To Touch Without Violence

Thriller Bark had almost ended the collective dreams of the Straw Hat crew. This indisputable fact plagued Sanji as his body recovered from the many fights he’d participated in. With the benefit of hindsight, one fact stood out above the others: he wasn’t strong enough, wasn’t fast enough, he wasn’t good enough to protect his friends. It tore at him in the night, aching more than his wounds, choking him like a lungful of smoke he couldn’t exhale.
Or, that time I reached for a VERY thin excuse to have Zoro laid up in bed and in need of some sweet sweet massagin', and then wrote >15k words about it. lol.
*updated to include a bonus Zoro POV chapter!

Notes:

Hello! This has been kicking around in my brain since OPLA reignited my passion for One Piece and inspired a manga reread, and of course, the post Thriller Bark "nothing happened" emotions were running high when I started writing. Enjoy!

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Thriller Bark had almost ended the collective dreams of the Straw Hat crew. This indisputable fact plagued Sanji as his body recovered from the many fights he’d participated in. With the benefit of hindsight, one fact stood out above the others: he wasn’t strong enough, wasn’t fast enough, he wasn’t good enough to protect his friends. It tore at him in the night, aching more than his wounds, choking him like a lungful of smoke he couldn’t exhale.

They held a small ceremony to commemorate Brook’s perished crew two days after Kuma’s final attack. The graveyard around them was strewn with rubble. A haze hovered above the gravestones, a chill mix of fog and settling dust that gave the morning light an unearthly glow. Sanji shifted his weight between his feet and pulled his crumpled pack from his pocket, then shook a cigarette loose and held it to his lips. A thin ribbon of smoke curled upward as he lit it, joining the gloomy ambience.

The strawhats stood shoulder to shoulder as they listened to Brook hum a sad tune where he sat cross-legged before the Rumbar Pirates memorial. Only two crewmates were missing from their ranks — Zoro due to his innumerable injuries, and Chopper due to his stout diligence as ship’s doctor, having refused to leave his patient’s side. Zoro’s wounds were grievous, worse than he’d ever seen someone survive. Sanji sucked in a deep drag and huffed the smoke angrily back out through his nostrils.

Selfish fucking marimo.

Sanji had tried. He really had. Kuma’s bomb had laid waste to the crew as easily as it had the island, leaving only Zoro standing. And when Sanji had pulled himself out of the carnage and overheard the bear’s ultimatum, he’d surged forward to take Zoro’s place. But he wasn’t good enough for that, either. His knees started to feel weak again, his fingertips twitching in facsimile of how he’d clutched at Zoro’s forearm as he’d fallen, crumpling like tinfoil. Why was only Zoro allowed to sacrifice himself?

Footsteps crunched up the gravel path behind him, too heavy to be Chopper’s. Sanji pivoted on his heel in a smooth half turn, wary of this tricky island’s strange creatures and inhabitants, even now, after their supposed victory. But it was just the swordsman himself, trudging slowly forward as if drawn by the intensity of Sanji’s clouded thoughts.

Under the mosshead’s open gray shirt bandages wrapped thickly around his torso. Further linen strips encircled his brow. His swords hung from his haramaki at their usual angle, Zoro’s hand rested protectively on their hilts. His eyes scanned the scene, dragging down the grouping of crewmates until finally they settled on Sanji.

Hot anger flared in Sanji’s chest as Zoro’s narrowed eyes traveled up the length of his body to settle on his face, tracking the motion of Sanji’s hand as he reached up to pluck the cigarette from his lips. Zoro’s expression was unreadable and Sanji wanted to kick a leg out and stop the swordsman, to grab him by the collar and press their foreheads together, to demand an explanation. But he did none of these things; he merely grit his teeth as Zoro approached, too respectful of their solemn setting to start violence.

“Cook,” Zoro muttered under his breath as he passed. Sanji almost shook with rage, but he maintained his composure through sheer force of will.

“Marimo,” he said acidly.

Zoro walked past where the rest of the crew stood and approached Brook, pulling ruined Yubashiri from his belt as he walked. Brook looked up in surprise as Zoro stabbed the sheath down into the earth before the memorial. The other strawhats turned to leave as Zoro folded his legs beneath himself and exchanged a few words with the musician. Sanji left last, twisting the butt of his cigarette under his toe before spinning away.

The last of the supplies were almost aboard the Thousand Sunny when Thriller Bark gave them its final parting gift. The forest lining their rocky berth seemed to shiver with sudden movement. Sanji leaned over the ship’s railing to haul up another crate, then dropped it squarely on Franky’s head at the sound of Nami’s shriek. He whipped his head up to see countless vines, each as thick around as his leg, unwind from the wall of trees and stretch toward the shore. Sanji leapt over the railing, sprung off his hands when he hit the ground, and launched himself into action.

The vines whistled past his head as he spun through them, dodging the razor sharp thorns they bore as he pivoted and kicked. He threw himself into the air as a clump of vines next to him went suddenly limp. Zoro slashed through them a second time half a heartbeat later with a single drawn blade, his face split by a viscous grin as he whirled by. “Moss-brained idiot!” Sanji shouted after him. “You should be resting!”

Zoro spared him a quick glance over his shoulder. “What’s it to you?” Sanji almost froze in place midair, entirely caught off guard by the question. He twisted, nearly missed his landing, then vaulted over the next writhing wave of plant life.

“I can’t kill you until you’re healthy first, bastard!” He said belatedly.

Zoro gave him a shit-eating grin as he spun through a knot of tangled vines and left them in shreds. “You couldn’t kill me right now if you tried.” Sanji fumed, then tried to change tact.

“Get back and protect the ship, bastard!”

“Or what, you gonna make me?”

“OW! Lemme go!”

Sanji ground his teeth against his sharp reply and spun just in time to see a vine find one of Luffy’s rubbery ankles. It yanked him into the air and held him aloft for a brief moment, then slammed him back down into the rocks and dragged him under the shade of the canopy.

Sanji swore under his breath and plunged in after him. Dense underbrush clawed at his face and limbs, but Sanji kicked aside every snarl that might slow him, leaping over fallen logs and monolithic chunks of rubble. Zoro wasn’t far behind. Sanji could hear the faint rustle of foliage as Zoro dodged and wove through the trees, the metallic shnng of his blade as he slashed through his own obstacles. He could almost feel the intention radiating from Zoro, dark and murderous, from the way the forest seemed to fall quiet around them.

When they finally found him, Luffy was suspended fifty feet overhead, limbs stretched in all directions as the vines fruitlessly tried to tear his body apart. Directly below him a squirming mass of sentient shrubbery quivered around a pair of hollow, haunted eyes. Above, Luffy let out a shriek of uproarious laughter.

“NOO!!! Wait, STOP!! That TICKLES!!!!”

Annoyance warred with his amusement, and all Sanji could do was shake his head as he tapped the toe of his shoe against the soft earth, preparing to ignite his next flurry of kicks. At his side, Zoro crouched into one of his sword forms with a snarl on his face. In perfect step, they hurled themselves at the vines with a viciousness that left the shrubbery in smoldering shreds. Afterward, Sanji dusted his captain off as Zoro sheathed his sword, and together, they turned back for the Sunny.

Frankly unceremoniously tossed the last of the supplies up onto the deck and then the Thousand Sunny cast off, free at last from this cursed waypoint. Nami inspected the log pose and pointed them away, and within minutes the huge arch of Thriller Bark’s outer gateway appeared before them.

It was then, as the crew mingled on the deck, taking stock of supplies and stowing them away, that Usopp noticed something strange as he passed behind with a crate balanced in his shoulder. “Uh, Zoro?” He said timidly. He lifted his free hand and pointed toward something by the swordsman’s elbow. “You’ve got a little… something…”

Sanji glanced up at the sound of Zoro’s name, then scowled. He’d caught himself doing that more and more lately. But he already had enough to think about anyway, not that Zoro needed worrying after. He wasn’t some helpless damsel, after all. Sanji watched as the swordsman twisted and lifted his arm to inspect himself, then struggled to maintain his composure as he saw the wound for the first time as well. A three inch long thorn jutted from the muscle of Zoro’s left tricep, just below his tied bandana where it was lodged deeply into his bandaged flesh.

“Huh,” Zoro commented, then he reached up and tugged the thorn free and tossed it carelessly away. It landed with a weighty thunk and skittered across the deck. The bandages wrapping Zoro’s arm bloomed red with bright fresh blood. Sanji frowned as he watched the stain spread. How could the shitty swordsman not have noticed that he’d been stabbed, and by a plant of all things?

Chuckling, he called, “Oi, marimo! Guess you’re not the deadliest plant in these parts after all!”

Zoro turned and glared at him across the deck, then glanced down at his hand and flexed his fingers consideringly. “You would think a simple scratch is deadly,” he replied with a bored sneer. Sanji rankled as his temper immediately ignited. He should take the shit swordsman down right here and now, injuries be damned, and make the fucker regret his own nerve. But Zoro was already ambling away, and the rage thrashed through Sanji with nowhere to go. He stomped out his cigarette and stalked into the galley.

As they were sitting around the table finishing off the feast Sanji had prepared, the cook noticed something odd about Zoro’s behavior. Most of his behavior was odd, really, not that Sanji watched, but tonight the swordsman seemed to be favoring his left side. It wasn’t obvious, and Sanji knew Zoro was basically ambidextrous in his fighting style, so he tried to push it from his mind.

Then Zoro leaned awkwardly to pass a dish with his right hand, and Sanji found himself bothered by it. Perhaps Zoro was simply exhausted from his wounds and the day’s excitement, or maybe the thorn wound was bothering him. Either way, it wasn’t any of Sanji’s business. He watched as Zoro finally used his left hand to lift his cup of sake. His hand was trembling almost imperceptibly.

“Got somethin’ to say, curly?”

He said it casually, but his eyes were narrowed as he stared back at Sanji over the rim of his cup, smirking. Irritation quickly squashed Sanji’s burgeoning sense of concern. A hush fell as the scattered conversations around the table all paused at the same time and waited on bated breath for the inevitable escalation.

“I would if I was confident your moss brain could actually comprehend speech,” Sanji bit back easily. “Too bad all its good for is soaking up alcohol.”

The edge of the cup rattled against the wood of the table as Zoro set it down. He seemed to relax minutely, leaning back in his seat as he rested his left hand back in his lap. Sanji noticed then how tired he looked. Shadows pooled under his eyes like bruises.

“Well go on then, you’ve never let someone’s stupidity stop you before, not even your own.”

Sanji slapped his fork down on the table. “You’ve got a lot of nerve —”

“GUYS!” Nami yelled from the opposite end of the table. Sanji startled in his seat and looked sheepishly toward her.

“Yes, Nami dearest? Would you like another helping, or perhaps your palate is already craving dessert?” Nami scowled at him. She looked tired too, Sanji thought.

“Can we not do this now? We literally just got out of dodge. Can’t you two maybe wait a day or three?”

“Of course, Nami-swan! Anything to keep your sweet heart at peace!”

“Pathetic,” Zoro huffed around a snicker.

Under the table, he kicked Zoro sharply in the shin. Zoro jerked backward and flashed an angry look at him, then crossed his arms across his chest. Nami glowered down from the head of the table, and then it was done. The other conversations gradually resumed, and the meal wound down without further incident.

Later that evening, Sanji climbed up to the crows nest to deliver a snack before Zoro’s nightly watch, bento box of onigiri tucked carefully under his arm. He’d half considered skipping the trip tonight, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to be so petty. He wasn’t one to let others go hungry. So he rapped his knuckles against the underside of the trapdoor as a courtesy, then pushed it up and looked through.

The gym was silent around him as Sanji poked his head and shoulders through the manhole. Usually Zoro would be mid-workout when Sanji visited, sometimes in a handstand with hundreds of pounds balanced on the soles of his feet, other times sliding through his sword forms with glacial slowness, perfectly controlled as he bared his steel to the stars. But tonight Zoro was napping. His swords were carefully arranged along the cushions of the couch, but Zoro sat on the floor before them, legs and arms crossed, chin tipped down to rest against his chest. Sanji observed him silently for a long moment, then pulled himself the rest of the way up and into the room with a smirk. He might not be petty enough to starve someone, but disturbing Zoro’s sleep was not beneath him.

“Oi, mosshead! Stop trying for beauty sleep, it’s never going to work.”

Zoro did not respond. Was he that deeply asleep? That surprised Sanji. Zoro was such a light sleeper, always within reach of his swords to react quickly to any danger. It was jarring for Sanji to sneak up on the swordsman like this. “Hellooo, shit swordsman, I’m talking to you! I know speech is tough for plants but surely you can manage something.”

Zoro still didn’t respond. A chilly feeling crept up Sanji’s spine. He leaned sideways and extended a long leg and pressed his foot against Zoro’s shoulder in a rough shove. The swordsman barely swayed, so Sanji did it again with more force, and then Zoro tipped over like a statue, his arms and legs frozen in their crossed positions, as if stiff with rigor mortis.

Concern suddenly flooded through Sanji. A thousand explanations flew through his mind. Maybe Zoro pushed himself too hard this morning? He was, after all, still recovering from the trauma Kuma subjected him to. Sanji dropped to his knees, bento box almost forgotten on the ground next to him, and reached forward to check the other man’s breathing. “Don’t kill me for this, moss-for-brains,” he muttered as he slipped his hand between Zoro’s crossed arms and pressed it against the muscular planes of his chest.

His skin was warm under Sanji’s palm, too warm. Worse, his chest barely moved as he breathed; the rise and fall of each breath felt labored, strained. Sanji blanched as his concern immediately spiraled into full-blown worry. He tried to tip Zoro’s chin up, but the man’s muscles seemed locked in their current position. Sanji slapped the man lightly a few times, but he remained unresponsive. His face blazed with fever under Sanji’s hand.

Sanji hurried to the megaphone at the edge of the room and called down to Franky where he lounged on the deck far below. “Get Chopper up here, something's wrong with Zoro!”

Chopper’s usual lightheartedness was nowhere to be found as he examined Zoro back down in the sickbay, despite the comical picture the man presented. Still locked in his slumped napping position, he now rested on his back like an overturned crab, folded legs sticking up from the hospital bed at an awkward angle. The little doctor had forced Sanji to carry Zoro down in this same state, making the ladder climb more embarrassing and treacherous than it had any right to be. Sanji had been forced to heft the swordsman over his shoulder, crossed legs digging into his chest and neck as Zoro’s torso hung down over his back, his face pressed squarely into Sanji’s ass. Sanji’s face burned at the memory. When they had reached the deck, he’d immediately repositioned Zoro’s form, holding him somewhat bridal style, which had allowed him to keep his remaining dignity intact. He could only imagine what words Zoro would have had for him, had he been conscious for the descent.

But he hadn’t been conscious, and he still wasn’t. Under the bright lights of the sickbay, his face was flushed and damp with fever, sticking his green hair to the bandages wrapping his forehead. Chopper flitted about, crawling over him like a little beetle as he listened to his heart, checked his pupils, and measured his temperature. “Is he going to be okay?” Nami asked through the open door, where the other members of the crew were also crowded around, peering in. Every face but Luffy’s was dark with worried concern.

“Of course he will! He’s Zoro!” Their captain responded brightly.

Chopper ignored them both. “I need to know everything Zoro did today - what he ate, where he went, everything.” And so as a team, they all began sharing details they’d happened to notice, piecing together a picture of Zoro’s day from eight different perspectives. Sanji tried not to notice how often he was contributing to the pool of information, even as he wrapped up by describing their earlier dinner and how he’d noticed Zoro’s trembling fingers.

“That’s why he tried to start that fight, you know,” he explained, throwing a wink toward Nami as easily as he threw the swordsman under the bus. “He realized I was staring and —”

“So?” Luffy interrupted with boyish innocence. “You stare at him all the time!”

Sanji gaped at first, then he fumed. “WHAT?! I don’t — that’s just preposterous —”

Standing on his swivel chair next to Zoro’s bedside, Chopper ignored them all, crossing his arms as he frowned and tapped a hoof against his nose distractedly. “So whatever caused this must’ve happened before dinner. Surely we’re missing something…”

“Oh! Oh, I know!” Usopp said, piping up from the back of the group. Luffy hooked an arm around his neck and dragged him further into the doorway.

“Well?” Sanji demanded, surprising himself with the force behind his voice. Since Luffy’s accusation, his collar was feeling a bit too tight around his neck. “Spit it out!”

Usopp ducked his head and looked vaguely uncomfortable with so many eyes pinning him to the spot. “Well, remember when those vine things attacked? Zoro got pricked by a thorn! It was lodged in his arm, and I had to use my superior strength to help him remove it after!” He flexed his own arm as he spoke.

Chopper glared up at him. “He got pricked by a mysterious thorn and didn’t tell me?! Why do you people even want a ship’s doctor if you refuse to use him!” Downcast eyes met his gaze from the doorway. Chopper took a deep breath and turned back toward Usopp. “What did this thorn look like?”

Usopp’s eyes widened. “Uhm, it, uh. It was large, you know, for a thorn. And sharp. And also pointy.” Chopper rolled his eyes and slapped a hoof across his forehead, but Sanji startled.

“I can do better than describe it,” he said, pushing through the crowd at the door and hurrying down to the deck. He returned to the spot he stood that morning and replayed the scene over in his mind, then stalked over to the staircase leading up to the grass deck. He bent and carefully felt around in the darkness until his fingers bumped into the dense shape of the thorn.

He held it gingerly as he returned to the sickbay. It filled most of his palm, and under the sickbay lights, Sanji saw that it was dark and bloodstained at the end. A small clear drop of liquid oozed from the tip, and Chopper snatched the thing away from him testily. “Careful with that!” He said with worried irritation.

He set the thorn on his workbench and donned his lab coat and goggles, then shooed the rest of the strawhats away, explaining that the further tests would take some time. Sanji corralled them all into the galley and served them coffee and light snacks. Nobody was hungry, of course, but it gave them all something to fidget with, and it gave Sanji something to do with his hands.

“He’s been poisoned.”

The crew looked grave as they gathered around Chopper outside the sickbay door a few hours later, just as the sun was rising. Chopper seemed downcast and distraught, which stretched Sanji’s nerves nearly to breaking. “What do you mean poisoned?” Luffy asked angrily “By who?”

After a collective eye roll, the little doctor continued with his explanation. “By the vines. The thorns contained a potent paralytic toxin. Once it spread through Zoro’s body, it started locking up his muscles, making it impossible for him to move.”

Robin leaned forward. “But will he be alright, doctor? Surely you can neutralize this toxin.” Chopper’s lip trembled like he was on the verge of crying.

“I tried!” He wailed pathetically. The tears spilled then, and Chopper wiped at his nose before continuing. “I ran all sorts of tests to c-c-classify the toxin, then I harvested some from the th-thorn itself and used that to synthesize an anti-t-t-toxin.”

“Then what’s the problem?” Robin prompted gently.

“The problem is that Zoro w-w-waited instead of coming to me! That let the poison spread! And he’s already still so hurt f-from whatever K-Kuma did to him, that I don’t know if the antitoxin will w-w-work!”

The crew seemed to hold its breath all at once. The world narrowed around Sanji as Chopper’s words reverberated through his brain. Zoro was only in this state because of the damage he absorbed from Kuma. In the end, trouble always seemed to reveal its cause as being Sanji’s own damn fault, didn’t it? The silence stretched for a long few moments. Finally, Nami kneeled down at Chopper’s side and placed a comforting hand on his back. She wiped at his tears and asked, “Can we do anything to help, Chopper?”

The first order of business was to reshuffle duties to account for Zoro’s absence. They reassigned chores and Chopper forbade Luffy from fishing until Zoro was recovered enough to fish him back out of the sea when he’d inevitably get dragged overboard by a passing sea king. Sanji drew the short straw and begrudgingly assumed the swordsman’s nightly watch hours. Given how little sleep he already got, it wouldn’t trouble him terribly, and the only other options would be to have Luffy or one of the ladies take those abominable shifts, which Sanji would never allow. So over the day he sipped coffee and acclimated himself to the idea of even less sleep.

Chopper also tasked Sanji with providing regular bowls of warm broth to keep Zoro’s strength up. Sanji made a show of grumbling over it, but in truth, he’d always delighted in preparing special meals for those who need them. Broth was the easiest thing in the world, and so easy to pack full of nutrients. Plus, he would be able to hold it over the marimo’s head once he recovered. And so Sanji hummed under his breath as he moved around the kitchen.

As the liquid simmered over the stovetop late that morning, a commotion sounded from behind the sickbay door. Sanji carefully covered the pot as he glanced over his shoulder at Robin where she sat primly at the table, sipping tea while she read. She looked up at the same time Sanji did, and together they both glanced toward the closed infirmary door as Chopper’s muted shout came through.

“I need some help in here!”

Sanji tossed his dish towel over his shoulder and made for the other room, smoke trailing behind him from the cigarette at his lips. Robin placed a bookmark and joined him, and a chaotic scene greeted them as they barged through the sickbay door. On the hospital bed, Zoro’s form had been manually straightened from his rigid sitting position into a more natural sleeping posture, with the help of a powerful muscle relaxant. Or at least it had been, because now the mosshead was convulsing, his chest arching off the bed as his arms and legs seized with jerking movements that nearly tumbled him onto the floor. Chopper stood at the end of the bed in his larger human form, trying uselessly to hold the swordsman still. He looked up with wide eyes when he saw his crewmates appear in the doorway, then hurriedly waved them over.

“Help me hold him down!”

Sanji sprung forward to comply, but as he reached the bedside, a dozen hands bloomed from the sheets to grip at Zoro’s torso. He glanced back and saw Robin still standing in the doorway, her arms crossed as she concentrated. She spared Sanji a quick, reassuring smile.

It still wasn’t enough. Zoro thrashed against Robin’s grip, so Sanji moved to the head of the hospital bed and leaned his weight down on Zoro’s chest, holding his shoulders to the sheets. Below him, Zoro’s face was flushed and pinched with pain as he groaned and twisted against his restraints. A curious sense of concern swept through Sanji at the sight. He had the sudden urge to lean down and hush the man somehow, to comfort him in his pain like some kind of coddling nursemaid. The thought shocked him so thoroughly that he nearly lost his grip on Zoro’s sweat-slicked shoulders. He ground his teeth around the butt of his cigarette and pressed down harder.

“Why is this happening?” He asked harshly. Chopper mistook his rhetorical question for a genuine one, and answered from the foot of the bed where he wrestled Zoro’s legs.

“It’s the toxin! Everything that was absorbed before the first dose of antitoxin will continue to affect him until his body processes and clears it out!”

That moment couldn’t come soon enough, Sanji thought as his palms slid over the rounded muscles of Zoro’s shoulders.

Around midnight, Sanji stopped by the sickbay again to deliver a fresh bowl of broth. After the afternoon’s excitement, the sickbay had adopted an open-door policy so that Chopper could request help whenever he needed it. Sanji knocked quietly on the frame, then peered inside. The little tanuki was asleep at his desk, a small bubble of snot inflating from his nose with every quiet exhale. Behind him, Zoro laid stiffly in his bed, motionless, if not at peace, where he reclined against the pillows. Sanji set the broth on the desk and gently collected Chopper in his arms, then carried him to the men’s quarters and tucked him snugly away in his little bunk.

The broth was still steaming when Sanji returned, which left him with a mild dilemma. On the one hand, wasting food was a cardinal sin. On the other, to not let it go to waste meant by default that he’d have to spoon feed it to the swordsman, an incredibly unappealing task. He briefly considered going back and waking Chopper for the job. Zoro was his patient, after all, not Sanji’s. But Chopper must have been exhausted to have fallen asleep at Zoro’s bedside in such a manner, so Sanji ground his teeth and pulled the desk chair closer. His hand definitely did not shake as he stretched forward with the spoon and tipped the liquid between Zoro’s parted lips. He went slowly, giving the mosshead time to swallow between sips, eyes tracking the way his Adam’s apple bobbed.

He’d watched Zoro eat a thousand times before, watched him suck down sake like it was water, but this felt strangely intimate. The ship rocked gently around them, nearly silent in the dark of the night. The rigging outside creaked in a gentle breeze, and for just a moment, it seemed like maybe they were the only two aboard.

Now didn’t that sound like torture?

“What an absolute nightmare,” Sanji muttered to himself.

Three times the following day, Sanji had to help Chopper restrain Zoro’s spasming body. One the third instance, the swordsman’s eyes flew open like some kind of berserker as he twisted under the thin sheet, his chest heaving as he grunted against the pain. Sanji panicked from his position at Zoro’s feet as the other man’s gaze landed directly on him, but Zoro’s eyes were clouded with fever.

“That could be a good sign,” Chopper said, pushing away from Zoro’s body to retrieve his penlight. Sanji grunted as the mosshead’s freed limbs suddenly doubled his strain, and leaned forward across Zoro’s body to pin down his arms as well. Pressed flush against him, Sanji could feel the hard planes of Zoro’s muscles shift and contract as he convulsed. His skin smelled like sweat and antiseptic.

“Are you sure?” Sanji muttered tightly. Chopper shone the tiny light into Zoro’s eyes and leaned close to see how his pupils reacted. He frowned.

“I think I should increase his dosage of fever reducer,” he said in vague reply.

On the second night of the mosshead’s illness, Sanji sat on the deck outside the infirmary’s open door reading a book. He’d quickly taken to spending his new watch hours here, where he could keep an eye on both the surrounding waters and the swordsman. Thankfully, the climate was mild and the seas were peaceful and empty. Sanji had just put out his cigarette when behind him, he heard the man shifting in bed and he sighed, placed his bookmark to hold his page, and pushed himself to his feet.

He was at Zoro’s side in a moment, pressing the man back into the mattress as his bulky frame started jerking under the sheet. Within seconds, the thrashing was so severe that Sanji had to put his whole body into it to keep the man still. Zoro’s head tossed from side to side as if he suffered extreme agony, and something clutched in Sanji’s chest as he stared down at the man’s fever-damp brow.

Zoro's eyes cracked open then, just wide enough for Sanji to see how glazed and far away they seemed in the darkness. He suddenly felt very self conscious about his position over the swordsman: his hands pressed either shoulder down, one leg supporting his own weight while the other was thrown over Zoro’s lap to hold him still. Sanji froze, gulping in the darkness at his own discomfort, and tried desperately to ignore the heat of Zoro’s body under his own.

“Sanji…?” Zoro’s voice was a rasp that started him.

“Zoro?” He whispered in reply, eyes very wide in the darkness. He could count on one hand the number of times he’d heard the mosshead use his actual name. But he doubted now that Zoro was actually lucid; surely he’d have thrown Sanji into the wall by now, otherwise. Zoro didn’t respond. His eyes slid aimlessly around the room before rolling back in their sockets. His chest heaved and his brow scrunched again as a new wave of convulsions wracked his form. Sanji grunted with the effort of restraining him. The swordsman had always been too strong for his own good, and at this rate, he’d break his own back with all this twisting.

Incrementally, Zoro began to relax back down. But just as Sanji was lowering his guard, pulling himself hesitantly away, Zoro jerked sideways and curled away from him. Sanji’s eyes roamed over the unmarked expanse of skin stretching across Zoro’s shoulders. The lines of his muscles shifted in the dim light as the seizing subsided, and reflexively, Sanji dragged a hand across Zoro’s back as he withdrew, feeling the swordsman’s tremendous strength beneath his fingers.

His skin was flushed and feverish, covered with a thin sheen of sweat that glistened in the moonlight spilling through the open door. Sanji should have felt disgusted to touch him, but somehow he couldn’t help his gentle exploration. Besides, he justified, he knew Chopper had been giving his patient daily sponge baths. It was probably more regular bathing than Zoro had had in months.

Sanji's fingertips bumped into a contracted knot of muscle below Zoro’s shoulder blade that stood out like a charlie horse and he winced, imagining that kind of strain lancing through all the swordsman’s muscles. Without letting himself think about it, Sanji pressed his thumb into it, working it with slow circles and firm pressure until it evened out, then he moved to the next. He spent nearly twenty minutes smoothing his hands over the planes of Zoro’s back, easing away the tension as best he could. It seemed to help, somewhat. Slowly, Zoro’s form began relaxing further into the mattress, his steady breaths almost becoming snores.

With the coiled tension relieved, Sanji realized that he was just allowing his hands to continue their gentle roam across the swordsman’s back, massaging without any real pressure, and he snatched them back like he’d been burned.

“Shitty mosshead, even when you’re sick, always testing my nerves.”

He retreated to the deck and smoked half a pack before he could think of anything besides the feeling of Zoro’s smooth skin under his hands. It wasn’t like Zoro was some beautiful woman, to be plaguing Sanji’s thoughts like this. He lacked any of the usual curves that drew Sanji’s eye, all flat planes and hard muscle. He didn’t bathe enough and typically smelled like sweat and saltwater and sword oil. The massage was strictly therapeutic, he told himself, something he’d do for anyone else on the crew, such as Nami, or Robin.

Right?

“He doesn’t seem as tense today,” Chopper remarked in the morning when he came to relieve Sanji and administer Zoro’s next dose of medicine. “Did anything change overnight?”

“No,” Sanji answered, shrugging as he retreated to the kitchen to prepare breakfast for the rest of the crew.

He wasn’t sure why exactly he lied, if it even was one. A ribbon of guilt twisted through his chest whenever he thought of the swordsman, one he tried to suffocate with deep drags from his cigarette. So what if he had to spend twenty minutes in the pantry first, arms braced on the dry goods shelf above his head as he hyperventilated?

By the third night, Zoro’s seizures had begun to subside in intensity. Tremors and convulsions still occasionally wracked his frame, but now he mostly laid in agonized stiffness as his muscles contracted without releasing. It could be that the medicine was finally working better, or perhaps Chopper’s optimism wasn’t misplaced, after all.

Sanji wasn’t sure what brought him to the sickbay at the start of his watch. On the deck outside, he dragged over a lounge chair and arranged it next to an ashtray by the railing, then turned and slipped through the infirmary door where it stood ajar. Zoro remained supine on the bed, the thin sheet was pulled up over his bandaged torso with his arms resting to either side above it stiffly. The bandages around his forehead had been removed, replaced with a damp cloth to help keep the man cool. His form was still, but Sanji could tell from the set of his shoulders that his musculature was clenched almost to tearing, even if he wasn’t seizing. Sanji’s long legs carried him across the room before he could examine his own motivations.

Zoro jerked when Sanji’s cool fingertips brushed his forearm. Sanji stilled, then leaned and peered down at the swordsman’s face. Zoro’s eyes were pinched closed, his breathing deep and even despite the tautness of his body, and Sanji breathed out a long, ragged breath. He slid his fingertips down the corded lines of Zoro’s forearm, working the muscles pliant with his thumbs. The final moments of their confrontation with Kuma flashed through his mind unbidden, and as he massaged deeper into the muscle, he again recalled how he’d collapsed at Zoro’s feet, clutching at him so desperately to stop him. Then he thought of the Risky Brothers’ explanation afterward of what happened to Zoro, and understanding eased the humiliation he’d felt at having been cast aside. Sanji blinked away sudden unexpected emotion. Where was his anger, his rage?

His palms moved lower, and the swordsman’s calloused hands were rough against Sanji’s as he smoothed away the strain twisting them into claws. It amazed him to be handling the mosshead’s body like this, with something approaching tenderness. So much power laid in these hands, even empty of their chosen weapons. Sanji already knew the shapes of his knuckles from the bruises they left behind, but now he learned the gentle contours of them by touch in the dark of the night. When both limbs had finally released their tension, pliable and lithe under Sanji’s touch, he pulled away, regretful of his newfound knowledge.

Zoro’s fever broke late in the morning on the fourth day. Chopper celebrated, practically swinging into the galley with joyous enthusiasm. The swordsman was still trapped in deep slumber, occasionally wracked by cramping tremors, but he was finally out of the woods, according to the little doctor. Sanji smiled to himself, relieved, as he passed Chopper a fresh bowl of broth.

He visited the man later that night, bringing his book and a cup of tea with him. As usual, he sat outside the sickbay door so he could chainsmoke while keeping an eye on both the waters around them and the shitty swordsman. Hell if he knew why. Maybe the seizures would return, and Zoro would need restraining. Sanji felt guilty thinking about it.

Halfway through the night there was a rustle behind him. Sanji turned and ducked through the door to check on Zoro, only to find him staring right back, his squinted eyes just a glint in the moonlight. It was hard to tell if he was really conscious or just having another fit, so Sanji tentatively approached. Zoro’s breathing was ragged, pained. He laid mostly on his back, but his shoulders were pulled up nearly to his ears, his chest and midsection tensed into a half-curl upward. Sanji clucked his tongue and reached out to press a cool hand to Zoro’s skin. Even without the fever, Zoro was still a furnace. “Mosshead?” He murmured. “You awake?

Zoro didn’t answer, didn’t react at all other than to shudder under Sanji’s touch. His eyes were clouded with pain as they slid around the room sightlessly. Sanji rubbed his thumb in firm circles as he pressed Zoro back into the bed by his bicep, wondering if the swordsman was dreaming and what about, under the haze of his illness. He increased the pressure of his fingers until the muscle went pliant, then he slid his fingers up, following the strain of tension and kneading it away until he reached where Zoro’s shoulder connected with his neck. Zoro made a sound then, a tiny little whine as Sanji dug his fingertips into the knotted trapezius muscles bunched above his clavicle. Sanji froze, eyes darting to Zoro’s face just in time to see his eyes finally slide shut again, his brow knitted together in a pained scowl. Sanji hesitantly rolled his fingertips, pressing deeply into the rigid tissue. Zoro’s expression eased somewhat, and Sanji continued working the muscle until it too went slack, then moved to the other shoulder.

The mosshead relaxed further into the bed as Sanji hummed under his breath and worked. When he moved to withdraw his touch, his hand brushed over the swell of Zoro’s pectorals, making his fingertips tingle. The muscles of his chest, so firm and rounded from training, looked almost supple in the moonlight. Sanji hesitated. He’d already touched Zoro so extensively anyway, already learned the shape of his back, of his shoulders and arms. He was still justifying it to himself when his fingertips returned, gently prodding into the flesh over Zoro’s heart. The muscles here were tensed as well, and Sanji sighed, working his thumbs and fingers into the corded flesh.

The scar across Zoro’s chest stood out plainly in the low light. Sanji dragged a finger lightly across it, then flinched away from his own boldness. The swordsman’s breath hitched almost imperceptibly and Sanji glanced up at him, noticing the way the other man’s eyelids fluttered, as if Sanji had only just missed his gaze. In his distraction, he accidentally brushed over Zoro’s nipple, startling himself. He froze as he stared down at the round bud under his thumb. His tongue darted out to wet his lips as his mouth went suddenly dry. Zoro remained still under him, but shame and embarrassment crashed through Sanji like a tidal wave and he jerked his hands away and fled the sickbay.

He leaned on the railing outside, shaken to his core when he realized he was half hard in his trousers. His hands were trembling as he patted himself down and dug through his pockets for his cigarettes, and it took four tries to light one of the damned things when he did finally find and lift one shakily to his lips. The first hit of nicotine soothed him some, but it took the remainder of the pack before Sanji was able to straighten himself from the railing. It didn’t make any sense .

It wasn’t that Sanji was ashamed to be attracted to a man; he was more surprised by it than anything else, and mildly disgusted that out of everyone on the open sea, it would be the shitty swordsman doing this to him. He’d always known Zoro’s preference of company, or the seeming lack thereof. Not that Sanji was ever looking or anything, he was always too busy trying to catch the eyes of pretty local ladies, but he’d seen the swordsman approached by men and women alike at different island waylays, seen him accept and decline apparently based on some mysterious categorization known only to him, entirely separated from gender. But it wasn’t like Zoro had ever shown even a shred of interest in him. It had never bothered Sanji before, but now that fact was at the forefront of his mind. Decorum and composure were normally so important to Sanji, he wore these chosen traits like a finely tailored suit, but it felt like he was unraveling somehow.

“Fuck,” he whispered miserably.

Sanji felt haunted when he returned the following night. He was ostensibly just bringing fresh broth. Zoro seemed to be slowly regaining his strength and Chopper had requested Sanji increase his nutrient intake. This broth was heavier than anything else Sanji had so far prepared for the ailing swordsman, rich and full of omega fatty acids, protein, and healthy fats to help rebuild his aching muscles. He set the covered bowl on Chopper’s desk and switched on the lamp, then turned to adjust Zoro into a more upright position so he could spoon the soup into his mouth. A hand came up to grip his wrist weakly.

“Cook,” Zoro grunted out, his voice a ragged whisper in the dim lamplight. Sanji stilled, his hands still holding Zoro’s shoulders, surprised by his sudden consciousness. He had a fleeting thought to go and wake Chopper, but the swordsman’s eyes were already drooping again, his head nodding forward as sleep tried to reclaim him. Something fond curled in Sanji’s chest.

“Marimo,” he replied, a little more softly than he intended. Zoro relaxed under him, leaning back into the pillows. “You gonna stay awake to eat, or am I gonna have to spoon feed your useless ass again?” Sanji asked, giving Zoro’s face a light slap with the hand not held in place by the swordsman’s weak grip. He was begging for some semblance of normalcy with his jab, but Zoro still appeared too dazed to contribute to the banter. His brow furrowed with confusion as his eyes fluttered back open.

“You’ve been spoon feeding me?”

Sanji hated how husky his voice sounded after days of disuse, hated how it made a warmth bloom in his chest that migrated to settle low in his groin. “Of course, idiot,” he bit out. “Someone had to keep you alive this whole time.”

“Thought that was Chopper’s job,” Zoro replied groggily, his voice a quiet murmur.

“He handles the day shift,” Sanji said, reaching for the broth just to give himself something to do. “But your dramatic ass needed round-the-clock care, so. Here I am.”

Zoro finally dropped his hand from Sanji’s wrist as he stretched to reach the bowl, and the skin there felt burned after, Sanji thought. The broth steamed in his hands but he barely felt the bowl’s heat as he looked down at Zoro, hesitating. Zoro was reclined against the pillows, the bedsheet pooled dangerously low around his hips. Sanji was acutely aware that only bandages wrapped the swordsman’s body below it, having inauspiciously walked in during one of Chopper’s sponge baths the first day.

“Well?” Zoro croaked after a long moment had passed. His shadowed gaze rested on the bowl meaningfully as his stomach gave a loud rumble. “I’m apparently dyin’ here, y’know,” he said mildly. Under his exhaustion, Zoro’s expression seemed to hold a vague amusement that made Sanji’s face burn.

“Bastard,” he gritted out.

But it was a challenge and he’d never been one to back down from Zoro’s taunts, so he pulled the desk chair over nonetheless and made himself comfortable at Zoro’s bedside, then he stretched forward to offer the first spoonful. Zoro leaned in just enough to be considered of any help at all in the process, but even those small motions seemed to sap his strength. Again, Sanji considered fetching Chopper, but something about the quiet, dreamlike atmosphere of the sickbay stopped him.

“S’good,” Zoro murmured after the first few sips, tongue sweeping across his bottom lip. Sanji tore his eyes away and picked up another spoonful.

“It’s just broth,” he said chidingly.

Zoro gave the barest shrug. “Could use some sake to wash it down.”

“Keep dreaming,” Sanji replied.

He watched Zoro’s lips close around the end of the spoon, trying to keep his breath from hitching. The mosshead would never let him live it down if his hand shook and he spilled. He flicked his eyes up to Zoro’s and found the other man watching him. Zoro’s gaze never left Sanji throughout the entire ordeal. It wandered over his face, studying his uncovered eye intently, then dropped lower, lingering over Sanji’s loosened tie and rolled up sleeves. Sanji felt it like a tangible touch as Zoro’s eyes followed the lines of his forearm and traced over the contours of his knuckles as he adjusted his grip on the spoon.

He was near the bottom of the bowl when Zoro’s eyelids started drooping again. His hand returned to Sanji’s wrist as Sanji pulled the spoon away. He stilled and waited for Zoro to swallow his mouthful, but even then Zoro didn’t say anything for a long moment. His thumb swept over the bones of Sanji’s wrist in a slow circle, and when his eyes opened again, his gaze held a heavy question.

“Why are you doing this?”

His voice was almost a whisper. Sanji’s heart pounded in his chest. He longed for Zoro to shout, to shove him away, to somehow recognize that familiar rage, because this softness was breaking something open in him. Because I want to , he thought.

“Because you still need to eat, idiot moss,” he said instead.

Zoro’s gaze was dark and unreadable. His grip tightened on Sanji’s wrist as he tugged him suddenly forward, and Sanji’s face flamed. For the briefest moment, he thought Zoro meant to kiss him. But the swordsman’s face was screwed into a twisted mask of pain and the fleeting thought vanished as quickly as it came, leaving a sense of mortification in its place. Zoro’s hand spasmed, gripping his wrist tightly enough to bruise as he curled inward and away, pulling Sanji halfway over him. Sanji stood with the sudden motion and the bowl tumbled from his lap. The porcelain shattered when it hit the floor, splashing dregs of broth across the tiles and Sanji’s shoes, but he paid it no mind. He was draped over Zoro like a blanket, wrist still trapped in Zoro’s vice grip, all too aware of how closely he was pressed against Zoro’s naked torso. Zoro trembled under him and Sanji found himself murmuring under his breath, shushing the swordsman with comforting words as he groaned.

“I’ll go wake Chopper,” Sanji said after a long few moments had passed. “He can give you something for the pain.”

“No,” Zoro grunted on a shuddering exhale. He seemed to force himself to relax through sheer force of will. His grip on Sanji’s wrist slackened. “No need,” he said, his voice weak. “I’ve had enough of being clouded.”

Sanji clucked his tongue disapprovingly and retrieved his shaking hand as Zoro finally released it, feeling a pang of regret. He didn’t go far. Pressed this close to Zoro’s heat, he couldn’t bring himself to leave it. Instead, he traced his fingers across the back of Zoro’s trembling shoulders, digging his knuckles into the knotted muscles straining there. Zoro shuddered and pressed into his touch. Sanji leaned into it, amazed at the unspoken permission, and worked the tension out of his shoulders with practiced ease, not stopping until Zoro slumped back into the bed, his breathing deep and regular. Then Sanji risked trailing his fingertips through the short hair at the nape of Zoro’s neck, just to feel its surprisingly silky texture. Zoro didn’t react, fully immersed in his slumber.

Sanji sighed and turned away, bending down to pick up the broken shards of pottery. He had definitely crossed some kind of line, an unhelpful part of his brain insisted. Again, he tried to convince himself that he’d do the same for any crew mate, arguing with himself as he mopped up the last of the spilled broth. If it were Luffy or Usopp or anyone else, he’d be just as invested in their recovery. But would his body have reacted the same way to them as it did the swordsman?

Chopper was elated with his patient’s progress the next morning, nearly crying with joy when Sanji brought Zoro’s morning broth and the swordsman cracked his eyes open to glare at him. Zoro immediately tried to push himself out of bed, but Chopper needed no help at all in shoving him back down, transitioning into his bulky human form with a shuddering ripple of tawny fur. “You still need to rest,” he explained as he pressed a fuzzy hand to the center of Zoro’s chest.

“I’ve been resting,” Zoro protested.

“You need to regain your strength first.”

Zoro’s face darkened and Chopper quailed under the force of his glare. “You calling me weak?”

“Leave the doc alone, moss brain,” Sanji said, setting the broth on the desk. He approached the bedside and replaced Chopper’s hand with his own as the doctor retreated, casting nervous glances between them. Zoro’s eyes narrowed as he stared up, then he got his elbows under him and leaned forward into Sanji’s press.

“Or what, curly?”

Sanji put more of his weight behind his hand and leaned down. “Or I’ll make you,” he breathed out dangerously. A smirk pulled at Zoro’s lips and his eyes had that challenge in them now, and at the sight, something warm slotted back into place in Sanji’s chest. There it was, that beautiful anger he’d missed so desperately. Under his palm, he felt Zoro’s pulse pick up.

“You wish you could.”

Sanji flexed his hand minutely, digging his fingertips into the flesh under his hand. His lip curled into a derisive sneer, but a retort was slow to come. He stared down at Zoro somewhat dazedly, almost losing himself in the dark promise the other man’s eyes held. “Uh, guys?” Chopper interrupted as the moment began to stretch. “Please no fighting in sickbay!” He shoved the bowl of broth between them, severing their eye contact, and when Sanji removed his hand Zoro remained in place, relaxing back against the pillows with a complacent expression. One of his hands idly found its way to rest against his sternum, covering the spot Sanji’s hand had just vacated.

Chopper condemned Zoro to bed rest until the worst of the cramping subsided, concerned Zoro would be stupid enough to attempt climbing up to the crow’s nest and risk seizing along the way, thereby falling to his death. A fair assessment, in Sanji’s opinion, but he’d be more concerned with the mosshead drowning himself in enough liquor to poison himself all over again and wash away the week’s progress. Despite the rationality of Chopper’s order, Zoro’s arguments elevated in volume until everyone on the ship could hear him. For most, it brought a smile to their face. Everything was returning to normal.

For everyone except Sanji. With Zoro finally lucid enough to bite back at his barbs, Sanji wanted to lash out physically, to escalate the altercations until the swordsman finally relented under him. But he couldn’t. Healing wounds from their time on Thriller Bark still lurked under Zoro's many bandages, and then there were those disabling cramps to consider as well. Sanji was frustrated.

An itch had lodged itself under Sanji’s skin. He felt antsy, unbalanced without a way to relieve his own tension. He wandered the deck during his midnight watch that night, inevitably drawn back to the sickbay. He hovered outside the door as he finished his cigarette, warring with himself. The butt had long since burned out before Sanji finally flicked it into the ashtray and rolled his shoulders, steeling himself as he pushed through the unlatched door. It was dark inside. Rolling clouds drifted through the sky overhead, obscuring the moon. But even without light, Sanji could tell from Zoro’s ragged breathing that he was awake and suffering through a bout of cramps.

“Cook,” Zoro huffed out in greeting.

“Marimo,” Sanji replied. He was quiet for a long moment, considering. The itch under his skin urged him to cross the room and lay hands on the man, but Sanji was rooted to the spot, suddenly hesitant. All he wanted was to check on Zoro, right? He had done that, and now he could leave. Right?

He would’ve offered to wake Chopper, but he already knew the answer to that question. The real question he wanted to ask burned on his tongue, but instead he heard himself say, “Would you like some broth?” In the darkness, he could just make out the way Zoro shook his head. Sanji sighed, hands twitching at his sides. He didn’t know how to offer. The hospital bed creaked as Zoro’s form spasmed under the sheet, his legs bending at the knee before his heels jerked back down.

“Can you —” he broke off with an agonized gasp. Sanji was at his side in an instant.

“What is it?”

Zoro groaned around the words. “Can you just — just touch me,” he ground out. Sanji's stomach dropped through his feet. Nevermind that he’d love to, he realized, but to hear such a request from the swordsman’s own lips short circuited his brain. He leaned minutely forward and fisted his hands in the loose fabric of the bed sheet.

“I — what?” He said stupidly. A tremor shivered through him. He’d kill for another cigarette. Zoro’s voice was thick with pain when he answered.

“Like before,” he explained. “It’s like I — I can’t let go… my body contracts and won’t release.” Sanji’s nostrils flared as he sucked in a deep breath.

“I — yeah. Okay.” His hands were reaching for one of Zoro’s scrabbling legs before Sanji was even conscious of the movement. He felt magnetized, as if some outside force was compelling his touch. His fingertips found the bump of Zoro’s knee under the sheet and squeezed it gently before sliding further down his shin. Zoro’s right foot stuck out beyond the edge of the sheet, and he gasped when Sanji’s cool fingers brushed his skin, swept across his scarred ankle, and began to dig into the arch of his cramping foot. Sanji lifted the man’s leg enough to slide his other hand under the sheet, kneading his fingers into the back of Zoro’s knotted calf. He frowned as he encountered a particularly dense charlie horse, but slowly, he straightened the swordsman’s trembling limb until it went limp with relief.

Sanji leaned forward across the bed as his hands drifted to the other leg. Zoro bent his right knee up and out of the way, making space without a word, and Sanji slid into it, settling his weight at the foot of the bed next to the swordsman like it was the most natural thing in the world. Stoically ignoring the way his heart rattled against his ribcage, he pulled Zoro’s left foot into his lap to repeat his ministrations. The mosshead was cooperative and yielding under Sanji’s touch, allowing his hands to roam without complaint. He occasionally grunted or hissed lowly under his breath whenever Sanji’s fingers dug a bit too deeply, pressing with firm strokes to massage away the strain trapped under his skin, but he never pulled away. Sanji marveled at it all.

At some point, Zoro lifted an arm and folded it under his head, his form a dark silhouette in the dimness of the sickbay. The sheet draped from his bent knee to pool across his lap, where it was pushed up to the thigh of the limb Sanji still had stretched across his own legs as his fingers kneaded into the twitching muscles of Zoro’s quadricep. Mild panic descended on Sanji as he realized what his hands were doing. Zoro was quiet under him, mostly relaxed against the mattress even if his breathing was still a bit too quick for him to be sleeping, apparently content to let Sanji explore his body with gentle touches. An overwhelming sense of closeness crashed down on Sanji then. He felt suddenly vulnerable, exposed somehow, despite the fact that Zoro was the one lying pliant and naked under the sheet.

His hands went still, and in the darkness, Sanji could only just see the way Zoro’s eyes slid open, glinting like obsidian as he regarded Sanji for a long moment, then he tipped his bent leg to the side in a silent question. There was a current in the air, an electric charge like that of a thunderstorm just before breaking, and Sanji knew in his bones that if he wanted to keep sliding his hands upward under the sheet, continuing these tender caresses, Zoro would let him.

Sanji's pants were already uncomfortably tight across his lap. He’d been ignoring it as best he could, focusing on the scarred skin below his fingertips, but Zoro’s little sighs and squirming twitches had stoked a fire low in his belly. Now Zoro was motionless as a statue under Sanji as he waited for the cook to decide, quiet as stone even if his breathing was a little too shallow, belying his own restlessness. Sanji did want to slide his hands further up, under the edge of the bedsheet. He wanted to turn those quick breaths into ragged moans. The knowledge startled him, not as severely as it would have even a week ago, but now that Sanji knew it was possible — that Zoro might let him — it suddenly felt like too much. He pulled his hands away before Zoro could notice the way they’d started shaking.

“Better?” He asked, hating the way his voice wavered. Zoro sighed and shifted his legs as Sanji straightened and stood from the bed.

“Yeah,” he breathed, voice a husky rasp that sent fire lancing through to Sanji’s groin. “Thanks.” Sanji hesitated by the door. He could feel the heavy weight of Zoro’s gaze on him.

“Of course,” he muttered in reply. He slipped outside and let the salty air wash over his trembling form. The itch under his skin was gone, but now a pressure had settled in his chest to replace it, hollow and aching.

Sanji didn’t sleep after Franky relieved him from the watch. He couldn’t. He lied in his bunk, tossing and turning, as he recalled how it felt to have the swordsman’s limbs draped around him. Every time his eyes closed he found himself imagining what it would have been like to draw those heavy gasps from Zoro with another kind of touch, to see him twist and writhe with the opposite of crippling pain. He must have been going crazy.

Long before dawn Sanji gave up and kicked his blankets back, then hurriedly dressed and slipped out to the kitchen. It would be hours still before anyone else would awaken, so Sanji occupied himself with taking inventory and planning meals for the rest of their trip. He even reorganized the pantry when his other tasks failed to fill the time. The pre-dawn hours slipped by slowly. He tried to lose himself in his quiet routines, shuttering the uncomfortable feelings that plagued his heart with every cabinet door he closed.

Just before sunrise, he heard the sickbay door open softly. He expected Chopper, so Sanji didn’t bother to turn from the stove. He gestured to the steaming bowl of broth he’d just set aside with the spoon he was still using and flicked his dish towel up over his shoulder. “Broth’s ready whenever the idiot is,” he said petulantly. A long moment passed before he realized Chopper hadn’t responded.

A familiar presence closed in behind him, stopping well inside his personal space to radiate heat all along Sanji’s back. Goosebumps broke out across Sanji’s body. He suppressed a shiver as Zoro spoke, his voice a quiet murmur too close to Sanji’s ear.

“I want more than that.”

Sanji stiffened as heat blossomed across his face. He stared stubbornly down at the chunky sausage gravy bubbling on the burner before him. “You’re supposed to be in bed,” he said, his tone sharp. “You get lost on the way to the bathroom or something?”

“ No ,” Zoro breathed. His hands came up to rest against the edge of the counter to either side of the cook, bracketing him from behind with his bare arms. “I’m just hungry,” he mumbled into Sanji’s collar. And just what had gotten into the swordsman this morning? Sanji wondered. His thoughts flashed back to the midnight darkness of the sickbay, to Zoro’s silent offer, to the way he’d almost accepted. He shivered, and hated himself for the lack of control. Zoro’s weight shifted then and he tucked his chin over Sanji’s shoulder so he could peer down at the stovetop.

“Whatcha makin’?”

“B-breakfast,” Sanji stuttered. “Obviously.” He took a deep breath to steady himself and felt the planes of Zoro’s muscular torso press against him. The swordsman was a line of fire down the length of his body. “It won’t be ready for a little while still. Think you can manage to wait?” Zoro gave a low, amused chuckle that Sanji felt rumble through him like thunder.

“Waited this long, haven’t I?”

Sanji was near his breaking point. He started to turn, to push the swordsman away, to get some breathing room, but Zoro was already moving, shifting backward until his heat disappeared from Sanji’s back entirely. The cook felt suddenly cold in its absence, but then he was turned enough to catch sight of the mosshead for the first time, and nearly choked on his next inhale.

Zoro was naked to the waist except for the bandages that still wrapped his torso like ribbon. Only the stolen hospital bed sheet protected his modesty, folded and tucked loosely around his lower half, riding dangerously low around the sharp cut of his hips. Sanji dragged his eyes over the sculpted musculature of his back, observing the way he swayed toward the table. He seemed just the slightest bit unsteady on his feet. But Sanji’s momentary concern wilted away as Zoro lowered himself onto the bench and lounged backward like he wasn’t an actual menace. He glanced up at Sanji with a smirk, then kicked a leg up on the bench next to himself. The sheet fell away to expose a scandalous amount of flesh. Again, he was reminded of the sickbay.

Sanji stuffed a cigarette between his lips and tore his eyes away. He danced around the kitchen in a frenzy, throwing himself into his breakfast preparations. He fried bacon and scrambled eggs with peppers, cut flat sheets of biscuit dough into hearts and set the coffee brewing, amidst a dozen other things. He layered the oven full of trays and scrubbed at what dirty dishes he could while the galley filled with sizzling pops and delicious aromas. He heard Zoro’s stomach grumble from his seat but he stoically ignored it, focusing on his tasks instead of the wretched mosshead as the ship began to wake up around them.

Robin and Brook were the first to join. Robin gave Zoro a warm smile as she slid into the chair next to him at the head of the table. “Nice to see you back on your feet,” she said easily.

“It truly is! I’d cry tears of joy, but I don’t have any eyes!” Brook cackled and reached for the coffee Sanji offered. Usopp arrived next with Franky in tow, fresh from his watch, and then Chopper slid into the galley from the open sickbay door, chest heaving with worry as he spied Zoro.

“What do you think you’re doing out of bed?! I gave you strict orders!”

Zoro shrugged. “You’re not my captain.” He settled deeper into his lounge, straightening his legs and crossing them at the ankle, then stretching his arms out across the back of the bench. Sanji tried not to stare at the way his muscles shifted below his skin as he moved.

Nami slouched in next and immediately chose violence, balling her fists as she fumed. “What the hell do you think you’re doing? Go put some pants on! That’s just unsanitary, other people sit there too, you know!” She swatted at him as she passed by, cuffing him on the back of the head. Zoro ignored her, his eyes closed as he nonchalantly tipped his head to the side and scratched at his ear. Sanji smiled despite himself and poured the feisty redhead a cup of coffee and offered it to her. Her visage was a welcome distraction from the swordsman’s.

“Nami dearest!” He gushed, directing his contentment toward her. “You look radiant as the sunrise, positively glowing this morning!” She beamed at the attention.

“MEAT!!!!” Luffy yelled, bounding into the galley with his usual mealtime enthusiasm. He jumped into the seat next to Zoro, then paused with a childish pout on his face. “Why didn’t anyone tell me we were having a toga party? I want a toga too!” He moved to lurch from his seat but Sanji caught him too quickly, swinging a leg up and bringing it fluidly back down onto his captain’s shoulder, and squashed him back onto the bench.

“It’ll have to wait,” he shouted over the commotion around the table. The cigarette hanging from his lips wobbled precariously. “Because breakfast is served!” A dozen dishes were balanced across his arms and he deposited them gracefully, laying out a veritable feast for his crew mates. Once he’d heaped full servings on everyone’s plate and topped off all their coffees, he settled into his own seat across from Zoro. His foot might’ve bumped into Zoro’s shin a little harder than was strictly necessary, but it was definitely not a kick, and the way Zoro glared at him around his mouthful of food in response definitely did not give him butterflies.

Chopper dragged Zoro back into the sickbay as soon as the swordsman had finished eating, grumbling about uncooperative patients. He asked politely at first, but when the swordsman had protested, the little tanuki had changed into his human form and grabbed Zoro by the arm to physically haul him away. The swordsman had almost lost his sheet in the process. Sanji took his time cleaning up afterward, and staunchly refused to think about that broad expanse of smooth warm skin.

By the time he’d finished clearing away and washing the breakfast dishes, he found it was already almost time to start lunch preparations, and certainly time for a round of drinks. He hummed to himself around a cigarette as he mixed various juices and syrups into personalized cocktails that he arranged neatly around a tray. Then he breezed about the ship, dropping drinks off at each station, and enjoyed the sunlight that warmed his shoulders.

He flirted with Nami up in the observation room, then laughed with Usopp down in the factory. He left Luffy’s glass of milk next to him on the grass deck where he lazed under the foremast picking his nose. The captain gave him a sunshine grin that slipped under Sanji’s ribcage and lifted his mood.

He was humming again when he found Zoro napping on the top deck behind Nami’s tangerine trees and Robin’s gardens. The man was leaning back against the railing next to the kitchen’s chimney, but at least he’d donned his usual clothing again. His legs were crossed, his arms likewise folded across his chest, and Sanji felt something clutch in him as he remembered that night back up in the crow’s nest.

This time, though, Zoro’s eyes flicked open as soon as Sanji approached. He tipped his head back and squinted up into the sunlight to give Sanji a sleepy smile. Sanji ground his teeth around the butt of his smoldering cigarette as he glared down at the man. He had no right to look so at ease. He reached down and proffered Zoro’s glass of water. The swordsman wrinkled his nose at the sight.

“Give me a real drink,” He complained.

Sanji sighed dramatically. “Absolutely not.”

“C’mon, curly, Chopper said I was fine after he examined me this morning.”

Sanji scowled at him with disbelief. “I highly doubt that, moss-for-brains.”

Zoro stretched his arms out before folding them behind his head. “S’true, said I was convalescent, or whatever.”

Sanji paused for half a second before fuming, “That just means you’re still recovering, dumbass!”

“Same difference,” Zoro said with a shrug. He still made no move to take the glass, and familiar anger began to rise in Sanji’s chest. This was comfortable for him. This was normal. He gave his sternest scowl and leaned down, wagging the glass before Zoro’s face. The swordsman’s eyes crossed as he stared at it.

“This is all you’re gonna get, so either take it, or don’t,” he spit out. Zoro’s gaze slid past the glass in Sanji’s outstretched hand, traveled slowly up the length of his forearm, and at last meandered around the curve of his shoulder and up to Sanji’s face where they settled with a dark intensity. One of his eyebrows quirked, and when he finally reached up to accept the water, his warm hand trapped Sanji’s against the cool glass.

“If that’s how it is,” he said with a smirk, finally relenting. Sanji’s face burned, but his retort died on his tongue as Zoro extricated his hand and pulled the water away, then tipped his head back to take a long, messy drink. Rivulets ran from the corners of his mouth, dripped down his chin and traced the contours of his throat. Sanji watched the way his adam’s apple bobbed with horror as he swallowed; his own mouth suddenly seemed very dry.

He spun away before his lack of fiery reaction could give him away. Maybe it already had, if the soft chuckle behind him as he left was any indication, but Sanji still had half a tray of drinks to deliver and very little patience left for the swordsman.

Chopper startled when the door slammed open, but brightened when he saw his milkshake balanced on Sanji’s serving tray, piled high with whipped cream and topped with a colorful twisty straw. He clapped his hooves together as Sanji set it before him.

“Did you tell Zoro he was fine to drink again and all that?” He asked as casually as he could, waving his hand. Chopper frowned up at him as he pulled the drink closer and sniffed it happily.

“Of course not!” He said matter of factly. He looked affronted. “I advised him on some stretches but forbade him from anything stupid or strenuous!”

Sanji groaned and rolled his eyes. Like that would stop the idiot.

Sanji was in a foul mood as he climbed up to the crow’s nest before his midnight watch. He was exhausted and irritable and not in the mood to put up with the swordsman’s attitude. And yet here he was, swaying in the breeze as he dragged himself upward one ladder rung at a time, another bento box tucked under his arm. He scowled as he reached the top and didn’t bother knocking before he swung the trapdoor up and poked his head through.

At the far end of the room Zoro was training, which Sanji expressly knew he shouldn’t have been. He was faced away with a heavy barbell balanced across his shoulders as he smoothly sunk into a squat, then lifted himself with apparent ease. The motions did nothing to help Sanji’s mood. What a miscreant, he thought, to so blatantly disobey the doctor’s orders. He’d spent the day ignoring the returned itch under his skin, but this gave him a tangible reason to let his anger rise.

“Bringin’ me a snack, cook?” Zoro asked without looking at him. Sanji could hear the smugness in his voice and seethed as he lifted himself into the room. If the mosshead was strong enough to train then he was strong enough to fight.

“The hell are you doing?” He barked as he walked closer.

“What’s it look like?” Zoro braced and sank down into the next rep. His shirt and haramaki lay in a rumpled heap, discarded before the couch where his swords were neatly arranged, and his sweat-slicked skin glistened in the moonlight streaming through the glass dome overhead. Sanji’s eyes roamed it hungrily.

“It looks like a certain idiot is trying to hurt himself again.” He pulled a cigarette from his pocket and slotted it between his lips, then snapped his lighter open and took a deep drag when the cherry began to glow at the end. “Chopper said you’re supposed to take it easy,” he said around the smoke.

“I am taking it easy,” Zoro grunted. Sanji’s eyes focused on the weights across his shoulders and noted that the barbell did only bear three hundred pounds. He shook his head and took another drag. Why did he even care? He’d come looking for a fight, could easily turn this into one if he wanted to, so why was he so concerned about the shitty swordsman’s wellbeing? What was wrong with him?

“Do you think you’re indestructible or something?” Sanji spat the words out with a sneer, but somehow his voice just sounded plaintive to his own ears. He searched himself for any shred of remaining anger and failed. How had he managed to lose his rage? It had always simmered just below his skin, stoked and ready to flare in the swordsman’s direction. Sanji’s hand twitched at his side and he reached up to run it through his hair. Perhaps it had been smoothed away in the darkness of the sickbay, he thought dismally.

Zoro paused at the bottom of a squat as Sanji spoke, then took a moment before he pressed back upward. He still hadn’t looked at Sanji, and Sanji’s eyes focused on the way Zoro’s earrings flashed in the moonlight as he shook his head. “If I thought that, do you think I’d still be up here training, shit cook?”

It was maybe the most honest admission Zoro had ever spoken aloud to him, an indirect acknowledgement of his own limitations. A sense of understanding unfurled in his chest, but he still eyed the bandages that wrapped the mosshead’s torso and frowned. “You should stop before you end up back in sickbay.” What was he, some kind of nursemaid?

Zoro only chuckled as he finally heaved the barbell over his head and set it aside. Sanji felt the floorboards rumble from the weight of its impact. Then Zoro turned on his heel to face him, and Sanji’s blood boiled at the shit-eating grin the man wore across his face.

“Or what, cook?” He said tauntingly. “You gonna make me?”

Before Sanji could respond, Zoro pitched himself forward in a controlled fall and landed smoothly on his palms in a perfect plank, then tucked into a set of push-ups. Anger finally flamed in Sanji then, white hot and bright as the sunrise. He strode forward, energized by it, and tossed the bento box on the couch. Zoro didn’t falter as Sanji approached but up close, Sanji could see the way his arms already shook from the exertion, and could hear how quick and ragged his breathing was from such supposed light exercises. Sanji shook his head and breathed out a ribbon of smoke.

“Idiot moss,” he remarked. He lifted his foot and pressed it squarely into the center of Zoro’s back and shoved him down. The swordsman flattened as his chest pressed firmly to the floor. For a moment he just sputtered indignantly, then he cursed and threw his weight upward. He thrashed under Sanji’s foot, his arms scrabbling as if to reach for his swords, but the couch was just out of arm’s reach. Sanji leaned down harder, but it was only Zoro’s weakened state and Sanji’s leverage over the man that allowed him to keep the swordsman in place.

He stared down at Zoro’s twisting form with something approaching smug amusement until he saw a line of muscle contract across the swordsman’s back. Zoro went rigid beneath him and hissed lowly through his teeth. Sanji sighed and hesitantly removed his foot, then reached for his smoldering cigarette and put it out on the bottom of his shoe. “Stupid, idiot, dumbass moss,” he griped.

He had a choice then, he knew, a chance to back off and reevaluate. Zoro wasn’t debilitated, wasn’t seizing — he had no reason to touch the swordsman again. But he wanted to. His rage sputtered as he lowered himself into a tense straddle over Zoro’s prone form, careful to keep a few inches of space between them, then it swooped into something heavier, something wanting , as he reached forward and slid his hands across Zoro’s skin. His fingertips immediately found the tension and dug into the afflicted muscles where they strained. Zoro groaned and sagged against the floor, then pillowed his arms under his head as he submitted to the touch.

The burning hunger under Sanji’s skin stoked as he smoothed his palms across the hard planes of Zoro’s back. He dug in, searching for those troublesome knots, then leaned forward to put more pressure into their unwinding. His thumbs traced up the bumps of Zoro’s spine all the way to his shoulders, where he squeezed and kneaded the rounded muscles there before he dragged his fingertips through the short hair at the nape of Zoro’s neck. The swordsman shivered.

It made Sanji feel drunk to be touching the man like this. His thoughts felt slow and uncoordinated, lost under the burning desire that curled through him. Zoro was pliant and relaxed under him, and Sanji was reminded of the sickbay cabin, of its quiet, charged atmosphere the other times he’d touched the mosshead like this. It felt like a dream.

Except that Zoro had always calmed under his touch before, and now the man seemed more restless than ever, even in his laxity. His flanks tensed as Sanji’s hands skittered down his sides to work into the muscles of his lower back with firm, circling pressure. Then Sanji ran his hands back up to Zoro’s shoulders and the man trembled under him, rolling his neck as Sanji’s thumbs pressed down into the muscles there. He made a muted noise low in his throat that Sanji almost didn’t hear and turned his face into his arms. Sanji worked out the tension left behind by the barbell, marveling at the way the swordsman’s body felt under him. But then Zoro squirmed a little too suddenly, shuddering as Sanji dug a knuckle a bit too deeply into the muscle under his shoulder blade, and the needy whine he let slip caused Sanji’s face to flame.

He was hard in his trousers, doing his best to keep his hips hovering a few centimeters away from the swordsman’s, but the noises the other man kept making were driving him insane. He wasn’t here to embarrass himself or put a stain on their rivalry, but if the mosshead didn’t stop moving …

“Stop squirming, idiot,” he bit out. He hoped it sounded annoyed and not as desperate as he felt. He pressed more firmly against Zoro’s shoulders like he had any hope of holding the man still. A sliver of Zoro’s face appeared as he pressed backward into Sanji’s touch, and even in the moonlight Sanji could see the flush staining Zoro’s cheekbones. He really should have kept more space between their bodies because Zoro’s motion brought their bodies into brief contact in a way that made Sanji suck in a sudden breath.

“Or what?” Zoro asked, his exposed eye flashing open at the sound. Sanji already knew the words that would follow and his mouth went dry. “You gonna make me?”

Terrible desire crashed through him then, and like he could read Sanji’s thoughts, Zoro rolled his hips and lifted his ass, pressing himself firmly into Sanji’s groin. And that was — fuck . Sanji’s hands tightened into claws on Zoro’s shoulders as he suddenly found himself chasing air, his chest heaving. He tried to lift himself, desperate to get some distance, but Zoro fucking followed him with a groan that set every single one of Sanji’s nerves on fire. Without thinking, he leaned into it and slid one hand down to Zoro’s hip as he chased that perfect pressure.

“ Yes ,” Zoro hissed under him. He shifted his arms and got his elbows under him, then let his forehead thunk to the floor as he ground his hips back. And god, if that wasn’t going to haunt Sanji for the rest of his life. Sanji hung his own head. His body seemed to move of its own accord as he shuddered and bit back a groan. Zoro gave him a dark look as he raised his eyes enough to look back at him, pressing his hips into Sanji’s obvious erection. He leaned up until Sanji’s forehead rested against his temple, and his voice sounded far too rough and far too promising as he said, “You gonna give that to me, or what?”

Sanji went utterly still. It was such a filthy thing to say, to ask for, that Sanji’s heart nearly stopped in his chest as the words dripped from Zoro’s lips. The swordsman seized his moment of distraction to twist under him until he was on his back, then stared up with hooded eyes, sprawled between Sanji’s limbs. The cook flinched back at the sudden closeness but Zoro caught Sanji’s tie between his fingers and held him there, pinned under the intensity of his gaze. Zoro’s lips were parted, shiny and red from where he must’ve bitten at them. Sanji desperately wanted to taste their flavor. The corner of Zoro’s mouth quirked as the moment stretched and Sanji’s arms trembled, and when he leaned up, Sanji didn’t have to restraint to fight it.

The kiss was different than any he’d ever shared with a woman, that much was immediately obvious to Sanji as he groaned into it. Zoro devoured him like a starving man would a feast, licking hungrily into his mouth with a naked desire that left Sanji lightheaded. There was nothing shy or coy about the way he twisted Sanji’s tie in his fist and hauled him closer, and Sanji moaned as the swordsman’s other hand found his hair and scraped blunt fingernails down the back of his neck, and he rolled his hips without thought.

The pressure was deliriously good, but as Sanji rocked back he felt Zoro’s own erection press against him, and reality suddenly crashed back over him with the force of a tidal wave. He forced his body into stillness, trembling like a leaf in a storm. Zoro begrudgingly mirrored him and released his grip on Sanji’s tie to give him a few inches of space. The swordsman studied him as they parted, eyes flicking around his face like he was trying to memorize it. Zoro himself looked dazed, and Sanji watched with latent hunger as the man’s tongue darted out to taste his bottom lip.

Zoro sounded only mildly regretful when he finally asked, “What keeps scaring you off?”

Sanji bristled instinctively, eyebrows drawing together in a scowl. “I — what? Who’s scared!”

“You don’t kiss like a virgin,” Zoro mused, raising an eyebrow speculatively. He said it without any judgment, like he was simply curious, but Sanji’s face flamed.

“I’m not!” He insisted incredulously. Somehow the mosshead seemed to think this was a him problem and not a them problem. But Zoro continued his musings before Sanji could muster his annoyance to argue further.

“Just never been with another man then, huh?”

Sanji froze. A blush burned across his face, but there was still nothing mocking about the dark way Zoro was looking up at him, or about the strangled sound he made low in his throat as he saw from Sanji’s reaction that he’d guessed truly.

“ Ah ,” he said, his husky voice close to marveling. “Well ain’t that a thing?”

Sanji groaned as Zoro slid his hands around his neck and pulled him back down. He resisted with only moderate success, melting under the gentle bites Zoro left along his jaw. “We just — we shouldn’t —” he stammered as Zoro licked a wet stripe up his throat.

“Why not?” Zoro huffed, scraping his hands down Sanji’s torso. “I want you, you want me… I’m not seeing the problem here.” Then his nimble fingers were tugging at the buttons of Saji’s shirt, and his hands were hot as brands on Sanji’s skin as Zoro ran them reverently across his chest. Sanji tried desperately to think of a reason they should stop. Zoro made it sound so simple. He scowled and bit his lip as Zoro wrapped his arms around to grip at his back and leaned in to nip at his collarbone.

“We have — responsibilities ,” he finally managed to say with difficulty. Zoro leaned back and raised a hand to his face, then ran a fingertip along Sanji’s scrunched eyebrow.

“You think too much, dartbrow,” he said simply. His hand curved over Sanji’s cheek and slid back into his hair. “It can just be this , you know. I’m not asking you to sail off into the sunset with me.” He rolled his hips as he said it, and the hand on Sanji's waist pulled him down. Their groins pressed against each other and Zoro’s expression was as smug as it was fervid. Sanji sputtered over him but didn’t move away.

“B-bastard.”

But the fight had gone from him, and Zoro knew it. He kicked his legs out from under Sanji and hooked them around the backs of his thighs to pull him closer. He linked his fingers loosely around the back of Sanji’s neck and stared up at him with such open desire that Sanji was the one who leaned in and crashed their mouths back together.

It was unbelievable to him how easily their bodies fit together. The swordsman rocked himself upward and Sanji saw stars behind his eyelids as they found a rhythm together. One of Zoro’s arms draped across his shoulders, holding him close, while the other moved back under his open shirt to roam across his skin. When his fingers found one of Sanji’s nipples and tweaked it gently, Sanji bit his lip to stop a thready gasp escaping, but Zoro heard it anyway and pinched again, rolling the nub until it was hard and oversensitized under his thumb. His face burned at the needy sounds he made but they seemed to drive Zoro wild under him. The man was a noisy menace himself, pressing sharp kisses along Sanji’s jaw and down his throat as he muttered and moaned between them.

“ Yes , fucking — ah — just like that, c’mon —”

Sanji was the feverish one now. He found Zoro’s mouth and covered it with his own just to shut the man up, and Zoro bit at his lips and slipped his tongue against Sanji’s, learning the sharp points of his teeth as they rolled their bodies against each other. Sanji’s nerves were alight with the fire under his skin. It was good, it was perfect , but he needed more . He groaned against Zoro’s mouth, then felt pressure at his groin and broke away to look down between them. Zoro’s fingers rested lightly on his belt then gently began to tug it free. White noise filled Sanji’s mind at the sight.

“This okay?” Zoro asked quietly. His voice was low and rough and wrecked, his tongue a velvet press as it traced the shell of Sanji’s ear. Sanji was too busy trying to breathe to answer. All he could do was dip his head in a frenzied nod and roll his hips desperately into Zoro’s touch. Distantly, he thought he should feel at least some amount of panic, but all he knew was shivering need as Zoro dragged his knuckles down the straining front of his slacks. He palmed his hardened length through the fabric and gave him a gentle squeeze, then deftly popped open the button and undid his zipper. The static in Sanji’s brain melted to molten heat. He almost sobbed, pleasure curling up his spine as the swordsman pulled him free and gave him an experimental stroke.

“Of course you have a perfect cock,” the swordsman muttered, and he sounded so annoyed that Sanji almost laughed. But Zoro’s other hand fumbled between them for a moment as he roughly shoved his own pants down, and then his straining cock was freed as well, and coherent thought fled Sanji’s mind entirely as the swordsman gripped them both, using his legs to pull Sanji down and forward as he stroked them together.

“Fucking finally — ” Zoro choked out, tossing his head back against the floor. It was more than Sanji could have ever asked for, more than he knew he needed, and now all he could do was chase the pleasure Zoro offered. He dropped down onto his elbows and ground his hips forward. One of his hands found Zoro’s hair and he reeled him back in for a kiss. The mosshead moaned into it shamelessly, biting at Sanji’s lips when he tightened his fingers in those soft, grassy strands. “S’good?” Zoro asked against his mouth. He moved his hand around them in a way that made Sanji’s back arch, and Sanji could only nod and move against him, almost lost in the haze of pleasure as he whined and writhed.

“Yeah,” he panted when he finally got some air in his lungs. “Yeah, s’good. More than good.” Zoro groaned and moved his free hand around to grab at Sanji’s ass, sliding his palm over rounded muscle before his fingers dug into the fabric to pull Sanji closer, as if he still wasn’t close enough. Sanji shuddered as he felt his orgasm building. It was too fast, too close, and he tried to lean away, going tense as he tried to stave off the inevitable. Zoro didn’t let him go anywhere. He kept his heels locked behind Sanji’s knees as he twisted his hand and increased his pace. Sanji did sob then, keening in the moonlight as Zoro brought him to the brink.

“S’fine,” he mumbled into Sanji’s jaw. “I’m close too.”

And Sanji was there an instant later. The pressure building in his groin flooded through him with a wash of pleasure that whited out his mind. Zoro’s name was a broken moan that tore raggedly from him as he came, curling forward as he spilled between them. Zoro peppered his face and jaw with kisses as he stroked him through the shaking. It took a long moment for Sanji to come back to the world. He felt dazed and boneless as shivering waves of sensation wracked through him. He panted against Zoro’s neck, basking in the intensity of his release, then realized with belated guilt that the swordsman was still huffing and moving against him. Sanji shifted to the side so he could get his own hand between them, and Zoro shuddered as he took him.

“Fuck, Sanji …” he gasped, then let his arm drop away as he arched into Sanji’s touch. And it was incredible the way Zoro’s face was pinched with pleasure in the moonlight, the way he twisted under Sanji like this. A flush stained Zoro’s face that reached all the way down to his chest. His eyes were closed, his lips parted as he groaned. It was intoxicating to witness this side of the swordsman, to cause his pleasure — it was enough to make Sanji’s cock twitch again with interest where it hung heavy and spent over the waistband of his slacks. Zoro’s cock was thick and hard in his hand, shiny and wet from Sanji's own climax as he stroked his palm up its length and massaged. He tightened his grip, mimicking the way Zoro had dragged him over the edge. The swordsman’s chest heaved as he gasped under Sanji’s touch. His eyes flashed open and found Sanji’s as his back arched, and then Zoro came with a broken shout as he spilled his release over Sanji’s hand.

Sanji was breathing hard too as he eased the swordsman through it with gentle strokes. He stared down with something approaching wonder as Zoro panted in the moonlight. His body was relaxed at Sanji's side, utterly boneless as he caught his breath, his expression serene as basked in his afterglow. His hair was mussed and his chest and abdomen were splattered with their cum, staining the bandages below. He was an absolute mess, and he looked totally wrecked, and he looked beautiful for it in the moonlight. Sanji swallowed heavily and looked away as Zoro’s eyes finally flicked open.

There was a brief moment in which Sanji started worrying over what would come next. Surely this would change things, alter their dynamic. He wasn’t ready for the awkwardness of having to walk on eggshells, afraid to fuck things up. He frowned and pushed himself up onto an elbow.

“Give me your shirt, cook,” Zoro said before the moment could stretch. Sanji glanced at him and found Zoro watching his face intently.

“Why?” He asked dubiously. Zoro raised an eyebrow and gestured down to the sticky mess cooling across his stomach.

“You see any towels around?”

Sanji wrinkled his nose in disgust and pushed himself to his feet, then gingerly tucked himself back into his trousers. Zoro’s keen eyes watched darkly. “This is silk , you neanderthal. Use your own.”

He stepped over Zoro’s sprawled legs and snatched the swordsman’s Henley from the floor, wiped his hand clean, and then tossed it at Zoro’s face. Zoro snagged it out of the air with a smirk and then dragged it down the front of his body to clean himself roughly. Sanji lifted his lip in a disgusted sneer, but only half heartedly. His anger was hard to find, suppressed by something else that simmered and coiled through his gut, and the disgust was hard to muster as Sanji watched the swordsman lift his hips and tug the waistband of his pants back over his hips. Sanji found his cigarettes and hurriedly lit one as Zoro finally rolled himself to his feet. Zoro regarded him for a long moment, then cocked his head to the side. “Are you still mad at me?”

Sanji was caught off guard and frowned at the question. The cigarette balanced between his lips as he redid the buttons on his shirt and tightened his tie, then he plucked it away and blew his lungful of smoke between them like a shield. “For what, training? Chopper will be.”

Zoro shook his head and started unwinding the sullied bandages from his body. The sickly yellow-green of half healed bruises mottled his skin like perverse tattoos. “For Thriller Bark.”

Sanji's eyes wandered his body as the smoke curled through the air between them. The wounds had been grievous indeed, but here Zoro stood anyway, unfaltering. The flush was gone from his cheekbones now, and above, Zoro’s eyes burned with a dark intensity. Sanji mostly just felt that slow, lazy lust as it settled deep within him, but it was best not to let the swordsman know that. He shrugged. “Maybe.”

Zoro huffed and rolled his eyes. “Do you understand why I did it?” He walked closer and Sanji scowled at him.

“Because you’re a self-righteous asshole?”

Zoro chuckled and moved past him to the couch, oblivious to the way his closeness had set Sanji’s heart pounding again. He leaned down and retrieved the bento box, then popped its lid and grinned down at the onigiri tucked snuggly inside. “Because you’re the cook, and I’m first mate,” he said simply. “We both have our own roles.”

His tone was matter-of-fact, without even a hint of sarcasm or derision. Sanji did understand, he already had, but he didn’t have an immediate response, and he was loath to admit the swordsman was right. “You’re still a self-righteous asshole,” he said after a moment had passed. It was Zoro’s turn to shrug then as he lifted a rice ball and shoved the whole thing in his mouth. Rice clung to his lips as he chewed and Sanji turned before he could be tempted to reach up and brush them away. Cigarette smoke trailed after him as he raised a hand and made his way back to the trapdoor. “Make sure to bring the dish back down when you’re done.”

The next day dawned bright and clear. Sanji glared at Zoro over breakfast and Zoro glared right back, and when they bickered, Nami only rolled her eyes and reached for another slice of bacon. The Red Line appeared in the distance not long after, and then a mermaid of all things flopped onto the deck, after a brief scuffle with some Sea Kings. Sanji went nearly wild with joy as she promised to show them the way to Sabaody Archipelago and then to Fishman Island beyond, and all thoughts of the mosshead were pushed from his mind.

For a time, anyway.

Notes:

lmao the curse of having outlined this from two different perspectives because I was indecisive may be a blessing to you - a story so nice I’m telling it twice! 😈 Zoro POV retelling in the next chapter!

Actions

Kudos

Booth_bones, thailandee, leatran, moontidescries, Tales4cia, BenjiTheTurtle, trashcaligula, MichR11, ruiere, Thespian4life, Postarchive3, PotatoForest, miaouuuuuuub, Marinnan, Harry_Potters_Guardian_Angel, mere_kat, J_uli_a, Ateaireoch, Theratking27, Gloomypancakes, Zobie91, payolisH, darylarry, VieRye, soggybones, PsychicGirl, Crisscross_Patches, RanrisNS_10, Wheel_of_Cheese, Azasam, Coelecanth3, icaronycteris1, Bearjelly, Asticoo, Ace_of_red_spades, bitemeasyouplease, CyborgMagpie, playtime_is_over, Bullock, MissChia, mycreator1817, sburbatory, InandOut, Wupyte_19, AnnoyingBee, AGlassFlowerNeverFades, sleepixgstars, Foam_skull, PrincepsDeiInCreatione, MItsu_0na, and 272 more users as well as 100 guests left kudos on this work!

Archive of Our Own

Actions

Work Header