Chapter Text
“You seriously need to get your drinking under control.”
Zoro rolls his eyes and shoves the half-empty whiskey bottle back into the freezer. He turns around to reach for the rum to do the same, but Nami’s in his way. He raises an eyebrow. “Move.”
Her eyes narrow. “You’re still drunk.”
“So? Helps with the hangover.”
“That just delays it, idiot.”
“You think I don’t know that?” He reaches around her and snatches the rum. There’s only a few swallows left in the bottle. He swirls it, watching the dark liquid spin. If Nami wasn’t there, he’d down the rest. But she’s there, right in front of him, steam practically rising from her ears, so he just scowls and puts it in the freezer.
“You’re drunk almost every day.”
“Shut up.”
Nami grabs him by the ear and yanks. “You’re such an asshole.”
Zoro winces, arms flying up instinctively, but he keeps his hands to himself. She’s a chick, he reminds himself. Be cool. Be cool.
Nami lets go and brushes past him, grumbling under her breath. “I’m going out. Have fun drinking yourself to death.”
Zoro rubs his ear. “Are you on your period or something?” he calls after her.
“Ass. Hole.”
It’s true. Zoro drinks regularly, and he’s definitely considered an alcoholic by his roommate, Nami - and his best friend, Luffy…but he’s functional. So, whatever. It gets him through the day, and that’s what he needs.
He sinks down onto the sofa and clicks the television on. It’s his day off, and he’s bored. He surfs until he lands on a random Netflix show about violence and drugs, then leans back to half-watch it.
His mind wanders.
Blonde hair. Grayish blue eyes, deep and sad. A slender face and an impish curve of a smile. Shitty tattoo of a chef’s knife - on the back of his calf, faded and blurred. Quick fingers and scarred hands.
Sanji.
“Earth to Zoro?”
Zoro blinks and turns his head. Nami is standing off to the side, wearing a tight-fitting red dress and golden bangles on her wrists. Her eyebrows are furrowed and her mouth is set - she’s still angry with him. It’s been tense between them for months. Ever since she found him facedown with the apartment door wide open after a long night out.
He nods. “Have fun.”
She just stares at him. “What’re you gonna do?”
He shrugs. “Drink myself to death, probably.”
She spins on her heel before he can see the expression on her face. The door slams hard behind her, rattling the walls.
Zoro’s phone pings. He picks it up.
Witch: 19:57
ASSHOLE
He frowns.
Zoro: 19:58
Sorry.
-
Zoro gets up and leaves before Nami gets back. The gym is full of people when he arrives. It’s the weekend, after all.
He puts headphones on and focuses on free weights and the treadmill, avoiding the crowds around the more popular machines.
His phone pings after two miles of running, and he picks it up.
Sanji: 21:02
Hey. What’s going on?
Zoro stares. A flash of heat washes over him, and it has nothing to do with running. He pauses the treadmill and stands there, knees trembling. He wipes his face with his towel and steps off, eyes glued to his phone.
Zoro: 21:04
@ the gym
Sanji: 21:05
okayyyy…that’s not what I meant. R u okay?
Sanji: 21:05
Actually, screw that. Come over? U can shower here if you want.
Zoro swallows. His fingers shake as he types a reply.
Zoro: 21:07
ok
-
Sanji’s sitting on his front porch steps when Zoro walks up. He’s smoking, slow and smiley, effortlessly handsome. Collar popped and sleeves rolled up.
Zoro stares, heat creeping down his neck.
“Hey,” Sanji says. He flicks the half-smoked cig to the ground and steps on it, rising to his full height. Zoro has to look up at him, and he fights the urge to take a step back.
“Haven’t seen you in a while,” Sanji continues.
“Yeah.”
Sanji squints at him in the darkness. A breeze floats by, ruffling his golden hair. “You alright?”
No, Zoro wants to say. Not even fucking close. Instead, he says, “Can I get that shower?”
“Of course.” Sanji turns and leads him up the steps and through the front door. A door Zoro’s been through many times before.
-
The water is scalding on his back. Zoro stares at his toes. The alcohol has long worn off by now, leaving him painfully sober.
Sanji. He’s in Sanji’s house again. Fuck.
There’s a knock at the bathroom door. Soft and slow. Zoro doesn’t answer and the door creaks open.
“Can I come in?”
“Yes,” Zoro croaks out.
Moments later, Sanji steps under the spray with him, naked. Zoro’s hands reach up and spread across Sanji’s toned abdomen, feeling muscles shift under his fingertips. His vision blurs and he tries to pretend it’s shower water dripping down his face.
“Sweetheart,” Sanji whispers, long arms wrapping around Zoro’s back. “It’s been two weeks. I thought you were gone for good.”
Zoro chokes back a sob. He presses his forehead into Sanji’s chest, listening as Sanji adjusts the water temperature until it’s pleasantly warm and not burning hot. “I missed you,” he mumbles into wet skin.
Sanji pulls him closer and mumbles something back, but Zoro doesn’t hear him. Then he pulls back, just enough to meet Zoro’s eyes. And they kiss, long and sweet and soft.
Zoro’s blunt nails dig into Sanji’s shoulders as heat rushes straight to his groin, and Sanji grabs his wrists, pinning them against the shower wall. Zoro grunts and pushes back, but Sanji’s bigger.
“From just a kiss?” Sanji teases breathlessly.
Zoro grimaces as another wave of heat rolls through him, almost painful. “Come on, man…”
Sanji raises an eyebrow. “Man?”
Zoro swallows. “Please.”
Sanji releases his wrists and steps back. “Turn around.”
Zoro obeys.
“Hands against the wall.”
“San-“
“Do it. Stick your ass out, too.”
Already panting, Zoro obeys, dizzy with want and humiliation. Only Sanji could do this to him. Only Sanji could make him like this. The fucking bastard.
A few seconds pass, then one of Sanji’s hands presses against the side of Zoro’s head, holding him in place, and he moans. The sound echoes off the shower walls, and Sanji makes a surprised noise behind him. “Jesus, you’re pent up, aren’t you?”
Before Zoro can respond, there’s a slicked-up finger against his asshole, and it presses in too soon and too fast, and it hurts, and he moans again, louder this time, dick slapping against the shower wall as he bucks in Sanji’s grip.
Sanji grunts behind him and lets go of his head to turn the water off, then repositions his hand over the back of his neck instead, firm and tight. “Push back,” he orders. “Like you mean it.”
Zoro whimpers, knees going weak. But he obeys, thrusting his ass back onto Sanji’s finger until there’s nothing more to push back onto. Then Sanji’s finger grinds in deeper and curves downward, and Zoro’s knees give out.
“Easy, come here,” Sanji says softly, catching him and laying him out on the shower floor, finger still deep inside him. “I’m gonna add more, okay? Can you take it?”
Zoro groans, low and deep. “Ugh…”
“Answer me, Zoro. Can you take more?”
Zoro’s forehead drops down on the tiled floor, hands squeezing into fists. “Yes,” he whispers. “Fuck.”
“Good boy. Keep your ass in the air.”
Another finger pushes in, and Zoro chokes back a scream. The stretch burns. He feels precum dripping from his dick. His thighs ache and tremble from the strain of keeping himself in position. His mouth waters.
“One more,” Sanji says, his voice tight.
Zoro pants into his arms, vision going fuzzy as his dick pulses. His knees start to slide on the wet floor.
“Ah ah,” Sanji warns.
Zoro scrambles, but he’s too shaky and worn out to do much. He collapses on his stomach with Sanji’s fingers deep inside him. He cries out, struggling to prop himself up on his forearms.
“It’s alright, Zoro, you’ve done your best,” Sanji says gently, condescension dripping like honey. Zoro grits his teeth as his body floods with burning arousal. His ass clenches around Sanji’s fingers just as they’re pulled out. “We’re going to the bedroom now.”
In a haze, Zoro allows himself to be lifted to his feet and he follows Sanji out of the bathroom and through the hall. Doors open to reveal the master bedroom, and Sanji tugs him through and pushes him face down on the bed with his feet on the ground.
“Spread your legs,” he says pleasantly.
Zoro’s hands fist in the covers, mind hazy as he grinds down into the softness. His dick hurts. It feels like he’s been hard forever.
Pain lances up his spine as his hair is grabbed and yanked until his chest is lifted off the bed. Tears of pain prick his eyes.
“Spread your legs,” Sanji repeats.
Zoro presses his hands into the bed, up on his tiptoes, trying to add slack to Sanji’s grip. When that doesn’t work, he grunts and spreads his legs as far as they’ll go, jaw clenched.
Sanji releases his hair and Zoro falls face first into the covers. He should be angry. He should lash out. But no, he’s not angry at all. You know why? Because he’s a fucking masochist, and Sanji knows how to press all his fucking buttons. It’s infuriating.
“Relax, sweetheart,” Sanji coaxes. “Be good for me.”
“Ugh…fuck…ffff…” Zoro’s vision swims as the head of Sanji’s dick presses against his hole, then pops inside and carves slowly into him. His toes curl against the floor, eyes rolling back into his head.
“You’re a very good boy,” Sanji praises in a strained voice, pausing to catch his breath.
Zoro’s ass clenches around Sanji’s cock. It hurts, and it’s only halfway in now. He reaches a shaky hand back, searching blindly for Sanji’s hip, but his wrist is grabbed and pinned firmly against his lower back. He whimpers.
Then, Sanji takes a breath and pushes the rest of the way inside him.
“Ahhhhh - ahh - ahh!” Zoro’s eyes fly open and he seizes up, fresh tears filling his vision.
Sanji leans over him, breathing hard. “Relax,” he hisses. “Shit.” His free hand clamps over the back of his neck. “It’s been a while for you, I’m sorry,” he whispers in Zoro’s ear. “I got impatient.”
Zoro groans.
“That’s it,” Sanji encourages. “I won’t move yet.”
Despite his words, Zoro can still hear the edge of urgency in Sanji’s voice, even through his own haze. Only a few seconds pass of Zoro’s labored breathing before Sanji starts to move again. Zoro cries out and reaches back for him with his other hand, but Sanji grabs that one too and stacks it on top of the other, rendering him almost completely immobile. The hand presses back down over his nape, and Sanji starts to thrust.
He’s not nice about it either.
“Fuck!” Zoro cries out, jerking in Sanji’s grasp. Sanji grunts and thrusts deeper, harder, faster. Zoro cries out with each thrust, then his cries quickly morph into one continuous crying moan, then into broken sobs. His nose runs on the covers as Sanji’s hips dig bruises into his asscheeks, fingers digging bruises into his wrists and nape. His dick drags pathetically between his body and the bed, sticky with precome and hopelessly hard. “Sanji,” he whimpers. “Please-“
“Quiet,” Sanji grunts. He releases Zoro’s neck and arms to grab his hips, yanking him back in time to meet his thrusts, going impossibly deeper.
Zoro practically screams into the covers and reaches a shaky hand under his body to wrap around his throbbing cock. Sanji doesn’t stop him, and in only three strokes he’s coming so hard his vision goes gray.
“Does this feel good, baby?” Sanji asks breathlessly.
Overstimulated now, Zoro can only whimper. Sanji pulls out and flips him over, then gets up on the bed and pulls him along. Face to face, he slides back in, eyes glued to Zoro’s. “You’re beautiful,” he whispers.
Zoro’s lower lip trembles, and Sanji leans in to capture it in a kiss. Zoro kisses him back, gasping.
Sanji comes deep inside of him with a long, stuttering groan. “God,” he grunts.
Zoro sniffs and lifts his arms to wipe at his face. Sanji catches his wrists and kisses his cheek gently. Then his other cheek. Then his lips again, so soft. Zoro wraps his arms around his neck, trembling, trying not to let his mind race. It’s just sex, he thinks. Just sex.
But it’s not just sex to him. Not anymore.