Work Text:
Blood and Fury
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When Sanji steps onto deck, the horizon is just beginning to blur with the faint glow of dawn. The air is crisp, biting at his skin as if to remind him they’re nearing a winter island. He pulls his coat tighter. The sea is calm, the gentle lapping of waves against the Sunny’s hull the only sound out here.
From below deck, Usopp’s und Luffy’s faint snores drift up – an oddly comforting rhythm that steadies his thoughts. Most of the crew is still asleep. Though Nami, of course, is not. She’s always the first to rise, adjusting their course after the night’s drift. Her voice breaks the silence now and then, muttering calculations. Sanji’s gaze lingers on her: steady hands on the wheel, her sharp eyes scanning the horizon. An endearing smile tugs at his lips – they’d all be lost without her.
Across the deck Zoro is up too. He’s had the second half of the night watch and spent it practicing again. Enma gleams faintly in the dim light, the sound of the blade cutting through the quiet like the crack of a whip. Even at this hour, Zoro moves with unrelenting focus. Each swing is precise and forceful. The Bastard didn’t look exhausted at all.
Since Wano, he and Zoro have taken on more night shifts to give Luffy enough time to recover. Protect the captain—the unspoken rule that binds them as the Wings of the Pirate King. And yet, Zoro shows none of the fatigue Sanji feels dragging at his own limbs. Instead, he moves like an inexhaustible force of nature, pushing his limits with a single-mindedness that borders on obsessive. That same intensity, that same overpowering urge to dominate. It wasn’t just in the way Zoro fought - it bled into everything he did.
Sanji exhales softly as he pulls a cigarette from his pocket. The flare of the lighter briefly illuminating the sharp lines of his face. He takes a deep drag and relaxes. “Like a fucking animal,” he mutters, the words slipping out in a low rasp, more smoke than sound. His gaze lingers, a mix of irritation and something darker curling low in his chest, hot and unwelcome. It’s not admiration for Zoro’s strength; it’s something more primal. A certain need to tame. A certain need to control.
Sanji shivers. Not from the cold.
The memory of Wano flickers through his mind. Zoro commanding the Geisha. Her body trembling under his grip – so utterly eager to please. But it wasn’t her who held Zoro’s attention that night. No - Zoro’s eyes had locked onto Sanji, like the woman beneath him was nothing more than a means to an end. Her sole purpose reduced to setting the stage for the unspoken war raging between them. It had been about Sanji. It had been about defeating him.
He wasn’t blind to the way Zoro looked at him— the feral hunger simmering just beneath the surface. Zoro’s need to dominate, to crush and claim, was both his greatest weapon and his biggest weakness. And Sanji had recognized it for what it was: an opportunity. A chance to crack through that impenetrable ego—to turn the predator into prey and to bend Zoro to his own will.
Watching them fuck that night had been deliberate— a way to throw Zoro off balance. Sanji had wanted him to notice. Had wanted Zoro to feel exposed - seen in a way he couldn’t control. But Zoro, damn him, had turned the entire game around on him.
It was as if Zoro had been waiting for Sanji all along. With a wild, razor-sharp grin—like a predator baring its fangs—he extended the invitation. A calculated dare for Sanji to take the bait.
It wasn’t just a display of dominance. It was a challenge. An open gauntlet thrown between them. Zoro’s sheer audacity pulled him in like a riptide – it was infuriating and it was intoxicating. And Sanji had never been the type to back down. He never would be.
Sure, part of it had been for her—Sanji would never turn away a beautiful lady, begging for his cock. But there was no use lying to himself. Most of it had been for the game. For Zoro. To see how far the swordsman was willing to go. To test how far Sanji could push.
Sanji had seen the hunger in Zoro’s eyes. Even as he came buried deep inside the Geisha his gaze never left Sanji. The woman’s body a mere extension of his defiance. Every thrust, every growled breath -it was all directed at him. This wasn’t just desire; it was about power.
It wasn’t subtle. It wasn’t hidden. It was a declaration as clear as if Zoro had shouted it: Look at me. Stay with me. Submit to me. The raw, unspoken need to dominate him, to claim him.
In that moment Sanji had felt the sheer weight of Zoro’s demand. The heat of it burned through his defenses, stripping away his careful control. For one maddening second, he’d stopped thinking, stopped calculating. He’d let himself feel the sheer intensity of Zoro’s presence.
He’d almost surrendered. Almost.
And that’s why, in the end, Sanji had left first, slipping away without a word. Not because he’d lost – no, he hadn’t. But because, in that fleeting moment, his control had faltered. And he hated it. Hated how much he’d enjoyed the maddening temptation of surrender. Hated how close he’d come to letting go. He didn’t leave to concede but to protect the one thing he couldn’t afford to lose: own damn pride.
Sanji snaps back to the present as Zoro’s voice slices through the night: “You look like shit, cook.”
He freezes mid-drag, irritation bubbling under his skin. Of course, he does. His tie hangs loose, his hair’s disheveled and the dark circles under his eyes feel like bruises. He looks as drained as he feels—too many late nights, too little rest. It’s far from his usual self: clean-cut, polished, always in control—of his appearance, his demeanor, and his surroundings. But what irks him more than the sight of his own reflection is the fact that Zoro noticed.
“Coming from someone whose idea of grooming is wiping blood off his face, I’ll take that as a compliment.”
Sanji exhales a slow plume of smoke, hiding his unease behind a mocking grin. Humor is his shield, but Zoro’s words hit a little too close to home—like he’d been waiting for the perfect moment to strike. The feeling of exposure grates on him, and he despises himself for letting it show. He needs to get his shit together, to reclaim his control.
“You know - some of us actually work around here,” Sanji continues, flicking ash over the railing. “Unlike you. Sleeping all day and pretending this”—he waves vaguely at Zoro’s training—“counts as pulling your weight.”
At that, Zoro drives Enma into the deck with a deliberate thunk. When he turns, a mocking grin spreads across his face. "Work, huh? Is that what you call standing around, smoking…staring?" His predatory gaze locks onto Sanji as he adds: "Not that I mind. I know you like the view."
Zoro’s presence feels suffocating. So goddamn sure of himself. Sanji’s jaw tightens as Zoro steps closer his voice dropping lower. “Didn’t think you’d make it a habit, though.”
Sanji almost growls, but his composure holds. Instead, he yawns deliberately, flicking ash into the breeze. “Don’t flatter yourself, mosshead. Your little performance nearly put me to sleep.”
“You sure you’re not projecting?”, Zoro snorts. “Looks to me like you spent the night staring at the ceiling, dreaming about things you can’t have.”
Sanji fingers twitch around his cigarette. The bastard knows exactly what he’s implying and Sanji hates how his brain stutters for a moment. “You wish.”, he growls. “I’m here to keep you in line. Someone’s got to tame the rabid mut before it bites the wrong person.”
“Think you can put me in my place, cook?”, Zoro grins, sharp and daring.
And yes, Sanji wants to break him—wants to bend Zoro to his will, make him submit. But he doesn’t snap. Instead, he lets the moment stretch, smirking as he flicks his cigarette into the ocean: “I don’t think, marimo”, Sanji hums, his voice low. “I know.”
The declaration is clear: the game is on now, no turning back. A battle for dominance, submission, power, and pride—one neither of them is willing to lose. For a moment, they both freeze, the air between them crackling with tension. Sanji’s mind races, half-convinced Zoro’s about to...
The moment shatters as Nami’s sharp voice cuts through the dawn: “MARINES! Dead ahead! Get your asses up, you idiots!”
Sanji's head whips toward the horizon, eyes narrowing as at least three heavily armored Marine battleships come into view. In an instant, he's in battle mode. Adrenaline floods his veins - his duty is on.
Behind him, Zoro lets out a low, almost amused grunt as he retrieves Enma. Sanji doesn’t need to turn around to feel the insane bloodlust pouring from Zoro’s Haki, consuming the air around them like a black hole.
As Sanji sprints toward the helm, he can feel Zoro’s gaze burning into his back. Damn mosshead. That bastard had held him up. And now—now he hasn’t even prepared breakfast for the others. Anger flares hot in his chest. If the crew wakes up to empty stomachs, it’ll be Zoro’s fault—and the Marines’. They’re all going to pay for this.
Without hesitation, he launches himself into the air, flames roaring at his heels as he soars toward the enemy ships. On the first vessel the deck is swarming with Marines rushing to load their cannons. He lands with explosive force in their midst, the wood splintering beneath his feet. The Marines barely have time to react before he’s on them. The world around him fades into a blur of motion, heat, and fire.
In battle, time loses all meaning. Minutes, perhaps more, bleed together as Sanji moves with lethal precision. Each strike is deliberate, a devastating blend of elegance and raw power. The sounds of battle are distant, muffled by the rush of adrenaline in his ears. One by one, the Marines fall.
The sickening crack of a Marine’s skull snaps him into focus. His Haki flares a split second before impact, sending the body crashing to the ground with a brutal thud—lifeless. "152," he counts silently, the number rolling off his mind as naturally as breathing. He always keeps count.
Sanji has no sense of how long he’s been fighting—only that it feels endless. To his relief, the rest of the Strawhats has barely stirred. Half of them are still asleep, and he silently prays it stays that way. Especially Luffy. Their captain has been a shadow of his usual self since Wano, his body worn thin from the battle with Kaido. Luffy needs time to rest and recover. This isn’t his fight. And Sanji sure as hell intends to keep it that way.
A quick spin sends another Marine tumbling over the side of the ship. Another number. Another faceless obstacle removed. His strikes are surgical, cutting through the battlefield with grace and efficiency. Each kick lands exactly where it needs to. He doesn’t fight to destroy; he fights to end things swiftly—no unnecessary risks, no wasted effort.
The first Marine ship groans and begins to collapse under the weight of his onslaught. Sanji pauses, taking a moment to assess his work – when suddenly a deafening crash splits the air. His head snaps up— on the second warship, the main mast splinters and crashes down with a thunderous crack. It’s been sliced clean in two.
Zoro.
Sanji doesn’t need to see the destruction to know it’s pure mayhem. He hears it—the clash of swords, the blood-curdling cries of Marines meeting their end. Zoro isn’t fighting; he’s slaughtering them.
With practiced silence, Sanji launches himself onto the deck of the second ship. The sight that greets him is pure carnage. Half the crew lies sprawled across the deck, dead or unconscious—either way, unable to move. The deck itself is a wreck, crushed under the weight of the fallen mast.
At the center of it stands Zoro, his swords dripping with blood, a feral grin spread across his face. Marines continue to charge at him, their desperate attempts obliterated by the devastating strikes of Wado. The bloodlust radiating from Zoro’s Haki makes Sanji wrinkle his nose in disgust. Zoro has gone berserk again, out of control—completely unhinged.
In battle, Zoro is chaos incarnate. He fights like a beast, driven by raw hunger rather than thought. Every swing of his swords is merciless, tearing through flesh and bone with no regard for finesse or strategy. His bloodlust - a visceral need to kill - consumes all reason. It stirs a deep, burning frustration inside Sanji, that makes him want to destroy something. Sanji didn’t fight like that. He couldn’t fight like that.
A neatly severed head flies toward him, skidding across the deck until Sanji stops it with his foot. Disgusting. “Watch where you swing that thing”, he snaps.
The remark catches Zoro’s attention. “About time you showed up,” he says, voice rough with exertion but dripping with confidence. “Thought you’d leave me to do all the work, cook.”
Sanji’s lip curls. “I already cleaned up the first ship, mosshead. Didn’t think you’d be this far behind.” His gaze flicks to the severed head beneath his boot, and he grimaces in disgust. “Seriously, you’re making a damn mess of this, Zoro.”
“Mess?” Zoro snarls, a wicked glint in his eye. “This is how you win, cook. There’s beauty in obliteration—you wouldn’t understand.” Blood drips from his chin—whether it’s his or someone else’s, Sanji can’t tell. The sight makes his pulse quicken despite himself.
“There’s only beauty in beauty, Zoro,” Sanji counters, sending a Marine sprawling across the deck with a single, calculated kick. “In style, precision, and efficiency. One perfect shot to end it cleanly. Not... this bloodbath you call art.”
Zoro laughs, rough and unapologetic, the sound sending an unwelcome shiver down Sanji’s spine. “Admit it, cook,” he taunts, his swords slicing through another Marine with brutal ease. Blood splatters across the deck, turning it into a slick, chaotic mess. “You’re too scared to let loose. Afraid of what’ll happen if you do?”
He turns to face Sanji, eyes dark and gleaming with challenge. “Always trying to keep a tight leash on everything—even in a fight. It’s kinda pathetic, don’t you think?”
Sanji’s blood boils. Zoro has a way of worming under his skin, prying at the parts of himself he fights so hard to keep buried. He hates it. Hates how Zoro lets himself be consumed by the destruction, reveling in it without restraint. But what he hates even more is how it calls to him. How the chaos whispers to the part of him he’s buried so deep, he fears the consequences of letting it surface.
“You’re damn right,” he growls. “Look at yourself, Zoro. You’re like a rabid mutt—snarling, biting, tearing through everything without a thought or purpose. Someone has to leash you, or you’ll rip yourself and everyone else to shreds.”
Zoro’s wicked grin widens, almost maniacal now. “And you think you’re that someone?” His voice drips with amusement. “You really think you can handle me, cook? Control me?”
For a moment, the entire world narrows to the space between them. Zoro hisses, his words a promise and a threat in one “I’d chew through that leash, and when I do, I’d come for you first.”
He’s baiting Sanji, pushing him to react. And goddamn, it’s working. Sanji takes a step forward, closing the distance between them. “I can see how desperate you are, just waiting for someone to yank that chain and make you heel. Someone to remind you who’s in control. Someone to put you in your place.”
For a split second, Sanji pictures Zoro on his knees, sweat-slicked and panting. The desire to assert his will burns through him. It isn’t just about the fight anymore. It’s about who’s going to come out on top. His breath quickens, his pulse pounding in his ears and he hates how much he wants this. How much he wants to wrestle Zoro into submission, if only to prove he can.
Zoro’s blood-stained grin is feral now, his body vibrating with unspent energy. “Heel?” he repeats. “You couldn’t make me heel, if your life depended on it. You’d crack first, cook. And when you do, you’ll be begging me to finish the job.”
They stand still for a moment, eyes locked, taking in the way they clash, the way they orbit each other. Both of them hungry for dominance, for the upper hand.
But before either can say another word, the battle catches up to them. A Marine officer charges at Zoro, his blade coated in armament Haki. He strikes—Zoro barely has time to react. This man isn’t just cannon fodder; this man is skilled, his strikes precise and deadly. He parries Zoro’s moves with ease, barely breaking a sweat. For the first time today, Zoro faces someone who might actually pose a threat. He’s forced to retreat, narrowly dodging a strike that grazes his side.
But Zoro’s grin widens, his eyes lighting up with pure, animalistic joy. He’s finally been given a real challenge. Sanji watches Zoro’s entire demeanor shift. He goes back into full carnage mode, driven solely by the thrill of destruction. Strategy? Overrated. Thought? Gone. All that’s left is bloodlust.
It’s sickening, how recklessly Zoro surrenders to his own primal urges without a second thought. The sight makes his stomach tighten, his jaw clench—not in fear, but in something darker, something more primal. A need to break. A need to control.
Sanji works his way through the rest of the deck. A Devil Fruit user charges at him, his body crackling as he vanishes into mist. The officer reappears behind him, slashing with a jagged blade. But Sanji’s leg snaps back with lightning speed, kicking the weapon from his hand as he lands softly. Without hesitation, his leg strikes again, whipping out like a lash and sending the officer flying through the air.
The officer disappears into mist again, but Sanji doesn’t falter. He tracks the shifting form with Haki. As the Marine reappears, Sanji’s foot is already in the air, driving the officer’s body into the ground with bone-crushing force.
Where Zoro is chaos, Sanji is discipline. Both lethal in their own ways—though unlike Zoro, Sanji fights with intent, each strike clean and precise, no room for playing around. Control is both his partner and his weapon; it’s his lifeline.
And yet, every time he watches Zoro fight, he feels the pull. Unlike Zoro, who embraces his savagery without hesitation, Sanji fears his own. Beneath his measured exterior, he knows the darkness inside him—the Vinsmoke genes. The superhuman powers forced upon him, powers he doesn’t fully understand. Powers he fears will consume him if ever unleashed. Control isn’t just a choice for Sanji; it’s his only shield against the monster lurking within.
Sanji let’s his Haki sweep over the ship, quickly assessing the remaining Marines. He stands motionless for a moment, watching as their numbers dwindle—most of them scrambling onto the third Marine ship, which is already preparing to flee. For a second, he considers letting them go.
"You suffer a stroke or something?" Zoro’s strained voice cuts through the chaos. He’s still locked in a brutal clash with the Marine, sparing only a fleeting glance at Sanji. The officer is clearly trying to keep them occupied to give his subordinates a chance to retreat safely.
"You think I’m going to chase down fleeing Marines like some animal?" Sanji snaps back.
"Maybe you should—wouldn’t kill you to loosen up for once, damn control freak," Zoro taunts. He’s clearly enjoying himself— reveling in the thrill of battle, focused only on the kill.
Zoro presses forward now, Haki blazing off him and the Marine officer like an inferno, making it nearly impossible to keep up. But amid the chaos, Sanji catches a flicker of movement—a Marine sneaking up behind Zoro, sword poised to strike. Fucking coward. No way was he letting anyone get stabbed in the back—even if it’s Zoro. Without a second thought, Sanji launches himself forward, his kick landing square in the attacker’s chest, sending the Marine hurtling into the ocean. The splash barely registers amidst the chaos.
Sanji lands lightly beside Zoro, who doesn’t so much as flinch. Apparently, the idiot had expected him to handle it—noticed the threat and just trusted Sanji to save his ass. Irritation sparks as Sanji glares at him. “Letting loose almost got you killed, dumbass.”
And then, in the next heart-racing moment, everything erupts at once.
Zoro’s blade finally breaks through the Marine officer’s defense. The strike is swift and merciless, cleaving through the man with terrifying precision. Blood sprays in an arc, catching the light like a grotesque ribbon, but Zoro in his frenzy doesn’t stop. He swings again, slicing the officer clean in two. His manic grin grows even wider as the blood rains down, drenching the deck in crimson as the officer’s remains collapse into a mangled heap of gore and shattered bone.
Sanji is caught in the middle of it. Before he can react, the sticky warmth pours down on him, seeping into his clothes and smearing across skin. Standing there, drenched in gore, all he can feel is the blistering heat of his rage. His breath catches as his eyes lock onto Zoro. And there it is again—that grin. Feral. Savage. Ecstatic. It’s the last thing Sanji sees before something inside him snaps. His mind goes blank with fury. Now, Zoro’s crossed the final line.
Sanji’s hands move before his mind can stop them—his fucking hands. Hands he swore he’d never use like this. Not to fight. Not to harm. But now, burning with rage, they’re around Zoro’s throat, gripping like a vice. His entire ethos shattered in an instant.
It happens so fast Zoro doesn’t see it coming. One second, the bastard is grinning like the bloodthirsty madman he is, riding the high of his victory. The next, Sanji’s hand is around his throat, ripping the air from his lungs. Zoro’s eyes widen in shock, but it’s already too late.
Sanji’s knuckles are white as the world narrows to the crushing pressure beneath his hands and the life struggling beneath them. His fingers dig into flesh with brutal force, slowly tightening around Zoro’s windpipe. Zoro gasps, desperate for air, but it’s like trying to breathe through a wall of steel. His pulse pounds violently, a frantic rhythm that only spurs Sanji on.
There’s no mercy in him—only raw, unbridled rage, as he hauls Zoro higher off the ground. His inhuman strength still feels foreign to himself. A strained, desperate sound escapes Zoro’s throat, and for a twisted moment, Sanji revels in the absolute control he holds over him.
“Told you, you mutt” Sanji spits, his voice dripping venom. “One day, you’d bite the wrong fucking person.” Each word a promise of pain. He doesn’t wait for a response—not that Zoro could give one with his airway crushed.
With a brutal motion, Sanji slams him into the shattered remains of the captain’s cabin. The impact shakes the entire ship, the shattered wood splintering in every direction. Zoro’s body hits the wall with a sickening crunch, but Sanji’s grip doesn’t loosen.
His eyes are cold, void of any trace of the man who usually keeps his temper in check. There’s no restraint left. The monster within him has clawed its way to the surface. And for once, he doesn’t care.
“Speak!” Sanji growls, his voice trembling with fury. The Marine officer's blood clings to his skin, mixing with sweat, and for the first time, he feels like the monster Judge always wanted him to be. He’s truly become Stealth Black, inside and out. Worse, he’s starting to like it, starting to understand why letting loose feels so damn good.
“You’re good with your hands, I’ll give you that,” Zoro pants, gasping for air, clearly stunned by the inhuman force behind Sanji’s grip. “But if you want to test them against me, we can skip the foreplay.”
With a defiant grunt, Zoro lets his swords fall and lunges for the hand at his throat. But Sanji is faster. In one swift motion, he grabs Zoro’s arm mid-swing, pinning it above his head. His body presses Zoro firmly against the splintered wood, his leg sliding between Zoro’s to lock him in place. "Careful what you wish for, Marimo," he growls.
Blood from the officer’s body drips from Sanji’s hair onto Zoro’s face, sliding down his cheek, tracing his jaw, and dripping from his chin. It feels like the blood itself is claiming him, marking him in a way no battle wound ever could. It reaches Zoro’s lips and he parts his mouth slightly as if to catch the drops. Sanji can’t tell if it’s intentional or instinctive, but then Zoro’s tongue slides out, almost obscenely slow, licking the blood away. He savors it, keeping his eyes fixed on Sanji—and something deep inside him twists.
Sanji’s gaze drops to Zoro’s lips, a mix of irritation and fascination tightening in his chest. He swallows hard, studying Zoro’s face, searching for answers - and his expression shifts, subtle but enough for Sanji to notice. He watches how Zoro’s breath becomes shallow and his eyes darken with an insatiable hunger. His pupils widen, his mind seemingly go blank behind them. The tension in his body fades, the fight draining out of him. In its place, something else stirs—a hidden part of Zoro awakening. In his eyes, Sanji catches a flicker of acceptance. A flicker of surrender.
He hadn’t expected it, but now he can’t look away either. It’s clear as day—Zoro reacts to blood, or maybe just the sight of Sanji drenched in it. Either way, Sanji realizes with satisfaction, he’s found a weak spot. One he can use.
"Interesting," he smirks predatorily, easing the pressure on Zoro’s throat slightly. Against his leg, Zoro’s cock stirs. Sanji presses in further, and a soft moan escapes Zoro’s lips. He can feel the restraint in Zoro’s body, fighting the desperate urge to grind into him.
"You need help cleaning that?" Zoro asks, his voice a low rasp. There’s something feral in the way he looks at Sanji. Raw with want, desire pouring from him like a desperate, silent demand. Zoro’s gaze, dark and hungry, says it all—he needs this.
In a moment of clarity, Sanji lets his Haki sweep over the ship for a moment, but the only sounds he detects are the soft creak of the timbers and the distant rhythm of the waves. Corpses still litter the deck, but the third battleship is gone. The Marines had fled. They were alone. Perfect.
Sanji moves his bloodstained hand slowly from Zoro’s throat, sliding upward with deliberate pressure. His palm forces Zoro’s chin higher, tilting his head back, pressing his skull harder into the splintered wood.
Zoro swallows, his lips parting slightly. He’s trembling on the edge, not daring to move —almost begging for more, holding back from taking it, waiting for Sanji to give him what he craves.
And Sanji does.
He slides the bloodstained tips of his fingers into Zoro’s mouth, prying it open. His fingers glide over Zoro’s tongue, grazing the back of his throat until the swordsman chokes on them. The sound is raw and desperate and Sanji feels the surge of power settle in his chest—every inch of control now belongs to him.
Zoro makes good on his promise, his tongue working desperately to clean every drop of blood from Sanji’s fingers. Spit drips messily from the corners of Zoro’s lips, trailing down his chin in a glistening streak. He gags faintly, his breath coming in ragged pants. Pliant and obedient, he offers himself fully.
Zoro is hard as a rock now. Sanji can feel the outline of his cock pressed against his thigh. He’s desperate for relief, seeking any form of friction, even through the seam of his own pants.
With a condescending smirk, Sanji pulls back his hand and gives Zoro’s cheek a mocking pat. The wet smack of saliva and blood hangs in the air as he inspects his fingers. “You’ll have to do better than that. Get down!”
Zoro doesn’t hesitate, dropping to his knees with fluid grace, as if this is exactly where he belongs. He doesn’t need to be told twice—not for this. Yet in his eyes, Sanji sees the inner conflict—the battle between what Zoro desires and his demand to hold himself above everyone else, especially Sanji. How long before Zoro cracks? How much further will he go debasing himself?
Sanji studies him, satisfaction blooming in his chest. At last, he’s found a way to make Zoro heel. Zoro needs this—needs him—to break not just his body, but his mind. He feels a thrill pulse through him, his cock twitching with excitement as he savors every moment of grinding Zoro’s pride into the dirt.
For the sheer enjoyment of it, Sanji slaps Zoro across the face. He holds back the force, but it’s enough to unsteady him. Zoro’s head jerks to the side, his mouth hanging open, tongue lolling out as he inhales sharply. His eyes remain downcast, but Sanji sees the muscles in his body tense, even shuddering. Yet Zoro doesn’t resist.
“This is for ruining my new suit,” Sanji hisses, taking a step closer.
Zoro’s erection is clearly visible now. Sanji raises his blood-stained leather shoe, to press it firmly against the bulge. Zoro whines through clenched teeth, his body trembling as he fights to stay silent. A desperate sound escapes his throat, raw and needy. His hips push up into the pressure, craving more—anything that Sanji is willing to give.
Flushed with arousal, his cock swells, thick and heavy. Sanji can’t hide how turned on he is right now. Already halfway hard, he resists the urge to stroke himself to fullness. Instead, he palms himself through his pants, rolling his hips into the pressure. The fabric feels cold and sticky where blood and gore have seeped in.
With his free hand, he grips a fistful of Zoro’s hair, yanking his head forward and pressing it firmly against his crotch. “Now, clean up your mess, you fucking dog.”
For a moment, they stay like this—frozen. It lasts only a second, but to Sanji, it feels like an eternity. All he can hear is the rush of blood in his ears, as if time itself has stopped.
Then Zoro starts to move, doing exactly as he was told. His mouth works over the fabric of Sanji’s pants, tracing the outline of his cock. He follows the length of the shaft, his tongue lapping at the blood-soaked hem, where rusty stains of dried blood mark the fabric. Pressed against Sanji’s crotch, a muffled moan escapes Zoro as he sucks the mixture of saliva and blood into his mouth, swallowing it without hesitation.
Sanji closes his eyes and lets his head fall back, loosening his grip on Zoro’s hair to stroke through it instead. “Yeah, just like that—I knew this is what you wanted,” he hums, his voice dripping with satisfaction. This—having Zoro on the ground, obedient and debased—feels too good.
Sanji’s foot remains pressed firmly against Zoro’s lap, where his erection strains obviously against his pants—it looks painfully uncomfortable. Naturally, Sanji presses down even harder.
Zoro half-grunts, half-moans at the sharp spike of pain. His hands twitch, hovering as if tempted to reach for the tip of Sanji’s shoe. He yanks Zoro’s head back harshly, forcing him to arch backward, exposing his throat. “Don’t touch me until I give you permission. Hands behind your back,” he commands.
Zoro hisses at the sting of Sanji’s grip in his hair but obeys reluctantly, crossing his arms behind his back. His gaze remains fixed on Sanji—a silent invitation to push him further, to take even more.
Sanji moves to undo the button of his pants, slipping his hand inside and pulling his cock free. It hangs heavy between his legs, flushed red and aching, a bead of precome gathering at the tip. “Open up,” he hisses, pressing the head of his cock against Zoro’s lips.
Zoro’s mouth parts as he leans forward, his tongue flicking out to trail slowly up the underside of Sanji’s length. He presses his tongue flat, dragging his mouth from base to tip with teasing motions.
It doesn’t take long for Sanji’s patience to wear thin. With a sharp thrust of his hips, he pushes forward, his fingers tightening in Zoro’s hair. He begins to move, brutally fucking into Zoro’s mouth.
Drool spills from the corner of Zoro’s mouth, sliding down his chin as his tongue lolls out, letting himself be used. Sanji builds up to an unforgiving pace, his cock driving deeper with each thrust. Wet, obscene noises fill the air as Zoro’s throat works to take him, drool dripping onto his chest and sliding down his stomach. His eyes water, his nose runs, but he doesn’t pull away—doesn’t even try.
Zoro was beautiful like this. The perfect heat wrapped around Sanji’s cock, surrendering because he craved it more than dominance.
The sight pleases Sanji enough for his fingers to soften on his hair. Zoro moans around him, the vibration sending a delicious pulse straight to Sanji’s cock. The sound turns needy, almost blissful, as he leans into the touch, humming under Sanji’s fingers like a starved animal finally being fed.
“Look at you,” Sanji says, his tone sharp and mocking. “Is this what you wanted all along? Is that why you keep trying to piss me off—so I’ll ‘punish’ you the way you need to be punished?”
Zoro doesn’t answer with words. Instead, he presses his head further against Sanji’s cock, spreading his legs wider at the same time. His hips roll forward, grinding himself against Sanji’s shoe still resting in his lap. His breathing is ragged, coming in harsh pants through his mouth. His thighs tremble as he struggles to keep control.
Sanji watches him unravel. He flexes his foot slightly, just enough to tease but not enough to give Zoro what he craves. The swordsman twitches in response, hips canting forward. He rubs himself shamelessly against Sanji’s leg, sliding up and down like some frantic, needy teenager.
Sanji steadies the pressure for a moment, then increases it deliberately, just to watch Zoro squirm. “Pathetic,” he purrs clearly as he drinks in the sight of Zoro surrendering to his control.
Shifting his weight, Zoro spreads his thighs even wider, grinding faster and faster at Sanji’s leg. Sanji swallows hard, suppressing a moan. He braces himself against Zoro’s movements, giving him more friction to work with.
Sanji grips the back of Zoro’s head and thrusts deep, holding him there. Zoro’s eyes roll back, his throat convulsing as he gags around Sanji’s cock, struggling to breathe. But Sanji doesn’t relent—he can’t.
Any restraint he might have had shatters as he gives in completely. Without a second thought—without a shred of mercy—he drives into Zoro’s mouth, harder and faster, lost in the heat of it. Zoro doesn’t pull away; instead, he leans into it, taking Sanji deeper with every thrust, his submission only spurring Sanji on.
Zoro keeps grinding against Sanji’s leg, the dampness of his precum soaking through the fabric of their pants. His movements are frantic, desperate, as he sucks hard and tight, letting Sanji rut deeper into his mouth.
Zoro’s throat spasms as he gags around Sanji’s cock, his body trembling with the effort. “Fuck—shit, I’m gonna come,” Sanji groans, his knees threatening to buckle.
Zoro moans around his cock – the vibrations shooting straight through Sanji, and it’s enough to push him over the edge. He spills his seed down Zoro’s throat with a shuddering groan, riding out the aftershocks of his high against Zoro’s face.
Moments later, Zoro slumps against him, his body going slack as he comes in his pants, rutting helplessly against Sanji’s leg. His cum seeps through his clothes, leaving him trembling and spent, breath ragged in the aftermath.
They remain tangled together for a moment, catching their breath in the awkwardness of their positions. Eventually, Sanji pulls back, and Zoro slumps forward, rasping as he coughs and spits a mouthful of drool onto the floor.
Post-nut clarity hits as Zoro shifts back onto his knees, his body trembling slightly from exhaustion. They lock eyes, their chests heaving, neither saying a word as they try to come down. The silence between them is deafening, heavy with the weight of what just happened.
Half of Sanji’s release clings to Zoro’s flushed face, glistening in the sun, while the rest remains visible on his tongue as he pants.
Somehow, Sanji has figured out exactly what the Deamon of the East craves deep down—not someone who demands his obedience, but someone who makes him want to obey.
Zoro’s face is unreadable, showing not a hint of shame for what just happened. Slowly, he closes his mouth, making a deliberate show of swirling Sanji’s cum around his tongue. Then, with a smirk, he rises to his feet and swallows the rest as if it were the most exquisite dessert the cook had ever prepared for him.
“Thank you for the meal, cook,” Zoro grins, as if entirely untouched by what just transpired between them. The shift is immediate, like flipping a switch. Sanji feels the control he held over Zoro slip through his fingers like sand.
For a moment, Sanji had tasted power—a way to leash the beast. He had turned Zoro’s bloodlust against him - used it as a weakness. But the control was fleeting, never sustainable. Sanji realizes that now.
Zoro’s grin sharpens into something wolfish, his eyes gleaming. “Next time,” he says, voice dripping with promise, “I’ll prepare one for you.”
Zoro is, and always will be, the predator. Using his bloodlust against him is only a short-lived victory, a delay until Zoro inevitably takes what he wants. Even now, after everything, he’s still hunting Sanji, still testing him, still trying to make him submit.
As he watches Zoro turn around, gather his swords and casually wipe them clean with his bandana, Sanji feels a fresh wave of irritation settle in his chest.
He grits his teeth, his mind racing. He knows now that his dominance hinges on one thing only: never fully giving in. If he surrenders, even for a second, Zoro will consume him whole. This is how he’ll ensure to stay on top. Sanji will never give Zoro what he truly craves. He’ll keep the predator at bay, by ensuring Zoro never fully catches the prey.
His fingers twitch with unease—he needs a smoke. Damn that bastard if his little stunt had gotten his cigarettes wet. In that case, he’ll actually rip Zoro to shreds.