visit to Vegas for Fashion Week. He thought for a moment about his bodyguard. At some point in time, it wouldn’t make sense for him to keep retaining Zoro. He ran into assholes here or there, but Sanji could easily handle them himself without needing to rise to the level of assault and battery.
Zoro entered the driver’s seat and programmed Sanji’s address into the GPS, a frown on his face. Sanji smiled to himself. The mosshead was an excellent bodyguard, but a horrible driver. They always spent longer than necessary getting anywhere, finding themselves often in the middle of nowhere. Sanji didn’t mind these detours as much as it would seem based on his complaining.
The first time Zoro had gotten them lost, they’d ended up at the side of a canyon, having taken a sports car off road. As Zoro pulled a paper map out of the front console and stared hopelessly at it for a few minutes, the red-burnished Utah desert in the background, Sanji realized suddenly that he was in love with his own bodyguard. And that was it, wasn’t it? The reason he kept paying for Zoro to stick around. It was for companionship, contentment, comfort that Sanji didn’t trust he’d be able to find without a contract. For friendship, for love. How long could he keep relying on this client-bodyguard relationship before Zoro decided to take a better job somewhere else? He’d have to check with Nami at some point what Zoro’s contract terms were. And then have the awkward conversation about renewing and that it specifically had to be Zoro and that he would be willing to double whatever rate Zoro received with another client.
“What are you thinking, curly?” Zoro asked quietly.
“Hm? About food,” Sanji lied.
“You’re not thinking about food,” Zoro scoffed, “You have a tormented look on your face. That never happens when you think about cooking.”
Sanji chuckled, “No, you’re right, I’m thinking about us.”
He lurched forward, Zoro having accidentally pressed the brake suddenly.
“Be careful, mosshead,” he hissed as Zoro stammered an apology and drove more steadily. Sanji’s house appeared in the distance, a small oasis in the dusty roads. He sighed happily, “God, that’s a sight for sore eyes.”
“W-what were you thinking about us, curly?” Zoro asked, pulling into the driveway.
“Let’s talk about it later,” Sanji sighed, not wanting to discuss contract terms just as they arrived at home.
Zoro looked at him anxiously, and Sanji patted his hand, “It’s nothing urgent, just business.”
“Business?” Zoro frowned.
“Yeah,” Sanji said, opening the car door, stepping out, and fumbling for his keys.
“Sanji.”
Sanji froze. He’d never heard Zoro say his name. He could get addicted to the sound. He turned slowly and raised an eyebrow. “I thought you never use your client’s first names,” he said lightly.
Zoro stared at him, “Client?”
Sanji blinked, “Y-yes? I’m your client. You’re my bodyguard?”
Zoro continued staring, mouth agape.
“C-curly, um.” He squeezed his eyes shut and finally said, “I’m not your bodyguard, I’m… your boyfriend? Or… maybe I’m not? Oh fuck.”
Now it was Sanji’s turn to stare, the keys in his hand falling to the ground.
---
If this was a prank, it was very elaborate and not very funny. Both of them were sitting very far apart on Sanji’s couch, deciding that the misunderstanding probably should be discussed inside instead of being shouted over the top of Sanji’s car. Neither had said a word for the past five minutes.
Sanji’s tongue felt like it was too big for his mouth. Zoro thought they were dating? The idea filled Sanji with no small amount of joy, but if so, he had been acting like a really shitty partner. And when had this happened?
“I-I’ve been ordering you around, like—like you work for me,” Sanji blushed, “And you just did it?”
“I don’t mind,” Zoro responded, turning even darker red than Sanji, “I like doing things for you.”
“Fuck,” Sanji moaned, covering his face with his hands, “W-when? When did you think we started dating?”
“When my contract was up, I told you I wanted to stay with you, that I didn’t want to leave your side,” Zoro said hoarsely.
“I thought you meant renewing your contract,” Sanji said. “Fuck, are you… are you getting paid a salary?” he asked, dreading the response.
Zoro shook his head, and Sanji pounded his head against the back of the couch at his own stupidity. Nami handled all of his finances. He had never thought to check with Nami that Zoro was actually on the payroll. Why hadn’t Nami said anything?
“Zoro, god, I would never act so…” Sanji said, mortified and unable to find the right words, “I would take you out to dinner every day, give you beautiful gifts, shower you with love.”
“Y-you do that, Sanji,” Zoro said, confused, “When we’re at home, you cook for me, when we’re traveling, you take me out to dinner every night. You never seem to want to spend time with anybody else. I have a room full of gifts from you. Y-you touch my hand and give me hugs and—”
Sanji put a palm to his forehead and started laughing at the idea that that was enough for Zoro, incredulous at the devotion of his bodyguard, or his former bodyguard. Zoro’s face fell, and he stood up. “I’m an idiot, sorry, to make this awkward. I’m gonna grab my stuff, get out of your hair, I won’t bother you anymore.” Sanji quickly reached for his hand and dragged him back down to the couch, not letting go after Zoro sat with a thump.
“No, I’m the dumbass. I thought you were with me because it’s your job that you’re getting paid for. Fuck, Zoro, I’ve been… trying to pay you to keep you by my side. I thought if we didn’t have this contract, you’d go to the next job, and I wouldn’t see you again. And I… I want you here, with me.”
Zoro quickly scooted closer, an anguished look on his face. “Sanji, even if you didn’t pay me, you’d have to beat me off with a stick to make me go away.”
“Clearly,” Sanji chuckled weakly, “You’ve been working for months for free.”
“It’s not working,” Zoro said, “I did everything I did as your partner. And you’ve been paying for everything, food, travel, a roof over my head.”
Zoro still looked anxious, so Sanji teased, “You’re right, I’ve basically been your sugar daddy for the past few months without any of the benefits.” Zoro relaxed slightly, eyes still serious as he scanned Sanji’s face.
“You thought we were dating when I order you to go get me coffee every morning and we sleep in separate beds and have never kissed, or am I missing something else?” Sanji sighed.
“Well, I’ve always known you’re bossy and particular,” Zoro responded, dodging the pillow Sanji threw at him, “And I’m content with whatever, Sanji. Even sitting next to you in a car feels… special.” Sanji closed his eyes, able to hear his heart beating in his temples. Was he having a heart attack? Likely.
“So… do I still have to go?” Zoro asked hesitantly.
“No, you dumbass, come here. Honestly, if you were content with how I treated you during our not-relationship relationship period, you’re about to have your mind blown.” He pulled Zoro against his chest, enjoying the thrumming of Zoro’s own heartbeat.
“Just so there’s no misunderstanding, we are dating? Now?” Zoro asked, voice muffled.
“Zoro, will you formally be my boyfriend?” Sanji asked, “I don’t know what the hell I said when you thought you were asking me out the first time, but I’m sure it’s your fault for not being clear.” He laughed when Zoro buried his face in the crook of his neck, blowing a raspberry in response.
“A few rules, no tackling people anymore, no more glaring at black cars, definitely no more putting yourself in front of me when you think someone has a knife or gun.”
“Not promising anything,” Zoro responded, wrapping his arms tightly around Sanji’s frame, and Sanji knew Zoro would continue doing all those things.
“Get off me, I’m cooking, all this confusion is making me hungry,” Sanji said, slapping at his new-old boyfriend. He took a moment to grip at the muscle on Zoro’s back, realizing now that he could touch him in ways that would have felt extremely inappropriate to do before. He decided to be bold and slipped his hands under Zoro’s shirt, marveling at the heat he found. He felt Zoro gasp and smiled to himself that Zoro had gotten used to a chaste version of partnership.
“Actually I have a better idea,” he murmured, gripping Zoro’s chin and lifting his head up, running a thumb gently over Zoro’s soft bottom lip. Zoro leaned forward, pressing their lips together for the first time. Sanji held his breath, unsure how much further to go, before Zoro decided for him, tilting his head and practically growling into a deeper kiss.
The months of wanting Zoro and forcing himself to stay professional seemed ridiculous now, in the face of how much Zoro clearly desired him. Hands scrabbling at Sanji’s shirt, Zoro kissed him like a burning man seeking water, half desperation, half respite. They broke apart briefly to breathe before Zoro’s lips found his again, wet and hot and everything Sanji had imagined. Zoro left a trail of tiny kisses along his cheek and jaw before pausing briefly at his neck.
“Nami would kill me if I left a mark, wouldn’t she?” Zoro said breathlessly.
“I would kill you,” Sanji said, pushing him off and standing up, “No marks anywhere, mosshead. My skin is expensive. You should be well aware nearly every part of me gets photographed.”
“Can you not do any more of those?” Zoro pouted, certainly referring to the underwear photoshoots that had made Sanji famous.
“No, they pay well, and I enjoy them,” Sanji grinned, pulling him into his bedroom. The one that he had slept in by himself for the entirety of the time Zoro thought they were dating. As he worked down Zoro’s pants, he began giggling.
“That’s not the sound anybody wants to hear while their pants are being taken off,” Zoro said morosely.
Sanji broke into full-on laughter, though he did take some time to admire the muscle on Zoro’s thighs, “This whole time, you thought that we were dating, and I was just forcing you to sleep in a separate bedroom? You never even broached the topic of sleeping in the same bed. You have the patience of a Trappist monk.”
“I wanted to go at your pace, curly, let you take the lead,” Zoro protested, “How was I supposed to know you didn’t even realize we were dating?”
“Maybe because you never told me, idiot,” Sanji said, tugging Zoro’s shirt off and hungrily running his hands up and down Zoro’s chest. Zoro let him touch his fill before helping Sanji discard his own shirt and reaching for Sanji’s belt. Sanji batted his fumbling hands away and undid his belt, shimmying his pants down and kicking them aside. Zoro was staring at him now, no longer averting his eyes as he usually did when Sanji stripped in his dressing rooms.
“Has anyone ever told you that you would be a good model?” he choked out, eyes glazing over as he tried to look at all of Sanji at once. Sanji rolled his eyes and stepped toward him, both of them only wearing their briefs, and palmed Zoro’s very obvious erection, causing his hips to buck forward.
“Sanji,” he hissed, closing his eyes and resting a forehead on Sanji’s shoulder as Sanji continued his ministrations, feeling the material under his fingers grow wet with pre-cum. Sanji grinned, “Would you really be content if we were celibate partners for the rest of our lives?”
“Stop teasing me,” Zoro groaned, “I would have done something eventually.”
“Oh, you mean like hand-holding?” Sanji grinned, linking his other hand into Zoro’s as he felt Zoro’s dick continue to grow impossibly large under his fingers. He wet his lips, trying to remember the last time he’d been with anybody. Certainly it was before Zoro came into his life. He licked a long strip down Zoro’s exposed neck and nibbled at his earlobe. “God forbid you try something like a back hug on me.”
With a snarl, Zoro placed his arms under Sanji’s knees and back, lifting him bodily up and carrying him toward the bed, dropping Sanji down unceremoniously and crawling on top of him.
“Stop teasing me,” he growled, a glint in his eyes as he leaned over Sanji, placing a gentle kiss on Sanji’s nose before roughly tugging at Sanji’s bottom lip with his teeth. Sanji tried to meet his lips, but Zoro dodged, instead his lips marched down the side of Sanji’s neck and his chest with touches that were more pressure than kiss until Sanji nearly reversed his rule against marking.
He sighed when Zoro made it to the waistband of his briefs, hooking his fingers in the cloth before pulling down slowly until Sanji’s cock sprang out of the material. Sanji moaned and obediently lifted his ass and then his legs to allow Zoro to remove the article of clothing, which Zoro tossed aside like it personally offended him. The next moment, Zoro’s mouth was ghosting across the tip of his cock, giving it a gentle lick. Sanji shuddered when Zoro took him all the way in his mouth, gasping at the enveloping heat. Zoro bobbed his head a few times before releasing Sanji’s cock and replacing his mouth with his hand, grinning up at Sanji as he began a slow, measured pace, focusing on the cluster of nerves under the head with a rough stroke of his thumb.
The sound of Zoro’s saliva and Sanji’s pre-cum, slick on his erection under Zoro’s hand, coupled with the languid pace Zoro had set, was driving Sanji insane.
“Still taking things slow, aren’t you?” he muttered, gripping tightly at the sheets.
Zoro sped up, his other hand coming to grip at Sanji’s hips, then splayed it across Sanji’s stomach, running his fingers along the ridges of the abs Sanji worked so hard to maintain. With a breathless moan, Sanji arched into his hands.
“Zoro, the second drawer,” he managed to say, pointing at his bedside dresser, wanting desperately to be filled. Zoro, as if unwilling to lose contact with Sanji, grabbed and held Sanji’s hand as he leapt off the bed, rifling through the dresser until he came back with lube. Sanji laughed as he tried to unscrew the bottle with one hand, letting go of Zoro’s hand and trying to decide if spreading his legs was too needy. The want curling in his gut was making him feel light-headed. Or maybe that was due to the sight of Zoro finally shedding his briefs and getting back on the bed to kneel at the head of the bed, his member thick and heavy between his thighs.
Even now, he waited, bottle of lube open.
“Can I help you with something?” Sanji asked dryly.
“How do you?” Zoro said, then hesitated.
“How do you… have sex?” Sanji asked incredulously.
“No, god, how do you want to have sex, what do you want, Sanji?” Zoro replied, face turning red.
“Well, Zoro, I would like that,” Sanji pointed at Zoro’s cock, “In this,” he pointed at his ass, “At least right now, but we can discuss other terms of this arrangement later.”
“Asshole,” Zoro muttered, before getting his revenge by pulling Sanji toward him suddenly, forcing an embarrassing squawk out of him. Sanji straddled Zoro’s lap, bringing his arms around Zoro’s neck as Zoro fiddled with the lube, eyes fixated on Sanji’s face.
“I’m— I’m starting,” he said, voice hoarse as his hand gripped Sanji’s ass cheek, massaging as his fingers gently ran down Sanji’s crack.
“I’m waiting,” Sanji replied snarkily, false bravado fading as soon as Zoro slipped a finger inside him. He moaned and tried to relax around the finger, adjusting to the sensation again, trying simultaneously to push back onto Zoro’s hand and pull himself closer to his chest. Zoro looked lost, mouth slightly open as he let out short pants, hot on Sanji’s collarbone.
“Keep going,” Sanji gasped, and Zoro added another finger, pushing both as deep as he could, pulling out slightly, and repeating the shallow thrust. Sanji brought one hand between them, trying to relieve the enormous pressure in his dick and wanting to get his hand on Zoro’s. The moan that Zoro let out when Sanji finally touched him made Sanji giggle.
“Did you have fantasies about us together?” Sanji whispered into his ear, slowly stroking both of them as Zoro added a third finger. The stretch was revelatory.
“Every night,” Zoro replied, shoulder muscles tense as Sanji focused on his cock, full and hard in his hand.
“What would get you off, mosshead? The thought of cuddling?” Sanji teased, enjoying the flash of embarrassment on Zoro’s face, coupled with a breathy gasp as Sanji began stroking him faster. Zoro’s fingers had stopped, so Sanji reminded him of his job by bucking his hips back onto Zoro’s hand.
“No, curly,” Zoro managed to respond, rising to Sanji’s challenge. He pulled his hand away, much to Sanji’s chagrin. “The image of you bouncing up and down on my cock, completely lost in the feeling of me filling you completely.” It was Sanji’s turn to blush now, as Zoro’s hands at his hips guided him so Sanji was sitting further up, hands then shifting behind him until Sanji felt the tip of Zoro’s lubed cock at his entrance, teasing for a moment before slowly pushing in.
“Fuck,” Sanji groaned, tilting his head back and gripping Zoro’s shoulders as he tried to adjust to the larger girth inside him. Zoro waited, hands light on Sanji’s hips, back braced against the headboard of the bed as he let Sanji control the pace. Sanji lowered himself down centimeter by centimeter. They both moaned when Sanji was fully seated, starbursts dancing in Sanji’s vision as he leaned forward hungrily and found Zoro’s lips, sinking into the kiss and the feeling of finally being joined with Zoro.
Soon, Zoro was moving his hips, grinding slowly up, one hand behind Sanji’s head keeping him locked in their kiss, the other at Sanji’s lower back, encouraging him to move. Sanji didn’t need the cue, rolling his hips and grinning around Zoro’s exhale of breath.
“Let’s work on that fantasy of yours,” he said breathlessly, breaking away from the kiss and lifting himself up. He dropped down onto Zoro’s length, and Zoro let out a moan that shattered Sanji’s resolve to go slowly. Sanji began a punishing pace, feeling his thighs beginning to burn but ignoring it to enjoy the absolutely broken look on Zoro’s face. Once he set the rhythm, Zoro began rising to meet him, thrusting upwards and adjusting his hips until he found the perfect angle, Sanji keening at the sensation of Zoro’s cock pounding into him over and over again.
“Sanji,” Zoro groaned, “Fuck, you feel so fucking perfect.”
Mind hazy, Sanji still managed a cheeky grin, “We could have done this ages ago, mosshead.”
Zoro responded by somehow lifting him up, and flipping them so Sanji was on his back, Zoro bearing down on him. His photographers often focused on his flexibility in photoshoots, and Sanji was infinitely grateful for that ability as Zoro bent him in half, Sanji’s knees knocking against his shoulders. Zoro was now able to use all his power to snap his hips, slammer deep and hard into Sanji.
“Sanji,” Zoro gasped, “Sanji, I—”
Sanji nodded, no longer able to form words, especially not after Zoro reached between them and began stroking his swollen length. Sanji’s legs shook, his body tensed, and then he was coming, a more powerful orgasm than he could remember, sending a tingling sensation through his entire body up to his fucking toes and the crown of his head. Sounds were coming out of his mouth in a babble, a mix of “Zoro” and expletives as he rode wave after wave of pleasure. Then he felt Zoro’s movements grow erratic, and forced himself to open his eyes to watch Zoro’s face as he came, Sanji’s name on his tongue like a prayer.
They both panted for a few moments, coming down from their respective highs, until Sanji weakly pushed at Zoro, legs feeling numb. Zoro pulled out slowly before collapsing next to him, immediately drawing him close.
Sanji brought their foreheads together and closed his eyes, exulting in the familiar protection of Zoro’s presence and rejoicing in the new sensation of being held in the arms of his lover.
“Can I sleep here tonight?” Zoro asked, and Sanji headbutted him lightly for the ridiculous question.
“After you wash the sheets,” Sanji replied.
“Bossy and particular,” Zoro grinned. His stomach rumbled, and Sanji immediately rolled over, brushing away Zoro’s hands and heading to the kitchen. He stood at the doorway and turned his head, enjoying the way Zoro’s eyes traced up and down his body as he lounged on Sanji’s bed. On their bed.
“I’m making you some food, what do you want?” Sanji asked.
“Anything,” Zoro smiled, “Are you going to put clothes on?”
Sanji walked away like he was on a runway, now knowing what that probably did to Zoro, “It’s my house, I can walk around naked if I want.” Zoro chased after him, muttering something about peeping Toms and ran around closing all the shades in the kitchen. He peered out a window, probably looking for dust in the distance of approaching cars. Sanji laughed, putting at least an apron on. “Old habits die hard, Mr. Bodyguard.”
---
“Sanji,” Nami said, when she picked up the phone.
“You knew, didn’t you?” he asked immediately.
“Knew what?”
“That Zoro thought he was my boyfriend and I thought he was my bodyguard still.”
“Oh, yes, of course. Did you two finally figure it out?”
Sanji groaned, “Why didn’t you tell me?!”
“Because it was funny. And I didn’t have to pay Zoro and he still protected you from crazies so that was nice.”
“This went on for months,” Sanji whined.
“If it’s any consolation, everybody thought he was your boyfriend except you. Even Franky knew, and he’s mostly an idiot and only sees you once a year.”
“How is that a consolation?” Sanji asked incredulously.
“Gotta go, Sanji. I have a call coming in from Prada. I want to add them to your Italy trip. Byeeee darling.”
Sanji collapsed backward onto Zoro’s chest after Nami hung up.
“See, I told you everybody knew,” his partner said proudly, “I’m not the clueless one here.”
“I don’t want to hear another word about this,” Sanji muttered.
“Yes, boss,” Zoro laughed, kissing him on the top of the head and pulling him closer.