Chapter Text
Zoro feels himself gush wetly and shifts, opening his legs to watch in between them as he's sitting on the toilet. He started feeling odd about an hour after coming home from hunting game on the small desert island they docked at for supplies. He didn't even find anything more than a couple of odd looking rabbits and ended up stuck in a field of pungent smelling flowers for half an hour until the cook forced him back onto the ship.
He realized something was wrong when he started feeling his cunt throbbing and swelling randomly as he tried to nap on deck, and used a need to piss as an opportunity to lock himself in the bathroom and check it out. Well, that was the plan, at least, but he is feeling more and more like he is going to have to rub one out quickly if he wants to be able to do anything else with his day. He takes a surprisingly labored breath, the air feels thick and hot in the enclosed space of the toilet room. Bending forward to get a better look of his sopping wet pussy, he groans when he feels it throb again and a thick dollop of slick liquid drops down onto the toilet bowl.
He's never been so wet, and he's never felt so wide open and puffed up and erect down there before either. Finally giving in to the overwhelming urge tugging at his brain, he sits back up and brings his right hand down between his legs: they open wide almost without his control and a choked whine escapes his throat as soon as his digits slip between his hairy lips and make contact with the puffy, wet folds around his swollen dick.
“Fuuh–” he groans, delirious, “What the fuck is happening to me,” he whispers to himself. Sweat beads heavily around his forehead and chest, and he suddenly gets the urge to strip down naked—although he’s almost there anyway, with his already naked chest, lack of underwear and his pants down around his ankles. He wiggles one foot out of a loosening boot and chucks it away with a kick, it ‘thunks’ dully against the door and he pulls his leg out of his pants carelessly, leaving them hanging around the other. Zoro is not paying any attention to the state of his clothes or his surroundings right now, not when the mere contact of two thick and calloused fingers around his pulsating dicklit almost sends him over the edge. That’s… unusual, he thinks.
But he already craves more. He strokes himself through the hood like he’s used to and moans lowly; this feels heavenly. His feet shift against the floor until they are on each side of the toilet against which he is sprawled uncaringly. He tries to get purchase on the ground with one boot and one naked foot so he can move his hips, grinding needily against his right hand while the left grips the edge of the toilet bowl. Zoro never cared much about hygiene but, somewhere in his hazy brain, he recognizes that he usually wouldn’t masturbate on top of the toilet he shares with the rest of his crew—but he just cannot stop. The movement of his hand speeds up and he bites his lower lip hard, trying to stifle the panting moans building in his chest as he barrels towards completion. Finally, he hooks two large fingers right at the entrance of his twitching hole and presses his whole hand against his wet cunt, and he comes with a long whine. He barely registers the stream of warm fluid gushing from himself all around his hand until he manages to catch his breath again and open his eye. Right, he thinks, I came here to take a piss and then I… didn’t.
His mind feels somewhat clear for the first time since he started feeling weird earlier, and he’s realizing it probably has something to do with the fact he just came. Which is… weird. He looks at his state and tainted hand, stunned for a second. Finally, he moves to get up and wash his hands in the sink, but his legs almost give out from under him when his nether regions give a strong spasm, as if disapproving of his choice to try to stand up.
“Fuck, what the hell is going on!” he grunts in frustration, gripping the edge of the sink when his legs shake and more slippery liquid starts flowing between his muscular thighs. He raises his head to look himself in the mirror and he is shocked by what he sees: his face is reddish, shining with sweat, and his eye looks hazy, as if drunk. Except he knows he hasn’t drank anything today, so it can’t be it. Could he be sick?
His thought process is interrupted by another needy spasm of his cunt and he flexes his thighs, squishing the puffy flesh wetly between them—it offers him a bit of relief, but only temporarily. By the time his hands are clean and he has splashed cold water in his face, the urge to touch himself is back, and even stronger than before. He brings his right hand back down unthinkingly, feeling the now familiar warm and cottony feeling taking over his brain as he spreads his legs. He bends forward slightly, left hand gripping the edge of the sink as his fingers dive in his warm folds once more and his mind blanks.
Solely focused on the pleasure building at his core, he grunts and gasps unabashedly. His pussy is so slippery his fingers keep sliding down to his gaping opening, like it’s begging to get filled. Zoro curses under his breath; the rough texture of his fingers is both too much for his sensitive cockhead, enlarged and firm as it peeks out from between his fold, and not enough stimulation to reach a second orgasm so soon. Finally, he relents to fitting the digits deeply into himself, a choked moan leaving his lips from the immediate, delicious feeling of fullness it creates. He’s now leaning his head on the arm holding the sink tightly, folded forward over himself as he starts moving his fingers, massaging his walls and pumping them slowly in and out while the palm of his hand presses onto his dick in rhythm. He feels like he’s finally getting close to his release again, but his fingers are not enough, he can’t reach far enough–
He whines frustratingly, needily, not even hearing himself. But somebody does.
“Marimo? What the fuck are you doing in there?” he hears the Shitty Cook’s voice through the door, and oh, fuck, something stirs in him, he feels delirious with it. He pounds his cunt with a gasp, thighs flexing and legs almost dropping him a couple of times, and he keens.
“Oh, my– You fucking animal, are you moaning while taking a dump?” Sanji asks with an incredulous laugh. “I can’t fucking believe this, you absolute–”
“Sh– Shut up!” Zoro manages to exclaim between two ragged breaths, briefly regaining control over his mind through sheer force of annoyance. He can’t believe he’s getting interrupted by the swirly asshole; he can’t believe his voice is having such a strong effect on him either. He can’t stop stroking himself, groaning with pleasure, face scrunched up with shame as he sweats buckets. The Cook makes a choked sound from behind the wooden door:
“What the fuck?! Are you actually jerking off in there? What is fucking wrong with y–”
Zoro interrupts him with a loud moan as he reaches his second climax all of a sudden, fucking himself on his fingers while listening to the annoyed rasp of the Ero-cook’s voice. He becomes fully aware of this terribly embarrassing fact when he comes down from his orgasm-induced high. At least, this seems to have shut up the idiot cook. Maybe he even left, Zoro hopes when he notices more warm liquid running down his shaking legs down to his crumpled pants—the smell is kind of sharp, and his face burns with shame when he realizes he pissed himself when he came. Calling it squirt could not hide the harsh reality of it.
“Oi, Moss Head,” he hears Sanji call him. He did not leave, apparently. Zoro groans, shameful anger gripping at his chest while he tries to catch his breath bent over his folded arm.
“Go away, Swirly Brows,” he finally bites back. He can already start feeling the warmth coming back, a shiver running down his spine when the voice behind the door speaks again:
“Are you okay?” it says a bit less loudly than when he was insulting him earlier, and that’s really not good for Zoro’s current condition. He bites his lip to avoid cursing out loud, because he doesn't trust his voice to sound as annoyed as he wants it to be right now.
"I'm–" he tries, choking on the words, "I'm fine, fuck off!" he finally manages to get out, sounding somewhat out of breath.
"You don't sound fine," Sanji rightfully points out, ever the smart mouth. Fuck, his mouth, Zoro thinks as his brain latches onto the thought of it. He stifles yet another whine, thighs flexing—it creates a wet squelching sound that's almost too loud in the boiling hot enclosed space. He wonders if Sanji can hear it–
"–ro! Oi, answer me, you fucking idiot!" Sanji has apparently been calling from behind the door while Zoro was busy spiraling about the shape of his lips around the cigarettes he smokes all day. "I'm going to get Chopper," he finally adds, sounding defeated.
"No!" Zoro immediately reacts. "No, no, don't get Chopper," he almost pleads. "I don't need him." His head is starting to pound with pure need. He grips the sink tighter, trying to hold on to his sanity for as long as possible. In vain, he realizes next when Sanji speaks again, his voice uncharacteristically low to Zoro's ear:
"What do you need, then?" he asks. Zoro whines.
"I need– I need you," he breathes out, only half aware of the full implication of his words. He just can’t stop himself, he feels so warm and wet and open and empty.
“Fuck’s sake,” he hears Sanji curse quietly behind the door, as if to himself. There’s a thud against it, and it moves slightly on its hinges. Zoro suddenly panics he didn’t lock it properly and the Cook is about to barge in and find him almost completely naked, covered in piss and other fluids from the waist down, delirious with lust and practically on the verge of passing out. Except instead of mortification, the thought causes him to feel even more want, turning into a particularly alluring fantasy. He grips the sink until he’s white knuckled to stop himself from undoing the latch and opening the door against which Sanji is probably leaning. The now familiar warmth announcing the next wave of unstoppable sexual hunger rises inside him, inexorably. Maybe he should open–
“Talk to me Marimo, what do you want?" Sanji’s voice interrupts his thought, sultry yet grounding. What is this bastard saying, Zoro thinks through the haze in his mind, but he already feels himself formulating an answer in between labored gasps, and he presses his lips closed stubbornly. He’s not even touching himself, still gripping the sink while his wet legs flex against his will, desperate to offer his overexcited parts any kind of contact. He knows as soon as he starts touching again he will lose his mind, and who knows what he will do then, with the Cook right there?
“Fuck!” he rasps frustratingly, feeling his control slipping at the mere thought. He hears Sanji’s mocking laugh ring behind the door, smug asshole that he is. “What’s happening to me?!” he finally asks. The Cook hums, like he is savoring this moment of utter control over Zoro.
“You, my dear Marimo, seem to be under the influence of some kind of aphrodisiac pollen,” he answers, sing-songy, like this is the best fucking day of his life. Zoro is too far gone to answer something coherent to the—admittedly very useful—information and just curses some more, because that’s just his luck. “I heard coming as many times as possible helps the symptoms go away faster,” Sanji adds suggestively.
And really, Zoro would have done that even if it didn’t help, because he quite literally doesn’t have a choice. He groans back, about to tell Shitty eyebrows to go fuck himself now that he has humiliated Zoro enough, but the man is seemingly ten steps ahead of him:
“So, how many times has it been? Think you can get another one out for me, Moss?” he drawls against the door, and Zoro’s hand jumps down in between his legs before he can stop it.
“Fuck you!” he whines more than he yells. He is even wetter than before, if this is even possible, and his skin feels burning hot to the touch. His hole twitches again and again, beckoning, but Zoro knows who he will think about as soon as he stuffs his cunt with his fingers and he doesn’t want to give Sanji the satisfaction—even if he can’t see him doing it. But what if he could, supplies his sex drunk brain, running with the new fantasy as Zoro starts stroking himself steadily.
“How many times, Zoro?” Sanji asks again, more authoritative and using his name on purpose. The green-haired man is so so mad, but also so so turned on by his tone, he keeps his mouth shut as hard as he can and strokes his cock harder. “I can still go get Chopper,” he threatens emptily—probably. Hopefully. Although Zoro wouldn’t put it past the Shitty Cook to go get their doctor to further humiliate him, which is so stupid considering the swordsman is one deep voiced order away from opening the door and pulling Sanji inside the room with him, a scenario he would like to avoid because the blond asshole would never let it go.
“Fucking twice, Shitty Cook,” he forces out of his throat, dry from heaving in the stifling heat of the tight space—his voice sounds both scratchy and whiny, and Sanji chuckles.
“You’re not gonna get any better at this pace, stupid Marimo,” he retorts back. Zoro is not listening anymore; his fingers have slipped inside himself again, three of them this time, and he is now resting his boot-clad foot against the toilet for better access to in between his legs, biting his bottom lip between his teeth so hard he tastes blood—but when the alternative is begging Sanji to come replace his fingers, he doesn’t mind. He can’t stop the particularly loud moan rumbling from his throat when he presses on his spot inside and a long spurt of liquid squirts into his hand before dribbling onto the floor under him, nor does he try to keep his mouth shut when he does it again and again, coming undone for the third time and enjoying it even more than the first two.
“Does that feel good Moss? Are you coming all over yourself in there?” he vaguely hears Sanji whisper gravely to him through the door, clearly enjoying himself, and his walls clamps around his fingers in response like a fucking dog in heat. He is too busy catching his breath to say anything anyways.
When he can think straight again, he realizes he can hear light noises of clothes ruffling behind the door and his brain short-circuits for a second. He is about to ask what the fuck Sanji is doing when a loud bang has him jumping in surprise.
“SANJI! I’m hungry, what are you doing– HEY why is your dick out?!” he hears Luffy’s voice bellow in the small bathhouse. His dick out? Zoro’s brain yells, and he actually decides to sit on the toilet again, feeling dizzy with a mix of hormones, adrenaline and heady lust.
“Shut your big fucking mouth, you idiot, do you want the whole ship to come here?” Sanji bites back urgently—he must bump into the door trying to put his dick back inside his pants, because Zoro hears more ruffling sounds and the door shakes slightly.
“I don’t care if the whole ship comes here, I’m not the one with his dick out,” Luffy retorts with a shit-eating grin Zoro can picture just from his voice. “What are you doing? And have you seen Zoro?” he asks then, ignoring Sanji’s mumbled insults directed at him. Silence. The swordsman, who is already feeling himself throb back to life under the belt, can’t help feeling frustrated he can’t tell what is happening behind the closed door, although he’s not willing to do anything about it.
“OOH!” he finally hears Luffy exclaim again, before getting noticeably closer to the door. “Zoro?” he asks. “Why is Sanji masturbating to you in the bathroom?”
Sanji makes a choked out noise before he starts defending himself animatedly:
“That is not what I was doing! This idiot is fucking high on aphrodisiac pollen,” he explains, and Zoro feels his cheek redden with both embarrassment and anger—and maybe a bit of arousal, but in this state, nothing doesn’t arouse him.
“What is aphro-whatever pollen?” Luffy asks confusedly but unsurprisingly. It almost makes Zoro chuckle, but he is too busy trying not to go insane from wanting dick, especially when there happens to be two less than two meters in front of him and his sick brain knows it. He hears the Cook sigh in exasperation.
“It means he’s really fucking horny right now. Like, uncontrollably so,” he explains slowly.
“Oh, okay,” Luffy says at first. A second. “Oh! Oh, oooh, okay…” he says again, sounding much more interested all of a sudden. “Why are you not in there then?” Zoro could swear he hears Sanji growl.
“I didn’t even bother asking, he told me to fuck off,” he mumbles dejectedly. Luffy snickers.
“It’s because it’s you.”
“No, it’s because of his fucking ego,” Sanji counters. Zoro sighs; at least focusing on this dumb conversation is kind of helping with his current predicament.
“No, it’s because you’re an asshole,” he manages to answer loud enough, his voice sounding almost level. Sanji ‘tsk’s so loudly it’s like he’s in the room with him. Zoro hears him shift closer to the door again.
“You still want it though,” he drawls seductively, and it goes straight to Zoro’s treacherous dick, which spasms visibly.
“Shut up, Bitch Brows!” he snaps back hoarsely, red faced.
“Shishishi,” Luffy giggles, “that’s a new one.”
Zoro grabs the edges of the toilet bowl to stop himself from doing something about his needy cock, and it sounds like Sanji is mumbling profanities in either Zoro or Luffy’s vague directions now.
“Zoro, are you okay?” Luffy’s voice pierces through the noise, soft and sounding slightly worried. The effect it has on Zoro is even more potent than the way Sanji's drawling tones has his whole body tingling, and he immediately melts in a useless heap of sweaty muscles on top of the open toilet. "I'm–" he rasps, "I'm so hot all over, Loof," he babbles deliriously. "It hurts how much I want– I want–"
"What does Zoro want?" Luffy encourages him softly. The swordsman’s last standing barriers collapse and him with it; his legs fall wide open once more and his right hand between them, while the left moves up to his chest. He moans wantonly, a sound so foreign coming out of his own mouth he barely registers that’s what he is doing.
"I want to fucking come,” he whines, stroking himself and pinching the nipple he is playing with, instantly bringing himself closer to his goal. The pleasure is blinding and overwhelming, much more than it ever is when he usually touches himself, like his body is trying to get him to reach his climax as fast and violently as possible. Sanji said he would feel better the more he comes; he’s starting to think he was wrong. He suddenly realizes Luffy is speaking behind the door but he wasn’t paying attention.
“– for me? Is Zoro gonna come again? How many times did Zoro come already?” he’s babbling, leaning close to the wood. He sounds amused by the situation, and like he will take advantage of it fully.
“Three times,” Sanji answers before Zoro can. Luffy snickers.
“You been counting? Zoro turns you on a lot, doesn’t he?” he says with a mocking edge that makes Zoro chuckle in between two ragged moans. Sanji mumbles something Zoro can’t hear, and Luffy laughs: “Oh, there’s no need to be embarrassed! Look, mine is hard too. I don’t mind if Sanji touches himself, I’m gonna do it too!”
Zoro’s toes clench against the ground, the thought of the Cook’s and his captain’s hard cocks so mouth watering he whines “Fuuh–” fingers burying inside himself once more.
“Fuck’s sake,” Sanji curses, and Zoro hears the now familiar sound of his pants being unfastened quickly. He is so glad he can’t find the strength to do anything more than fuck his fingers into himself frantically and fondle his own chest, because the temptation to crawl to the door and beg to be stuffed is maddening—especially with Luffy being here now. Here, and enjoying Zoro’s predicament, apparently, because he has started to breathe more heavily, which can only mean he is doing exactly what he said he would. Fuck, Zoro is close again.
“Feel good, Zoro? Are you gonna come soon?” he huffs. The door shakes on its hinges, he must be leaning against it while jerking off.
“Fuck, Captain, good, I’m gonna–” Zoro whimpers, coiling around himself with the intensity of the sensations coursing through him. His whole body is burning and his cock is rock hard and swollen, bigger than he’s even seen it, and he tries his best stroking it with his palm while three of his fingers pound his slick hole. “I’m gonna– I’m gonna come,” he says again, because he wants to hear Luffy’s voice again, he feels like he will die if he doesn’t–
“That’s good, so good for your Captain, come on, come for me,” Luffy says breathily, and Zoro does, so hard he practically shouts and feels light headed, his whole body shaking on top of the toilet while long spasms push more—how is there still any left?—squirt out of his cunt in heavy spurts, covering his entire hand once more. He breathes heavily, trying to catch his breath, but he feels like he’s burning from the inside. Even the clarity he experienced the couple first times after orgasming is a let down this time, because his brain still feels cottony by the time he’s able to move again. He can hear Luffy calling his name, but he can’t answer, not just yet. He is starting to get a headache, and he feels parched.
“ZORO!” Luffy yells, tired of not getting an answer. “DID YOU DIE?” he adds, pounding on the door this time. Sanji curses loudly:
“Stop that you fucking imbecile!” He must pull their Captain back because the pounding stops, which Zoro is glad for. “Oi! Marimo! Say something before we break the door!” he threatens. Zoro groans.
“I’m– I’m okay,” he lies. “You asshole said…” he pauses, because the thoughts are getting away from him, “you said coming would help!”
“How do you know?” Luffy asks Sanji, who scoffs.
“I don’t know, I guess it’s like a fever, right? I heard you gotta get it out of your system,” he explains. Which is helpful, because Zoro feels so angry all of a sudden that he momentarily gets the strength to get up and move closer to the door to exclaim:
“You don’t know?! What if it’s not helping?” The outburst is enough to zap all of his newly found energy, though, and he has to turn back to the sink and grip it to avoid collapsing. He looks at himself in the mirror and realizes that his pupil is blown so wide he can barely see the grey of his eye anymore, and his skin is pasty pale. Coming four times in a row definitely did not help. While his Captain and Sanji are busy bickering about how much trouble they would get in if they went to Chopper now instead of calling him as soon as they realized Zoro was not okay, the swordsman gathers enough strength to wash his hands and face, and drink cold water. It helps more than he expected.
“I’m fine! Don’t you dare call Chopper,” he finally says loud enough for the two men outside to hear. They fall silent and agree, but they genuinely sound a little bit worried now.
Despite his own bravado, he knows his body will crave more soon, only he’s not sure he has it in him to go again. The fog is starting to take over once more and with it, his earlier resolve finally falters. Shaking with a mix of shame and excitement, he reaches for the door, and unlatches it.
Click.