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Every step Sanji took, he wanted to die.
Every step he took, gods, he felt alive.
It was strange, odd, uncomfortable, glorious, his mate's arm around his shoulders, all burly muscle, tucking Sanji under impressive biceps and up against just-as-impressive obliques. God, fuck. You'd think Zoro was an alpha to look at him on a normal day, but like this, white tank taut over his fucking muscles under a well-cut pieced leather jacket, you'd have to get a good, close whiff to think anything else. With his hand curled around Sanji's arm, a little platform on his boots while Sanji walked in thin, soft-soled shoes that didn't make a sound, let him feel every pebble so his steps had to be gentle, that just reinforced the illusion. Zoro, broad, head high as always - could he have walked any other way if he tried? - dripping confidence, exuding well-earned ego. And his lover, Sanji, so much narrower, several inches shorter with their carefully chosen shoes, head a little ducked as he smoked through a slim little black filter. Zoro in his black fatigue pants, as usual, all room everywhere like he needed it as much as any alpha his size might; Sanji in slim-cut, narrow-crotched pants like he didn't. He shifted his hips, feeling the snug fit of the pseudo-chastity device buckled snugly over his bulge, keeping him flat, making him look small, ensuring he couldn't pop a tent no matter what happened.
And god, if he hadn't been wearing it, he'd have been straining the seams on his pants already.
Zoro squeezed his arm, tight, a little note of warning for him, and an obvious grip to any observer, with how those knotted hands flexed. Sanji glanced up at him past the rim of his narrow oval sunglasses. Zoro made eye contact, looked up across the street, then turned his eyes back forward. Sanji turned his head, half his body, working not to be subtle, and caught a look at a little pack of older teenagers, shitty thugs, eyeing him up - eyeing him up, him, between covetous glances up at Zoro's everything. The blond turned scarlet, turning back to burrow in against Zoro's side.
"Holy shit. Holy shit, those alphas buy it."
"Yeah they do," Zoro purred, rubbing his skinny arm through his tailored jacket, a trim white one that only made him look skinnier, slimmer, smaller, and holy shit he practically felt those teens' eyes on his ass as they kept on down the block. Zoro turned his head just enough to murmur his words across the top of Sanji's ear. "You look good, cook. Little and trim and cute."
Sanji bit down hard on the plastic of the filter, trying to muffle the high noise strangling in the back of his throat.
"I think I'm gonna have a fucking heart attack."
"Good thing I'm here to give you mouth to mouth, cutie."
Sanji thwapped Zoro's chest.
Softly. Weakly. Zoro's eyebrows actually rose. God, his cock was furious at him right now, aching to proclaim just how much all this was doing for him.
"Dinner for two?"
Sanji jumped. He hadn't even realized they'd reached the little diner already.
"That's right," Zoro rumbled.
"Booth or table?"
Zoro's hand tightened, pressing Sanji close to his side. Sanji glanced away from the hostess, away and down, hiding behind the little cover his sunglasses could provide. "Booth," the swordsman's rumble proclaimed.
The hostess giggled behind her stack of menus. Sanji felt his heart hammering right against his ribs.
"Just one bench~?" she queried. Sanji could hear her lovely wink, didn't dare look up to see it. Zoro's fingers rolled a soothing press along Sanji's arm.
"That should be fine. And we'll only need the one menu." He dropped a kiss in Sanji's hair, and the cook thought he was going to die of shame and elation in the same fucking stroke. "I'll be ordering for my mate."
"Cute," the hostess breathed, and Sanji melted right against Zoro's side. He was cute. Not just to the mosshead - to a stranger, a lovely lady who smelled to be an omega herself. It was only a moment later he felt the grin pulling at the corners of his own mouth. They were a cute couple. He was cute.