Chapter Text
When Zoro wakes, he wakes to the agony of his flesh fighting to keep itself together. He wakes to the agony of the mark Mihawk left across his chest and across his soul. He wakes to pain that easily rivals every injury he’s ever taken with pride.
He inhales sharply, his hand pressing to the bandages covering his chest to splint the wound. Pained gasps even out to slow, careful, measured breaths. Nami’s room is dark, the moonlight just barely streaming in through the small windows. They’re set to reach the Conomi Islands by afternoon, and Zoro has no plans to sleep on her bed again. For the night, though, he might as well take advantage. Leaning back against the pillow, he closes his eyes once more, ready to let sleep take him over once more.
The sound of footsteps in the room makes him jerk, summoning the energy to throw himself out of bed.
“Calm down, moss-head.” He hears, a smirk audible in the blond’s words.
Zoro’s lip curls, eyes narrowing. “Bringing me a midnight snack, waiter?”
“Something like that.” Sanji returns, stunning Zoro into silence as he pulls a chair close. He passes Zoro a large bowl, pleasantly warm to the touch and filled with broth. The cook sits in his chair, one ankle folding over his thigh as he brings his own mug of tea to his lips and takes a drink.
Zoro looks down into the bowl, udon noodles floating in the broth, just hot enough for steam to warm his face and neck. He takes hold of the chirirenge, testing the broth.
He’s annoyed at just how delicious it really is. Fucking cook.
“I have three secret weapons when it comes to healing.” Sanji says after a few minutes, interrupting Zoro’s sounds of slurping and moaning. Zoro raises an eyebrow, sparing him a single glance before returning to his meal. If the cost for udon was listening to the jackass talk, it was a price he was willing to pay. This time.
“This one is the easiest.” He says, smiling against his tea, holding the mug against his bottom lip. “Soups. Bone broth is best. Ginger and turmeric do wonders if you can sneak them in. Helps with inflammation, helps prevent infection. Collagen and protein help heal injuries, help you recover faster.” Sanji begins to gaze off through the window, his mind seemingly miles away. “Most people aren’t too hungry when they get slashed in half. If you don’t got the stomach for a full dinner, drinking your nutrients down is your best bet.”
“You don’t need to worry about that when Luffy gets himself hurt.” Zoro replies, the comfort of the meal lightening his mood enough to joke.
“Guess I don’t.” He laughs, eyes unfocused. Zoro pauses, looking him over. He looks as tired as Zoro himself feels. Probably missing his old man, Zoro thinks, recalling the tearful goodbye as they sailed further and further from the floating restaurant.
“What are your other secret weapons?” Zoro asks, less out of curiosity and more out of fear the blond would burst into tears again. On a good day, Zoro isn’t the one to comfort others. On a day where he’s been ripped in half, the idea is laughable.
“You think you’re gonna need them?” Sanji asks with a smirk, something eager in his eyes that Zoro couldn’t quite decipher. Zoro takes the bait easily.
“Nah, just curious if you can cook anything better than some boring ass noodles.”
“When did I say all my secret weapons are meals?”
Zoro’s reply catches in his throat, unable to look away from Sanji’s flirtatious grin. Something about the way Sanji’s visible eye catches his own makes something hot and dangerous twist in his abdomen. His eyes focus on the damn cook’s mouth, not even blinking as something between his lips catches the moonlight. He seems to twist his tongue in his mouth, teeth closing around a tiny silver ball.
Zoro isn’t entirely sure he’s able to form a sentence right now.
“Figured that’s the only thing your hands are good for.” He says, proud of the insult he managed to return, but the stupid blond doesn’t even flinch.
“I don’t use my hands for fighting.” Sanji’s grin is deadly, flicking the piece of hair out of his eyes as his gaze turns predatory. Zoro’s so tightly wound that he flinches as Sanji kicks one heel up on the unstable bed, ropes creaking as it gently swings. Sanji uses his heel to still the swing, long leg extended and his shoe close enough to press into Zoro’s hip. He swallows thickly, eyes flicking between Sanji’s mouth and heel. “And you look like a man who fucks like you fight.”
“And what does that look like?” Zoro returns, but there’s no fight in his words, no real anger. He wants to believe that it’s the blood loss from earlier in that day that’s making his head spin, but he can feel his cock already stirring in interest.
With a soft laugh, Sanji finally stands, setting the empty mug in his now vacated seat. He steps close to Zoro, reaches towards his lap and grabs the empty bowl still held in both of Zoro’s hands. Sanji turns once more, setting the dish onto the seat before straightening and moving closer to Zoro.
A hand reaches out, combing softly through the hair on the nape of his neck, fingers sliding down until they’re pressing into the sore muscles of Zoro’s neck in a gentle massage. Zoro’s eyes close, restraining another moan from leaving his lips. After a few seconds, he feels Sonja’s hand carefully touch the bandages on his chest. Zoro realizes belatedly that Sanji is pushing him to lay back down, his touch more of a suggestion than an order, and Zoro allows it, head falling back against the pillow.
The fingers on his chest trace gently over the bandages, ghosting over bare skin in a way that makes goosebumps cover his abdomen.
“You look like you could use a hand.” Zoro swallows thickly, caught off guard at the way Sanji speaks, nothing unkind or taunting in his tone. The hand on his abdomen lowers, fingers feather light across the front of his pants before Sanji sets the warmth of his palm against the top of Zoro’s thigh. “I-“ The first time tonight Zoro’s seen anything close to hesitation in the man’s eyes.
“I could lend a hand.”
A thrill runs through Zoro’s spine, and he can feel the thumping of his heart in his ears and against his throat. It’s an offer, a question even without the tone. Zoro’s confident that he could say no, and the blond above him would only smile and nod, picking up the dishes and disappearing into the night. He knows, really knows, that he could end the night here and go back to sleep, and wake up as if none of this happened at all.
And he knows, really knows, that isn’t what he wants.
“Yes.”
Sanji’s other hand moves to Zoro’s abdomen once more, fingers spanning out as if preparing himself to hold Zoro down, and every nerve lights off at once in pleasure. The blond’s right hand slides up, pressing his palm against Zoro’s hardness, drawing an instant moan from the swordsman. “I was really hoping you’d say that.”
Blood rushing to his cock, Zoro’s only able to respond with a soft, pleasured grunt.