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Napping came easy to Zoro. He could pass out in the most uncomfortable places and still get halfway decent sleep if he was undisturbed.
But something about the newest addition to their crew irritated him to the point that even just the cook's presence was enough to keep him from fully dozing off.
It was the middle of a beautiful sunny day, and by all rights Zoro should've had the men's cabin to himself. The cook should've been fishing or prepping or anything else besides standing in front of the mirror muttering to himself.
"Oi."
Sanji flinched at the sudden noise, dropping whatever he had been fidgeting with on the floor. He scowled as he picked up what looked like a straight razor, slapping it back onto the counter next to the wash basin. "Shit mosshead, thought you were sleeping."
"Can't sleep with how loud you're being. Go have a crisis elsewhere."
"Oh, piss off." He didn't rise to the bait, mind still preoccupied.
Not that Zoro really cared, but he was a little curious as to what the shit cook was up to. "Planning to shave your stupid beard? You should hurry up before it grows longer."
"I'll shave your fucking head if you keep bothering me." Sanji threatened with the razor. He held it like a knife, grip inexperienced and sloppy. If he tried to shave like that he'd only succeed in cutting himself.
None of that was Zoro's problem though, so he flipped him the bird and rolled over to try to sleep again. The mental image of Sanji with a botched shave and little cuts all over was funny enough to keep his mouth shut.
But a few more muffled curses and the clang of metal against the porcelain bowl scared off any remaining sleepiness. If he was to get a nap in before dinner, Sanji would have to go.
"If you can't use it, why bother owning one?" He rolled to face his annoyance again.
"For your information it's Usopp's. And I'm trying to concentrate here." Sanji glared at him through the mirror, face wet and still fuzzy.
"What, didn't think to bring your own razor?"
"I did." He snapped, the blade of the razor too close to his throat for comfort. "Luffy stepped on it. Now please shut the fuck up."
Zoro knew the cook could handle a blade, he was surprisingly competent at his job. But a kitchen knife and a straight razor were two different tools, and his captain would be upset if Sanji did something stupid like actually get hurt.
"I'll do it for you if it means you'll get out sooner."
"What."
"Gimme the razor." Zoro stood confidently and held out his hand for it, only to be pushed away.
"No way in hell I'm letting you shave me, moss ball. You'd cut me on purpose!"
His irritation reached its peak. Never would he cut his namaka, no matter how much he disliked them, not with something so insulting as a razor.
Zoro grabbed his wrist, expression cold as he watched the cook squirm. "I won't cut you. Give me the blade."
Sanji's face flipped between rage and disbelief, but he relented. There was a sort of shame in his eyes as he sat on the little bench screwed into the wall next to the sink. For someone so proud, it made sense that he'd think his inexperience was weakness.
Thumbing the blade's edge, Zoro scoffed. He quickly grabbed his own razor from his bunk and tossed Usopp's dull, unkempt one on the sniper's bed. A sharp razor meant a clean, safe shave.
"Thought you'd know what a dull blade felt like, shitty cook."
"Hey, I thought it was meant to be like that!" He flushed at the call out, bangs falling in front of his eyes.
Zoro grabbed the bar of fancy smelling soap sitting on the counter and dunked it into the water already in the basin. "Lather before you shave. Makes it easier."
He grabbed Sanji by the jaw and smeared it unceremoniously over his face and neck, ignoring the furious noises he got in return.
Unsure what to do with his hands, the cook took out a cigarette and tapped it nervously against the bench. His gray eyes locked onto the blade now in Zoro's hand.
"Don't make me bald, you hear?"
"Yeah yeah, I know how you like to look. Now stop talking unless you wanna eat soap."
Before Zoro joined up with Luffy, his only social interactions were with other pirate hunters. They were solitary animals, but on the rare occasions he teamed up, he found skinship to be a common trait. Men who didn't prefer company but still indulged when it was offered.
His captain was also an incredibly tactile person, so Zoro's threshold for contact grew to the point that he was no longer phased by the lack of personal space on the Going Merry.
He saw nothing unusual in the way he kicked Sanji's knees apart to make room for his own legs, or the grip he had on the back of the cook's neck to control the positioning. It was just easier.
At least, that's what he thought until he noticed that Sanji seemed to be struggling with the amount of touching. His face was cherry red, the muscles in his neck twitching every time Zoro moved.
"I already said I'm not gonna cut you, stop fucking fidgeting so much."
"Stop manhandling me and maybe I'll sit still!" Sanji's discomfort was clear in his voice, and it made Zoro wonder if he was used to being touched at all.
"This isn't manhandling, this is normal for a shave."
"Know a lot of men who shave other men, do you?"
"Barbers."
" Die ." Sanji gripped the edge of the bench with one hand, the other still tapping an uneven rhythm with his cigarette.
He shut up though, and Zoro finally was able to bring the blade to his face without worrying about the cook jumping and getting cut. He made quick work of the stubble around that shitty goatee, leaving it alone despite the urge to just swipe it clean off.
Sometimes Zoro was nice.
Rinsing the razor off in the basin, he wiped it on his shirt and pressed the edge to the bottom of Sanji's chin. He made slow, careful movements down the cook's neck, trying to get as clean a shave as possible.
Zoro crowded in closer, tilting Sanji's head and accidentally brushing his thumb over his pulse point. The racing heartbeat made him pause, but something in the way those gray eyes watched kept him from saying anything about it.
The cigarette fell to the floor and rolled away, seemingly unnoticed by its owner, who was too busy studying every inch of Zoro's face. His expression was one of consideration, as though he hadn't seen him up close until now.
If Zoro was the sort to flirt he'd offer a berry for the cook's thoughts.
As much as it pained him to admit, Sanji was attractive. Not pretty or soft like a woman, though he kept up on his hygiene like one. Sanji was masculine like whiskey was masculine, sleek and refined with enough of a bite to be worthwhile. He carried himself with confidence. He fought like a man possessed.
Zoro wasn't blind or celibate, as much as the crew liked to insinuate.
He liked a competent partner. Didn't matter what was in their pants or their experience level if they could give him a run for his money in a fight. The fight was half the fun. As such, he didn't often fall into bed with others.
Sanji was irritating, shameless with women, and exactly his type.
Indulgence for the sake of indulgence made a man weak, spoiled. Zoro drank like a drunkard and enjoyed leisure, but he worked harder for it. Fun was to be had after the job was done and not a moment sooner.
It said a lot about him that he now considered touching Sanji an indulgence.
"Done." Zoro wiped the blade clean one last time and snapped it shut.
The cook let out a breath the moment he stepped back, tense shoulders finally relaxing. Pride bubbled in his chest at the fact that he had such an effect on him, though he kept his face blank. He waited silently as Sanji washed away the rest of the soap and toweled off, inspecting the shave closely in the mirror.
His hand slid down his throat, rubbing appreciatively across the smooth skin, and Zoro's mouth went dry.
"It's not terrible." Sanji said begrudgingly, glancing at him in the reflection. The red flush was going away, with it went his timidness. He looked good and he knew it.
Zoro didn't bother with the small talk and ambled back to his bunk, pulling the now wet shirt over his head and onto the floor before he settled back down. He needed a new bottle of sake and a cold bath.
It took a few moments for the feeling of eyes on him to go away, and then the door clicked shut, signaling the cook's departure.
He waited till he was sure he was alone. Only then did Zoro allow himself to relive the images of Sanji under his hands, the feeling of the muscles in his thighs. The response from his touch. He huffed and scrubbed at his face, resigned to the fact that he wasn't getting that nap any time soon.
After dinner crew time was an unspoken rule. Everyone stayed above deck once the meal was cleaned up, joking and rough housing and generally just reveling in the company of others. Luffy was insistent that even if he was sleeping, Zoro was to be above deck too.
Truth be told, he didn't mind it. The shit cook served sake that went down like silk at dinner, and there wasn't enough afterwards to warrant storing it again. So Zoro had the rest of the bottle to himself.
It made his body warm, the pleasant buzz of alcohol in his blood like an old friend. Surrounded by new friends that he felt like he had known forever, Zoro was feeling personable for once. He had no desire to nap it away.
His eyes were drawn naturally to Sanji a few feet away, lounging against the rail with an arm around Nami. Not perversely, but nonchalant, hand on the wood instead of her waist. As though it took no effort to be close to her.
Sanji leaned down to hear what Luffy and Usopp were chatting away about, listening intently like it was the most important thing in the world. And it very well could've been, but Zoro wasn't processing a single word.
He was too busy watching Sanji. Because every so often, he'd lift his cigarette to his lips and leave it there, trailing the hand down his neck absentmindedly. Feeling at the shave Zoro gave him.
And Zoro couldn't help the filthy scenarios his mind offered up, or how the sake wasn't the only thing burning in his gut.
Until earlier that morning, he'd been sure Sanji only favored women. But the memory of the cook's gaze, the way his fingers twitched like he wanted to hold Zoro's legs, it was kerosene to a spark.
He had a possibility with someone who could kick him into the wall. Someone who might even be able to pin him down if he teased enough.
What the fuck was in that sake?