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It was flexibility, a manoeuvre like that; just as importantly, it was strength, and it was control. It was all the things he wanted for himself, and that it was so neatly tucked into that wiry body, deceptively thin and pale, continually brought his thoughts up short.
It made him jealous.
And, he admitted reluctantly, it made him horny. But that hadn't come until later, until they'd escaped the water, had left behind them Vivi and the desert heat, had returned to the Going Merry. Zoro hadn't been able to get the image out of his mind, Sanji standing on one foot, hands in his pockets, his back perfectly straight as he lifted the other foot over his head. Lifted, not kicked; he'd needed no momentum to get his foot there and he'd held it there with no effort. Flexibility, strength, control. Beautiful.
"—to make sure it ends up in the barrel, see? And then we—hey, Zoro, you listenin' to me?" Luffy waved a hand to get his attention. Zoro focused on him.
"Do I ever?"
"You better," Luffy said, and flashed a trademark grin. "Don't wanna hafta pull rank on you again."
"Right." Zoro looked up at the cloudless sky, stretched his arms above him and tucked his hands once again behind his head.
"You been distracted for a while now," Luffy went on, quieter. "What's up?"
"Nothin'." He closed his eyes against the sunshine.
Luffy was about to speak again when the kitchen door opened. "Lunch," Sanji said quietly, "is ready." He vanished once more into the kitchen. Luffy jumped up and scampered after him, and the rest of the crew followed. Zoro stretched, stood, made his way to the kitchen, and was the last one to sit down.
Sanji had laid out an appealing cold lunch—sandwiches and salad, cut fruit and cold drinks. Though there was a space at the table for him, Sanji did not sit; arms folded, he leaned against the counter and smoked a cigarette while he watched the others eat. As soon as the table lacked anything, Sanji was there to replenish it.
Zoro sat at Luffy's right and ate a sandwich, thoughtful. He liked bread crusts on sandwiches, but Sanji always cut them away. As far as Zoro knew, no one had ever said anything to Sanji about it one way or another. He wondered what Sanji would say, if he asked for bread crusts.
But he did not ask, only ate what was put before him.
The rest of the crew ate and, as they finished, excused themselves, until only Zoro and Luffy and Nami were at the table. Sanji began to wash the dishes.
"We'll be close to an island this evening," Nami said. "There's a fair-sized town there, as I recall. Maybe we can stop and get some supplies."
"Good idea," Luffy nodded. "Sanji, d'you need to get food?"
"Wouldn't hurt," Sanji replied over his shoulder.
Two sets of dark eyes settled on Zoro, burned holes into his forehead, and he was forced to look up. "What?" he growled. Luffy shrugged, returned his attention to the remainder of his lunch. Nami rested her chin on her hands and continued to watch Zoro, her expression unreadable.
"Everything all right?" she wondered.
"What do you care?" Zoro shot back.
"I'm nosy," she told him. "And it bugs the hell out of you when I know what's wrong with you. So I like to know."
Zoro got to his feet and without a word left the kitchen. He heard Luffy say something to Nami, and she laughed in reply. Zoro ground his teeth, stomped across the deck to find a sunny spot in which to sleep.
Luffy woke him some time later; the sun was setting, and they had reached the island Nami had mentioned at lunch. In the town that lined the island's coast, the lights were already coming on, one by one. "You comin' into town with us?" Luffy asked, as Zoro helped him to tie the caravel securely.
"Prob'ly not," Zoro said.
"How come?"
"No money." He straightened, hitched his trousers, shrugged.
"You can still go into town," Luffy told him.
"Yeah, have fun." Zoro waved dismissively, stuck his hands into his pockets, watched the others disappear from sight as they made their way into town. It was true that he had no money; but money wasn't the reason he didn't want to go. He simply didn't feel like drinking alone tonight. Zoro crossed the deck to sit with his back against the mast, and once more fell asleep.
He dreamed it all over again—the helplessness, the hopelessness, the knowledge that he was going to die before he had attained his goal. Worse, that he was going to die unable to fight his enemy, going to die unable to do a single thing for himself or for the others in the cage with him.
And then—
He shuddered and woke; Zoro blinked, startled by the gleam of a lantern in his face. His vision cleared; Sanji was crouched in front of him. "Want somethin' to eat?" Sanji said softly. Zoro's stomach fluttered, his brain turned to slush. He was sure his hands were shaking, but he didn't dare check.
"Yeah, maybe," he admitted. "Thought you were goin' into town."
"Did," Sanji said. "I'm back."
Zoro frowned. "That was fast. You get what you need?"
"Made half a dozen trips right past you, carryin' it all on board. You slept through it." Sanji stood with the lantern, slid his free hand into his pocket and headed up to the kitchen. Zoro looked down at his own hands, scowled, made fists with them and then straightened them out again. They were steady.
He followed Sanji up the stairs.
While Sanji cooked dinner for them both, Zoro worked his way through two bottles of very nice wine. Neither of them spoke. It had been like this, awkward and silent and weird, ever since that day—
Sanji crossed the room and paused in front of the wine rack. He touched a few bottles, finally chose one; he moved to perch on the edge of the table, and watched Zoro intently while he uncorked the bottle. "How much do you gotta drink," he wondered aloud, "before you actually get drunk?"
"Dunno," Zoro admitted. "Never got to that stage."
"Mm." Sanji worked the cork free, sniffed it, eyed the contents of the bottle. "Let's see if we can get you there tonight." Sanji handed him the bottle, slid off the table and returned to his cooking. Zoro drank.
Sanji began to set food on the table, and Zoro sat up straighter. Some of it was food that Zoro had never seen before, certainly food that Sanji had never served the crew before. While Zoro's mouth watered, Sanji made his way once more to the wine rack, chose another bottle and opened it; he poured some into a glass for himself and set the bottle on the table. "Eat," Sanji commanded, as he sat down.
Zoro obeyed. Across the table, Sanji ate steadily, neatly, his manners impeccable even though they were alone. Since he rarely took his meals with them, the rest of the crew joked that Sanji in fact never ate, and that this was how he kept himself so thin; but Zoro had seen Sanji pack away enough food for two men or more, on more than one occasion. He just burned it all away, with his nerves all high-strung like that—
Sanji looked up at him, swallowed a mouthful, and glared. "Is it good?" he asked.
"It's great," Zoro assured him honestly.
"Then eat it, and stop lookin' at me." Zoro's cheeks grew hot, and they finished eating in relative silence. Sanji cleared the table, rinsed the dishes, left them in the sink. Zoro tilted his wine bottle back and drained it. Sanji had opened yet another bottle, and now he poured himself another glass, pushed the bottle across the table. Zoro watched him; Sanji returned the look over the rim of his glass. "You're starin' at me again," he said.
"No law against lookin'," Zoro returned.
"You want somethin'," Sanji told him quietly, "you just gotta ask." He finished his wine, rested his chin on one hand, his one green eye fixed on Zoro's face.
Zoro took a deep breath. "You haven't even talked to me since we got back," he ventured.
"You haven't said shit to me," Sanji countered.
He squirmed. "Hasn't been much time," he began.
"You always know where I am," Sanji said sharply. "I don't change my fuckin' routine." He sat up suddenly, whipped out a cigarette and lit it, blew the smoke toward the ceiling. "Like I said, all you gotta do is ask."
Zoro folded his arms, defiant. "Why don't you ask?"
"That ain't part of my routine." They stared one another down a minute.
"I'm gonna get some sleep," Zoro said crossly, and stood to go.
"Are you," Sanji said coldly, "sayin' no to me?"
Zoro paused and looked down at him. You didn't ask, he was about to say, when the better, smarter part of him made him look in the direction of the sink. He sucked on his bottom lip a moment, eyeing the dishes that sat there, rinsed and ready to be washed. "No," he said softly. "No, I'm not."
He lay stiffly, his eyes squeezed shut; it was easier, this way, to keep himself distanced.
Who the fuck do you think you're fooling?
They always took on Zeff's voice, those sensible thoughts in his head that told him where and how he was messing up his life. It comforted him, in a way.
You haven't been distant with this idiot in months.
"I have so," he snapped in return.
"Mm?" Zoro lifted his head and peered sleepily into Sanji's face.
"Nothin'," Sanji said, and petted Zoro's hair. "Just thinkin' out loud. Go back to sleep."
"Nn." Zoro stretched, head to toe like a cat, then twined his arms and legs around Sanji's body, relaxed, and was immediately asleep again. He couldn't possibly be comfortable, Sanji was sure, as it wasn't comfortable for Sanji. But this was how Zoro apparently liked to spend his post-coital time; he did it every time.
If you had a lick of sense in your dumb blond head, you'd just get comfortable yourself, and enjoy it .
Ah, but therein lay the problem; if he enjoyed it too much—
But he did enjoy it too much. It was probably just that Zoro was always available, always willing, always so damn happy to please; if they didn't see each other every day, sleep in the same room every night, fuck each other every chance they got, Sanji was sure it would never have turned out this way.
And what pisses you off most , Zeff said mildy, is that he doesn't do anything wrong, so you got no legitimate reason to stop.
Sanji opened his eyes, stared toward the ceiling.
He'd learned at a young age that he was a commodity that could be sold over and over; as it was, he also happened to enjoy it, very much. Zeff hadn't cared what Sanji did with the customers, as long as his activity didn't interfere with other customers, or with Baratie's schedule. Sanji had never been interested in any of those men personally; they were simply a means to an end, a pleasant way to spend some free time—a more pleasant way than jerking off, to relieve stress. And so it had only annoyed him when some of them had declared their love for him; they didn't know him, so how could they love him? One of them had even caused a scene in the dining room, had fallen at Sanji's feet and begged Sanji to leave Baratie with him. Once the man had been thrown overboard (and banned from the restaurant for life) Sanji's head had rung for a week with Zeff's curses and the several rapid kicks they had accompanied.
He stretched, yawned. Zoro shifted in his sleep, gave him room to move, and as soon as Sanji settled once more, Zoro wrapped possessive limbs around him again. Sanji sighed.
Then this idiot had come along, and they'd actually made a deal, because Sanji didn't want him getting attached: Sanji would never say no, and Zoro would never ask for anything more than a nice roll in the proverbial hay.
He's held up his end of the bargain , Zeff said smugly.
Sanji bit his tongue against a retort. Zoro had, in fact, kept his end of the deal, technically. He never had asked for more. But ever since that day Sanji had managed to get the crew out of the basement of Rain Dinners, he'd seen the look in Zoro's eyes that he'd seen all too many times, on too many men. He'd been ready to lash out, to accuse Zoro of breaking their deal; but instead of saying even a single word about it, Zoro had simply avoided him entirely for the last ten days. Ten days!
Of course Sanji was more than capable of tending to his own needs for the duration; but he shouldn't have to, not when he had a perfectly suitable swordsman living on the same ship.
He sighed, squirmed so his back was to Zoro; without waking, Zoro shifted to spoon behind him, his breath warm on Sanji's neck. There wasn't, in fact, a part of Zoro that wasn't warm. It was part of what Sanji didn't want to admit he liked about the idiot.
Which was mostly everything.
And when you find All Blue, you'll have to leave him behind.
But All Blue was just a myth, and he wouldn't find it. He'd been kicked out his home for nothing, by the one person who'd been in his life for any length of time, for the sake of a stupid fairy tale.
You don't believe that.
Ah, but he had to; it was the only way to keep himself from spiralling into dark depression, sometimes. Hope invariably led to disappointment, and big hopes led to bigger disappointment. Sanji kept himself sane by hoping for nothing. That way, if anything came along, he'd consider himself especially lucky.
Dubious logic.
But it worked. Or at least, it mostly worked.
He squeezed his eyes shut, ground his teeth, barely noticed Zoro sitting up behind him. "Hey, you cryin'?" Zoro wondered, his words slurred by sleep.
"No."
"Your head's leakin', then." Zoro swiped a thumb down over Sanji's eyelid. "What're you cryin' about?"
"Nothin'."
"C'mere." Zoro rolled him to his back, squirmed to lie atop him, rested his weight on his elbows and looked solemnly into Sanji's face, still half asleep. "I do somethin'?"
Sanji turned his head to the side. "No."
"C'mon, look at me," Zoro coaxed, and rubbed his cheek against Sanji's, kissed his jaw, tempting.
Did anyone else know what it was like to be kissed by Zoro? Probably, he mused. But probably not very many. Zoro wasn't free with his kisses, had in fact not kissed Sanji at all for a long time after they'd started fucking. He was surprisingly tender, when he kissed, his whole mouth warm and inviting, and he always tasted just a little of whatever he'd been drinking.
Sanji turned his head finally, looked up and opened his mouth just a little, to be kissed.
How many people had looked into Zoro's sleepy eyes like this? Most of the time Zoro was simply disinterested, his grey eyes expressionless; most of the rest of the time, his eyes were the same deadly steel colour of his blades. But when he was alone with Sanji, when he was relaxed and content, Zoro let his whole self show through his eyes, as easy to read as a child's book.
Sanji closed his eyes and turned his face away again. "Don't look at me that way," he said quietly.
"What, with my eyes?" Deprived of Sanji's mouth, Zoro continued to kiss Sanji's cheek, his ear, his neck.
"You fuckin' know what way," Sanji grumbled.
"I don't." Zoro's teeth closed suddenly on Sanji's skin, hard. Sanji knew better than to fight it; at least this one would be below the height of his collars. Zoro licked where he'd bitten, examined his work with obvious pleasure.
"We gotta get up," Sanji said, when Zoro was done.
Zoro sighed. "One day," he said, "we gotta get a hotel room."
Plannin' for the future already, Zeff laughed.
Sanji pushed at Zoro, and they both got up; together they put away the linens and folded the sofabed, rid the bedroom of any sign of what they'd been doing. They grabbed towels and their clothes and streaked to the bathroom for a quick shower. Sanji scrubbed Zoro's back for him, and then turned so Zoro could do the same for him. While Sanji dried himself and combed his hair, Zoro gave himself a perfunctory swipe with his towel and pulled on his clothes. Sanji was just starting to button his shirt when Zoro sighed.
"Hey," he said, a note of mild anxiety in his voice.
Sanji braced himself, turned to face him. "What?"
"I—" Zoro took a deep breath. "I like the crusts on my sandwiches," he blurted finally, and looked as though he expected to be shot for it.
"I know that," Sanji snapped, immeasurably relieved.
Zoro blinked, bewildered. "Then why d'you cut 'em off all the time?"
"I told you at the beginning," Sanji said, and tapped Zoro's chest with a finger for emphasis, "and I told you a million fuckin' times since—you want somethin', all you ever gotta do is ask. You never asked."
Zoro rolled his eyes. "Will you leave the crusts on my sandwiches?"
"Yes," Sanji said.
"Easy as that?"
"Yes."
Zoro shook his head, snorted. "Asshole." He slapped Sanji's hip, gently, and stepped away.
"Takes one to know one." Sanji finished buttoning his shirt, folded his towel and hung it properly. He opened the bathroom door, made his way to the deck with Zoro behind him. There they parted; Zoro climbed the mast for a nap in the crow's nest, and Sanji headed to the kitchen, where he made himself a cup of tea, retrieved the novel he had tucked atop the cupboard, and sat down to lose himself in fantasy.
Thus the rest of the crew found them, when they returned to the Going Merry.