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“What do you want, Sanji?”
Sanji stops, breathes. Luffy is above him— his shirt, unbuttoned, hangs down freely, the edges nearly touching Sanji’s own partially exposed chest. Luffy’s scar is on full display, a constant reminder of Sanji’s failure to protect his captain in a crucial moment— but he can’t focus on that right now. Instead, his eyes wander to the various bruises littering his captain’s skin. Some are fresher than others, splashes of purples and red, while others are fading away; even with so many, Sanji knows which ones he put there. He could never forget exactly where he struck his captain.
Luffy’s hands are planted firmly over Sanji’s wrists. Any other time, he’d have no problem with this; his captain always treated Sanji’s hands with the utmost respect. But, now, the pressure only makes him think of bracelets— heavy, metal, explosive — and it’s hard to breathe. It’s so hard to breathe, and Luffy is looking him straight in the face, staring down, waiting.
“I—“ Sanji starts, but stops just as quickly, because… What does he want? They’re the same words Luffy used before, back on the silent battlefield at dawn, when Sanji hadn’t gotten to express what he wanted for a long time. They’re meant to give him power, but— he can’t be that selfish again, not with Luffy, not now.
So he says, “I want whatever you want, Captain.” The words are easy. So much easier than being honest; though, they aren’t entirely untrue. Sanji always wants what Luffy wants. He’s wanted that from the moment he stepped on the ship.
Luffy stares at him, his round eyes intense as he gazes down into Sanji’s. The scrutiny makes the cook squirm, makes him want to look away— but he doesn’t. He keeps his eyes on his captain, even though it feels like the pressure is crushing him.
“Okay,” Luffy says, and for a moment Sanji thinks he will just leave it at that, but the world is not so kind to him. “What would make you feel better?”
Sanji’s caught off guard by the question, so much so that he can’t stop himself from letting a little questioning noise slip out.
Luffy cocks his head, his face still in that hard-to-read neutral expression. “I want you to feel good, Sanji,” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world— well, maybe it is, and Sanji’s just a fool. It wouldn’t be the first time. “Tell me how.”
Sanji tries to swallow, but it feels like his throat is closed. Breathing doesn’t come any easier than earlier; if anything, his chest is tighter, and Luffy’s hands on his wrists feel like steel.
Part of him wants Luffy to be rough with him, to hurt him. He deserves it, after what he’s done. He wants Luffy to crush his wrists in his iron grip, shatter the bone. He wants them to be equal—
But, therein lies the problem: in Luffy’s eyes, they’ve always been equal. Sanji knows Luffy doesn’t hold it against him, the terrible things he did. Luffy doesn’t want to hurt him back. Shame burns through Sanji’s entire body at his thoughts; he can’t drag his captain down into his need for self-punishment.
Sanji remembers what he was asked. What would make you feel better? As much as he deserves it, Sanji doesn’t think that being hurt is the answer to that question. Luffy certainly wouldn’t accept it, at least. So he thinks hard on it, because Luffy clearly isn’t going to give up, even if he lies again.
“Control,” Sanji finally settles on, choking out the word as though he’s ashamed. It’s something he hasn’t felt like he’s had for a long time. First a puppet of his father’s making, then a pawn in Big Mom’s game— he’s so tired of having no control, no power, he’s tired of his weakness and being made to do awful things. He wants to elaborate, to convey all this to Luffy, but—
Luffy doesn’t give him the chance. He swaps their positions, and, without Sanji really processing it, he’s looking down at his captain’s smiling face. Sanji looks at his own hands, palms flat on the mattress next to Luffy’s partially curled ones. He moves his hand to Luffy’s, briefly considering holding his wrist in the same way Luffy had his own, but instead he pushes his fingers into Luffy’s and intertwines their hands.
Moving slowly, Sanji leans down to kiss Luffy. It isn’t messy and wild like most of the kisses they share in the bedroom; rather, Sanji is gentle and careful and passionate, and Luffy matches his pace perfectly. When he was acting against his own will, Sanji had been brutal. Now— now, he has control, he has power — the power to be gentle. And, at this very moment, that’s all he wants to be with Luffy.
When they break apart, Luffy’s smile returns full force, and Sanji is reminded of just how little he understands his captain. It’s hard to wrap his head around why Luffy would go so far for him, why he doesn’t slap him like Nami did and tell him not to come back. Even now, Luffy is still trying to help him. It defies logic, to be honest.
But, then again, that’s just how Luffy is.
Sanji smiles back, a much more subdued smile, but one nonetheless. The tension from earlier is gone, and Sanji finds he can breathe without even realizing it. He leans down again and presses his forehead to his captain’s.
“Thanks, captain,” Sanji says softly, squeezing Luffy’s hands. “I missed you.”
Luffy laughs, squeezing back. “Missed you too, Sanji!”