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The Straw Hats are on course to Alabasta, and Sanji has a single goal before they reach its shores. By all rights, it’s something that should’ve been achievable in the near future and not lofty. He flicks the ash from his cigarette as his eyes locate the target.
Roronoa Zoro hasn’t laughed since Little Garden.
That’s where it all started. Zoro had laughed about his boning knife. Though it was immature, his unabashed amusement had put Sanji under a spell. He attempted to aim for low hanging fruit on their way out by cracking an asinine dirty joke—don’t you worry about me and size. That was a shameful failure.
His smiles have been more reserved as well. Sanji is going to change that, no matter what it takes. From the time they’d departed the island, Sanji has taken every opportunity to make jests — no matter how stupid — and ridiculous innuendos. He hasn’t budged. If he didn’t plain ignore Sanji, he would stare at him like he was out of his mind. It’s entirely reasonable that he yearns to bring mirth to his more reticent friend.
Sanji has been haunted by one thought. He should find it terrible. He should be repulsed by himself for this. Yet it plagues him like disease carried by fleas on a rat across the seas. Zoro has a nice laugh. That’s the thing in its entirety. He can’t stop thinking about how his laughter softens his already alluring features, relaxes his muscles, and has the properties of honey glaze in auditory form.
He simply wants to hear the sound again, but Zoro — for whatever reason — has been unbearably stubborn. At one point, Sanji blurted, “You are incredibly vexatious, Mosshead.”
“I don’t know what that means,” Zoro answered with crossed arms. “Go make a crème brûlée or something.”
Then, he just walked away.
He nearly strutted like he hadn’t recently turned Sanji’s world upside down with a basic expression of human emotion and refused to allow him another glimpse. Sanji also wants to snog him a bit. That part isn’t important.
Also, why a fucking burnt custard tart of all desserts? At the time Sanji had distantly wondered, do I still ooze North Blue culture or what? He made the pretended request that evening out of spite. He was even generous enough to dial the sweetness down and customize the recipe so that Zoro could appreciate a slice. The bastard had the audacity to look smug while he gobbled up his portion of Sanji’s creation as though he hadn’t eaten for a week.
Presently, Zoro is doing bicep curls on the deck. He’s flaunting his enormous muscles without a shirt on and a fine layer of sweat allowing the contours to shine even more. The sun is rising at the perfect angle to make him practically glow. Sanji saunters past Zoro’s line of sight and leans on the hefty ropes beside him.
“Mind if I join you?”
“You can go wherever you like on the ship,” Zoro grumbles. His attitude is exasperating to the highest degree.
“Even the bath when you’re in it? Didn’t know you were such a free spirit,” Sanji remarks. It isn’t among his superior ideas. Zoro rolls his eyes and doesn’t comment.
His brain kind of blanks after that. Zoro is shirtless and lifting an impressively burdened dumbbell, so Sanji’s frayed faculties can’t be expected to function at full capacity. Sanji is just a pent up sapient entity. It’s rudimentary arithmetic.
Eventually, he bends to snuff his cigarette via the plate attached to the barbell which sits on a lidded crate behind Zoro. He drops his weights and stretches at the same time. Along the way, Sanji somehow ends up bumping Zoro’s waist just above his haramaki. Zoro jerks and twists away from him. It’s abruptly cut off, but he definitely makes a small noise. Sanji freezes. He squeezes that spot, and it happens again.
“Get your hand off me—if you want to keep your goddamn job—cook,” Zoro demands in a precarious reedy tone that Sanji would heed if he had a dependable sense of self-preservation.
He digs his fingers into the skin beneath Zoro’s ribs. He squirms and giggles. Sanji’s face splits with a wide grin. This discovery is even better than anything he could’ve imagined.
“Ooh, someone’s ticklish,” he says.
“I’m not.” Zoro removes his hand by the wrist. “I’m just not that used to being touched in nonviolent ways.”
Sanji is in for the Berry now, and he’s not backing down easy. He lunges and pushes his fingers into Zoro’s armpits. He yelps.
“Hahahaha—stuh! Stop it—”
He drags his fingertips along Zoro’s ribs and up across his chest. Zoro gasps and leaps from the barrel. Sanji gives chase. Zoro seems caught off guard enough that Sanji actually manages to sweep his feet. He finds convenient rolls of rope nearby while Zoro has the wind knocked out of him. It may be extreme, but Sanji is determined to see Zoro unfettered in another sense. He proceeds to tie his wrists and ankles together. Zoro wriggles and fixes him with a murderous glare.
“Why are you trussing me like a fucking pig you’re gonna roast?”
“Because,” Sanji elucidates, “I must find out where else you’re ticklish. This is important, and it may be my only chance to make you laugh.”
“Make me—what the fuck is wrong with you?”
“Nothin’ at all, dear swordsman,” Sanji deflects.
“What did you call me?”
Sanji disregards that inquiry.
He’s gifted with faint chuckles and choked noises as he caresses up and down Zoro’s sides. He lightly glides his fingertips along the interior of Zoro’s arms from the juncture of his pits to his wrists. He basks in every sound. Soon, he has Zoro struggling for breath.
“Knock it off already, asshole,” Zoro rasps.
“I think you’re having fun,” Sanji replies.
He methodically squeezes his thighs, earning new sounds. “Ah—hah—oh—hah—”
Sanji is discovering something about himself. Zoro’s vulnerability and joy are having an unexpected effect. It’s arousing him. Sanji chews on his lip and tries to tamp it down. The last thing he wants is Zoro to think he’s some kind of pervert. Sanji looks up. Zoro’s face is flushed.
“I wonder if—” Sanji rubs two fingers beneath the knee joints. Zoro giggles and shoves his feet against Sanji’s chest without much strength. He’s trembling too much. “Oh, lovely.”
He pushes Zoro’s legs back and curves over him to tickle his tummy beneath the cloth band, an obvious and easy mark that he had accidentally skipped. “Ha—ehhh—pah—please fucking stop. Just stop.”
He remembers his own pleas when his mother had the strength to tickle him. Zoro likely doesn’t mean it, he’s just struggling to process how good it feels. As he teases his calves and ankles, Sanji ponders whether or not Zoro has ever been tickled. Had he even known he’s this sensitive?
Sanji removes his shoes and socks.
“No, no, no—”
Sanji pressed the pad of his thumb into the sole of his foot. Zoro wheezes. He attempts to kick out, but Sanji keeps a firm grip on his ankle. He circles the plumper area of Zoro’s foot with his fingernail. Zoro’s back arches. When Sanji meets his eyes again, he notices tear tracks on his face. He slams his eyes shut and turns his head.
“Admit you like this, and I’ll stop. Promise,” Sanji says.
“Fuck—fuck off.”
Sanji clicks his tongue. Moving to the other foot to keep it fresh, he slides his fingertips back and forth from the juncture of heel and arch to the ball. Zoro whimpers and laughs out loud.
“Please, Sanji,” he implores when he catches his breath, “you need to stop—shit—hehehe—please, please, please. I think I’m gonna cuh—hah—”
“You’re pretty when you beg,” Sanji remarks without immediately recognizing the contents he spilled forth. A remote corner of his meandering brain contemplates whether or not it’s the first time he’s heard Zoro speak his name.
“I’m what?”
“Don’t worry about it.” Sanji sets his legs down and turns a slight degree. That’s when it grabs his attention.
At first, he isn’t certain he’s seeing what’s being presented to him.
There’s an obvious tent in his relatively snug pants. Zoro has an erection. He’s turned on from Sanji touching him. Pins and needles travel across his skin in many directions. He stares. A strangled sound crawls out of his throat. He registers Zoro is breathing heavy. His eyes are closed, and his lips are parted.
He’s beautiful.
What the hell have I done, Sanji thinks. He hurries to untie Zoro’s restraints. They were shoddy. He’s doubtless that Zoro could’ve broken out of them. It hadn’t seemed as though he’d tested the bindings. Sanji isn’t sure if Zoro was too distracted or if it hadn’t occurred to him.
“You could’ve gotten free anytime,” Sanji declares for good measure. Zoro grunts. He doesn’t move beyond his breathing and twitching of his legs.
Sanji unbuttons his pants before he can reconsider.
Zoro’s eyes snap open. “What the hell are you doing?”
“You tell me,” Sanji mutters, and — quite frankly — it’s the stupidest thing to ever leave his mouth. He tugs the pants halfway down his hips just to view green boxers that almost match his hair.
There’s a wet splotch. He touches it with the pad of his index finger, and it clings to his skin as he pulls away. Zoro seems to be holding his breath. Sanji hooks his fingers under the waistband and bares his erect dick.
There’s a curious thump above him. Zoro’s abdomen trembles. Sanji spits twice in his hand and carefully encircles Zoro’s notable girth. He glides up and slides the remaining foreskin away on his downward drag to completely reveal his blushing glans. Zoro rewards him with a drawn out moan that makes Sanji’s face heat. He hesitates and peers at where Zoro’s cock is cradled in his hand. He teases the frenulum with the tip of his thumb. Zoro’s hips snap upward. He strokes his thumb over the glans and slightly pushes on the slit as he passes. Pearly liquid beads at the top and trickles down as though to pursue him.
“Oh my fuckin’ gods,” Sanji says.
Zoro takes a sharp inhale as though he means to respond. Sanji starts stroking his shaft slow and loose. The air punches out of Zoro in a deep groan that Sanji could almost swear he feels through the planks where he’s kneeling. Sanji bunches his haramaki up to his pecs. He gently prods Zoro’s belly and guides his fingertips along Zoro’s side. He brushes his nipple. Zoro squirms beneath his ministrations. Chortles and moans fight for dominance.
I’m getting Zoro off, repeats in his mind. I’m touching his cock and bringing him closer to orgasm. This is actually happening right now.
“Fuck—Sanji—fuck. Oh, fuck. Fuck—uhh—wh’th’hell,” Zoro blathers.
He releases Zoros’ cock to palm his balls and roll them around on his fingers. A trickle of translucent fluid escapes his straining member. Zoro keens high. Sanji bends to take Zoro’s cock in his mouth.
“Sanji—oh gods—please—San—” He swirls his tongue around the head. “—JIYAA! FUCK! SHIT!”
He envelops more of his length. Sanji slides past the frenulum — while Zoro continues to season cries of his name with strings of cursing — and takes the shaft close to the base. He inhales a great breath through his nose and clears the distance. He grasps Zoro’s hips to hold him in place. Zoro’s musk surrounds him. Dark green curls tickle his nose. The bellend of his cock bumps into Sanji’s soft palate. He moans and tenses as he suppresses his gag reflex.
“Ngh—ah—HAH!”
Confidence fully bloomed, Sanji starts bobbing his head.
“Sanji—fuck—why are you—shit! Fuck! Why are you sucking my—ahhh—fucking bastard shit!”
Sanji is aware that he finds Zoro attractive. He has been captivated by him since somewhere between Arlong Park and Whisky Peak. It would’ve been pathetic to curtain his admiration with denial. He isn’t even sure he has concealed it from Zoro that well. However, he hadn’t really taken the time to dwell on it, much less fantasize about crossing the bridge to intimacy.
If he had imagined having sex with Zoro, he wouldn’t have guessed he would be so vocal. He’s reactive to the point he can’t get a coherent sentence out. It’s endearing and electrifying, and by the seas, his own cock is throbbing. Sanji pauses with not much beyond the head left in his mouth. He hollows his cheeks and sucks while flicking his tongue. His abrupt and stalled thrust almost throws Sanji off.
“Fuh—fuck—AH—HAH—AH—GHAHH—” Zoro’s moans forsake their words and stutter as he spurts hot, salty seed into Sanji’s mouth. Zoro cries his name with elongated vowels. “Sanji—oh—Sanji—god fucking damnit—”
Fingers card through his hair and lightly scrape his scalp. Zoro says, “You. You.”
Sanji allows the flaccid cock to slide out of his mouth. It hits Zoro’s belly with a plap. He clutches Zoro’s haramaki and rests his forehead on his stomach. The persistent aching between his legs pierces him like beams of sunshine through the clouds.
“Mmph.” Sanji lifts his head and gazes blearily at Zoro’s flushed face. Between the post-dawn rays and the rosiness, his freckles are popping extra well. “Yeah, Mosshead?”
With a hiss through clenched teeth, Zoro props himself on his elbows. He glances between his spent dick and Sanji’s face like he can’t trust his own vision. “You just—did you just fucking blow me?”
Sanji scoots up on his knees and flings his bangs. “No, I think it was the wind.”
Zoro’s hand shoots forward and grabs him by the collar. Sanji tenses and prepares to fall back on his hands to free his legs for the impending tussle. Then—oh, Zoro’s kissing me, he realizes. That’s nice. It’s rather chaste, considering what recently happened between them. He cups Zoro’s cheek and adjusts the angle to slot them together better. Their lips simply brush and caress each other for a time before they separate to properly fill their lungs. Sanji giggles and possibly sounds a little on the crazier side.
Zoro whispers, “Can I help you?”
“Huh?”
“Your—um—your dick.” He actually — honest to the seas — blushes and ducks his head. “You’re—uh—you know—hard. Can I touch you there?”
Sanji blinks. “Oh. Yeah, ‘course you can.”
Sanji shuffles over to sit on the barrel that Zoro had previously occupied. Zoro stands and fixes his clothing. He spreads his legs as Zoro moves between them. His cheekbones and ears are still reddened. Sanji lifts his buttocks to allow Zoro to tug his pants and underwear over the swell. He jerks them down to his ankles. He places his hands on Sanji’s knees and slides up to squeeze his thighs. His eyelids flutter, and he seems interested only in groping Sanji’s musculature for a moment.
Sanji’s neglected cock happens to give an emphatic twitch when Zoro’s focus tunnels to his crotch. Zoro startles with a sharp inhale. His gaze skitters to Sanji’s face and back down. A revelation strikes him. Oh sweet hell, Sanji muses with wonderment. Zoro is fucking shy.
Sanji remarks, “Hey Mosshead, you plannin’ to touch my cock like you asked, or do you just want to memorize it for a tattoo?”
Zoro glowers at him. “Shut up and give me a second, cook.”
“I’ve given you several,” Sanji gripes.
He doesn’t really mean to bite at him with sarcasm and impatience, but he’s keyed up. Sucking his dick had sort of been a religious experience. If he were given to worship, it would be performed at the altar of the ways Zoro’s body reacts to his tender attention. He reaches for Sanji’s member. His fingers brush the precome dampened glans, but Sanji stops him from going further. Zoro’s eyebrows knit in a little furrow.
“What now?”
“Tell me you’re not tryin’ to jerk me off dry.”
Zoro makes a low frustrated sound through his nose — which seems more directed at himself — and brings his palm toward his mouth. “Right, yeah. I forgot.”
“How d’you forget somethin’ like that?”
Once finished slavering into his palm, Zoro replies, “Give me a fucking break, you just gave me the best orgasm of my life with no warning.”
“I’m flattered you—” Sanji breaks off with a moan clawed directly out of his chest when Zoro starts to roughly jerk him from root to tip. “Oh. Yes—darling—that’s perfect.”
Sanji’s groin burns, and it’s obvious he’s already about to topple from the edge. However, he dangles with the uncertainty that Zoro would touch him like this again. He clings to the slippery stone using the vestiges of his inner control. Zoro adds a twist to the upstroke and laves his darkened tip. The power of the cresting wave dashes him. Sanji groans, and he’s wrenched by the undertow of his climax. A single creamy string shoots out of him before Zoro’s lips enclose his member. Sanji shivers as Zoro swallows the bulk of his load. He reaches to stroke Zoro’s cheek.
“Ah—ah—shit, s’good Mossy,” he praises.
He opens his eyes and watches as the apple of Zoro’s throat bobs. Streaks of semen paint either side of his lips. Sanji wipes one corner, but Zoro snatches his wrist and licks it off his thumb. He darts his tongue out to collect from the opposite side. Sanji briefly covers his eyes and makes a noise that’s half sigh and half grunt. Zoro’s hands fall heavy on his shoulders. Sanji drops his arm to peer up at him.
“If you’re about to brush this off as a fling,” Zoro rumbles, “you should rethink it. Unless you’d like me to teach you my three sword style up close and personal.”
Sanji clasps his right hand and brings the knuckles to his lips. “Say less. Do you think it’s selfish to have a second dream?”
Zoro’s eyebrows jump. He shakes his head and softly chuckles.