Chapter Text
Sanji had often daydreamed about a declaration of love—the romantic he was at heart always saw himself as the prince in those daydreams, striding up to his lady love, down on one knee, before sweeping her off her feet. These daydreams however did not include being on the receiving end of such a declaration that was thrown down with the grace of a rotting fish hitting the deck. What was worse was who it had come from: the stupid fucking swordsman.
It had to be a joke, there was no way that Zoro could actually…feel that way. Sanji was, at times convinced that feelings were another thing Zoro had sacrificed for that stupid rock-hard body, amongst other things. When called out, all the man did was double down, reasserting what he'd said was true. That followed with a seemingly odd shift in behavior, from bullying Franky and Usopp into upgrading the dishwasher and other bits of the kitchen to lingering behind after meals while Sanji finished up for the day before he finally sat down for his own meal in the cook’s presence.
That evolved into almost inquisitive touches, with Zoro taking Sanji’s free hand and bending his fingers and wrist, as if to see how the man fit together. Then came the carefully applied pressure to his palms—the warm rough hands against his own, working to break up the knots accumulated due to years of kitchen work. Sanji had a hard time stifling the small moans that escaped and tucked his head down to hide his face as he offered up the other one.
There was something terrifying about the very concept that he might enjoy their moments. With few exceptions, Sanji had never had a good relationship with other men. His father and brothers had, after all, managed to instill the fears that liked to quietly fester along with the rest of his childhood memories. The fruits of Zoro's efforts seemed like a fundamental upheaval of the identity Sanji had forged himself.
Sanji couldn’t deny now that he found himself no longer just looking at the two absolute goddesses they had aboard. His gaze now settled and lingered more and more on the asshole that had either truly fallen in love with him or had managed to muster up the remaining brain cells amongst the men on their ship to play one hell of a cruel prank. It’s why he stood in the dimly lit kitchen, plate in hand as he leaned against the counter, trying to hide the fact that his heart hammered in his chest.
“The girls didn’t finish their bedtime dessert. I have a slice left if you’d like it?”
The offer itself was a simple slice of lemon chiffon cake, layers expertly filled with glazed fruit and a sweet yet zesty frosting. Sanji had memorized all the crew's dislikes and likes for food and it was often much much easier to hide the much-needed vitamin C within sweets or more savory dishes. Much more than just a leftover though, it was a peace offering, his way of saying he wanted to try whatever the hell was going on.
“Here.” Carefully, he took a small slice out of it with a fork, keeping his back against the counter as he held it, “I know you generally don’t like sweet things, but it can’t go to waste.”
For Zoro it was…different. A little strange. Not bad though. —to try and push a little more every day, trying to see what did and didn’t work. In a way, chasing…no, handling? Not quite. The point was doing extra for their cook that the other didn’t need to. And each day, he tried a little more.
They could have all held onto their normal lives and moved along after his confession hit like a rogue wave. Zoro hadn’t expected it to go anywhere. Honestly, it had just slipped out. The feeling had gnawed at him endlessly, taunting him until he reached his limit and stopped to take stock of things. What was he focusing on? Was it physical—something he could touch? Or was it something incorporeal? In the end, he came to the understanding that so many of the little things Sanji did that bothered him weren’t really half as bad as he’d let himself believe.
It was the cook’s razor-sharp attention to detail and the lengths he went to see his plans to fruition that Zoro found himself admiring. The swordsman didn’t understand plating or why dishes had to look so fucking frilly, but when Sanji chose something, he chased a perfection only he could see. Each meal was a new ephemeral gift of color and taste. And while Zoro had rarely cared for these finer details—what should one care after all, how far the envelope of something was pushed past success? But when he found himself time, he stopped and began to watch.
He still didn’t understand the craft—but any skill learned and learned well was admirable. It was impossible to find a meal time shared where the crew wasn’t brought into even higher spirits by Sanji’s cooking.
He didn’t have to do it, but he did. And did it for them.
And for that, Sanji earned an extra helping of respect from Zoro.
But with that on the table, Zoro hadn’t realized he’d begun watching the other in earnest outside of little slips between and during meals. Passing each other on deck, he’d get lost in the man’s long, paced strides and watched him stretch, rolling his shoulders and wrists after a long period indoors. It was watching the other’s hands that really threatened to do Zoro in.
There were only so many times a person could poke their head into the kitchen, feigning to steal a snack, when he really just wanted to see the man prep. So after getting scolded and booted out one too many times, he resigned himself to watching the other twirling his cigarette, occasionally cupping his chin as he leaned into a table, speaking to another crew member.
And when Zoro realized what he was doing, well, it only frustrated him more.
Certainly, they were friends, even with their misgivings and shouting matches. And the moment anyone was threatened, the crew closed ranks quickly, and thinking back, Zoro could quickly count the times he’d done so in Sanji’s defense, swords drawn and teeth bared for the man, instead of against him.
He thought about the way Sanji primped, always doing his best to appear. To Zoro, a person who hadn’t met a hairbrush in literal weeks, the effort seemed useless. But again, when he stopped to take in the whole picture, when he stopped to really look…it made his throat tight.
Sanji was gorgeous.
Zoro understood pretty, understood the collection of traits that made others find others attractive. It wasn’t a difficult equation to solve. But Sanji, when he really looked, after watching for so long, the man took his breath away. And that was the moment he realized the fixation ran deeper than frustration. And once the revelation appeared to him, when someone laughed playfully, harmlessly taking a jab at the men’s mercurial friendship, Zoro corrected them matter-of-factly.
And though there had been fallout, Sanji, to his amazement, had come around. Sort of. Zoro never held any intent to make demands. Things were fine. Why change? But if Sanji wanted to try, Zoro would entertain the notion.
There was no pining for the future. Zoro wasn’t the type. But when Sanji agreed to try…that maybe, maybe a man instead of a woman wasn’t terrible…Zoro immediately set to drink in anything and everything offered.
Fighting he could handle. Fighting was easy. Yelling. Snipping. Bickering. Swords and shoe heels, steel versus fire. Childsplay.
Touching… Just to touch was so strikingly different.
It really began there, the effort.
Sanji acted so much differently when under the spotlight, as opposed to the ones he compulsively cast upon every attractive woman in sight. He tensed, sometimes deflecting. His gaze sometimes wouldn’t quite meet.
So Zoro stopped chasing it.
He announced his coming or going. He warned if he had to cross by too tightly. He asked for Sanji’s hands. At first, they were simple things, little internal pushes to hold something of the cook’s and feel his warmth. It was easy to go slowly when he could just take things touch by touch. One to the next. It was fine.
Then one day, as Sanji disappeared to and fro after dinner collecting plates, Zoro caught the exhaustion wearing on the other and it lit something fierce inside him. Sanji may be trying to expand his own horizons, but Zoro had just been spinning his own wheels, only taking.
The dishwasher addition came after that.
It…didn’t feel right though. Not quite. It neatly snipped off a shared burden of the entire crew. Sure, Sanji received some trickle-down in the end, but was it…good enough? No, that wasn’t the right phrasing. Rather, did he see the intention? Zoro buckled down. He’d do more.
And he did—each action became another small pebble in a slowly growing pile. Given the opportunity and consent, a moment of light touches turned into careful massage. The wash of relief alone that played across the other’s face was enough to keep Zoro’s face down, flushed even before Sanji began making any sounds.
Then he tried helping keep peace around mealtimes. He was great at wrangling their impatient captain and easily kept him out of Sanji’s way, and in turn, kept freshly-finished plates untouched until their cook was ready to serve.
And then…then he really slowed himself down. The first meal they shared together after all the others had filed out, Zoro had finished so quickly that he felt genuinely bad. While the accusation hadn’t been leveled at him that night, he’d heard it plenty of times before: “Did you even bother to taste that before swallowing?” So he tried. Started to take his time and mentally pick things apart. Cooking was more than taste, after all. It was the smells, the textures, and even the shitty displays Sanji made with…however the hell plating worked.
Hell, even today he’d gotten up extra early for a bath when normally he’d just wait another day or two. But now at the end of the day, tired in his own right, Zoro was ready for bed. He hadn’t seen Sanji since dinner, though he’d heard him in passing speaking to others. With no expectation to speak of, when Sanji had caught him on deck and beckoned him into the kitchen, Zoro honestly had no idea what to expect. Maybe the dishwasher was broken.
Well, in any case, the discovery of cake was a step up from anything else Zoro had imagined...
“Oh yeah? Thanks.”
Sanji was right. Sweets weren’t his thing. He thought twice about turning it down though. Sanji could have passed it off to anyone else or eaten it himself. But instead, it was for Zoro…
So, accepting the gift, he tried.
You started with a bite. Felt the way your teeth sunk in. Felt the initial texture before you started chewing.
His eyes widened noticeably. “Shit. It’s like—” He had no poetry and knew it. Calling the experience ‘like eating a cloud made of lemons, except the lemons are weak as hell, but that’s only working to its favor’ would likely fall extremely flat, especially with the way the girls gushed on and on about Sanji’s finished products. So he tried.
“This is really good.” It was genuine at least. “It’s uh—” He stopped only to stab his fork in again. It didn’t have the bounce of pound cake. “I thought the lemons would make it taste sharper, but it’s really smooth.” He didn’t have to force himself through any of it—the cake was delicious. Soft, just moist enough without being heavy. Even the icing and filling dispersed between each layer were light and enjoyable.
He caught himself once trying to strip icing off his fork like a walrus hungry for sealskin, but that he didn’t bother to hide.
Eventually though, there was nothing left to eat. With the empty plate in hand, he paused, not entirely sure how to express his gratitude. So he tried.
“I really enjoyed that. Not my usual fare, but I definitely wouldn’t mind it again.” The smile that followed wasn’t forced, rather, it snuck out on him, firming in place before he could think too much about it and try to downplay. The last thing he wanted to do was push something before Sanji was ready to move. “I appreciate it.” Then passing the plate back, he left.
For a moment there had been a breakthrough, an attempt that made Sanji’s chest tighten in a way he hadn’t expected. Yes, it was like watching a wild animal strip a kill down to the bone, but there was the appreciation that came with it—the attempt to understand in a way that was valued for its simplicity. Yet he should have known better and that warm pride quickly flared up into a simmering rage.
“You moron,” Sanji hissed. The plate hit the counter he had been up against as he quickly gave chase. This didn’t need to spill out on deck, which was why he wanted to keep things contained but…he wanted to scream as he grabbed for Zoro with enough force to yank him back.
“You’re not done, stupid,” he snipped, though was quick to bow his head slightly out of embarrassment as thoughts started to crash together in a way that was made them difficult to sort through. He grabbed for the man’s hands forcing them against his waist and the new sensation made him freeze.
A knot caught in his chest, fear made muscles tense and he tried to relax into the warmth of Zoro’s hands. “If you want to hold someone you need to do it like this.” The words sounded shaky and his heart hammered as he let a second of silence exist between them.
Maybe he was wrong, maybe it wasn’t a fucking joke at his expense. Maybe…maybe this would be okay and they could exist in this weird and new comfort that sat between them. Wrapping his arms around the other’s neck, Sanji leaned in closer. “I…should have known you’d be too fucking dense for this to be a joke…”
There wasn’t enough time to lodge a formal complaint. A startled shout—or a fractured piece of one unlodged itself from Zoro as Sanji clawed into the back of his shirt, and he stumbled into the wall as the other pushed into him, fitting their bodies together.
The knee-jerk temptation to yell and snap almost had him. Almost. It would have taken him, had he not caught the words that followed.
The jab at Zoro’s expense fell flat. Was he still supposed to take that bait when Sanji was… He swallowed thickly as everything stilled, Sanji included.
The moron still wouldn’t look at him, still doing that weird flinchy shit, but while he hadn’t voiced his needs per say, he’d at least made them known with action.
“Whether or not I want to hold you doesn’t mean shit unless I know you want to be held, cook.” That felt uncomfortable, given the context. Zoro’s hands withdrew after, but only because he disliked having a spot chosen for him like that. “I mean.” Hesitation reigned as his face flushed with heat, with the only relief given in that the other man wasn’t actually watching. “Sanji.”
Zoro’s chest rumbled as he cleared his throat, hands resettling on the arms that encircled him. “Glad you finally got around to telling me though.” His fingers caught the crests of Sanji’s shirtsleeves and took their own pause, holding position over wiry biceps. “I was uh. I was waiting for it. You. I mean.” His grip tightened, squeezing just enough to feel the flex of tension in the muscle.
Fuck, he wanted more.
…fuck, he had the permission to now, didn’t he? The flush in his cheeks darkened and for once is life, Zoro felt a streak of self-consciousness.
Neither of them were well versed in expressing anything to each other outside of insults, but this…this was good. And where once before Zoro had been willing to disengage at a moment’s notice…he didn’t want to let go here.
While not as broad as Zoro’s own, Sanji had stupidly nice shoulders. Every one of his stuffy dress shirts hung perfectly off them, and now getting his hands on them— A knot formed tightly in Zoro’s stomach. He started kneading, slowly, firmly down the other's back, a breath catching in his throat, fighting to figure out if he’d felt the other tremble or...
Shit, he wasn’t sure.
Before this snapshot in time—with his broad hands worn rough from his trade, he returned them to the mark Sanji had initially given them—Zoro had never entertained a future ‘they’ outside of a fanciful what-if scenario of bare bodies and his own frustrating competitive nature. Even if everything crashed and burned, what loss could there be outside a few nights of the panting heat of self-exploration? There…really wasn’t any.
But even if he could hypothetically satisfy if Sanji hypothetically was willing, the expanse between the intimacy of a bedroom and…and here… with hands Zoro had to force to keep from shaking—
The two events were lightyears apart. But honestly, thinking about it, that was fine.
Instead, what he knew was that of all the things he’d tried to dismiss, one solitary urge had suddenly lit him up inside like a flare, swallowing the stars in the inky night sky. He tucked his head down some, careful not to catch Sanji by the ear, though the temptation swiftly took hold, eating away at him as they stood there, quiet.
“Can I kiss your neck?”
Sanji found himself arching back into the sensation of being touched. It felt different—no longer the nearly clinical examinations of before, but there was a weight and heat to it that made his skin prickle. He groaned, eyes closing for a moment as the tension started to leave him.
“This…feels weird,” he murmured, a hitch slipping into his voice, “It’s not bad. It feels…nice, but weird.”
Sanji didn’t know how else to explain it, being pawed over in such a manner made his stomach twist up in a way he wasn’t familiar with. It was scary, a step towards something he'd never planned on escalating to this point. Yet he enjoyed it, with soft sounds escaping until the question posed knocked him into stunned silence.
Wait, kiss?!
His knee-jerk reaction was to recoil and deny. He had no intention after all of going past this, as Zoro pushed his buttons in far less enjoyable ways more often than not. There were also the issue with gender and… His own reasonings began to fall flat as he felt his own body shift of its own accord, his head tilting to the side to offer up his neck to the swordsman.
“Go ahead if you want it that badly,” he teased, hand going to rest on the back of Zoro’s head. “Please.”
For a moment, it felt like something had frozen for the worse. Sanji stiffened up, Zoro held a breath.
…then it all melted back. Placid permission coupled with Sanji’s fingers in his hair—it sent goosebumps all the way up. Zoro couldn’t abide quickly enough.
Maybe he jerked in too quickly, tightening his grip—an arm locked firmly around Sanji’s narrow waist—but over-eager for skin he’d not yet felt, the realization didn’t stop him from pushing on. Sanji wasn’t his: a survivable concept. He was however here, warm, open. Lips grazed what expanse Zoro could reach, no longer content to settle for brief glimpses of the man’s throat, too often obscured by his desire to overdress for every occasion. They pressed firmly and every inhale became a lingering swirl of the last vestiges of Sanji’s cigarette smoke and the gentle sweetness that carried over from earlier baking.
“Let me—” Teeth came, misjudged at first—too sharp to do anything but surprise, but he tried again, steadier and firmer, only long enough to leave a short-lived ache before returning to kiss the same spot. “Let m—” He groaned in frustration. With his back to the wall, no matter how he wrapped himself around the other, it felt like he was pushing Sanji away. Thoughts jumbled, it took another attempt before Zoro picked his own intent out and forged it into spoken word.
“If you want me to hold you,” he held and twisted, finally pinning Sanji. “—let me hold you.” Hands moved swiftly down Sanji’s back, catching underneath his thighs to effortlessly hike the man up, encouraging those damnably long legs to lock around his waist.
“I—” Was it okay? Was it alright? How the fuck was he supposed to know he crossed a line until he crossed it? He couldn’t even bring himself to hold his gaze to Sanji’s, partially from the embarrassment that came with fumbling, partially from how badly he wanted to be at the man’s throat again “I—Just tell me to stop. I’ll stop, okay?”
With the material of Sanji’s slacks taut across his ass, it occurred to Zoro that if he just slid his grip down just a little further...
No. No, nope, no. That was a wild possibility for another day. It had taken this long just for the asshole to ask to be held. To beg to be kissed. He— …Zoro found himself hovering, their noses touching. If he leaned just so… His teeth caught Sanji’s lower lip in a tentative, careful tug.
Then, “Fuck. I wanna kiss you.”
He invited himself that time.
Teeth against skin made Sanji shudder, but it was from the sheer pleasure of the sensation. Fingers tightened around what he could grasp of Zoro’s short hair, breath coming in short desperate gasps. He couldn’t think, his face flushed as he was lifted off the ground.
“Zoro…” Swooning—that was the only way to describe the dizziness in his head as the heat pounded in his chest, leaving his body limp. Still, Sanji managed to wrap his legs around Zoro’s waist and squeezed, almost delirious as a laugh tumbled out. He felt drunk, the words jumbling in his ears for a second. Someone had been teaching the swordsman manners, he was sure of it. Zoro wasn’t exactly one to be so…careful. It was the only way to describe it. It was endearing, almost charming that he could get something through that thick skull of his.
“Okay,” Sanji answered, though he was no longer sure which question he was replying to anymore, lips parting as he allowed himself to be kissed. It wasn’t graceful, not like he would imagine his first kiss to be. It was desperate and sloppy, with a deep hunger that seemed to speak volumes.
Again
Again
Kiss me again…
The words came out in short pants, legs tightening to ensure that Zoro could only pull away so far. “Fuck…” he swore and his head knocked back against the wall, leaving his throat exposed, “Keep going.”
There was no task too complicated, no challenge too insurmountable, no threat too daunting for Usopp the Great.
So of course when he’d bragged triumphantly that he’d finally cracked the Secret Code to Liberate the Amazing Snacks of the Tyrant-Cook’s Refrigerator, he'd been immediately volunteered by his eager and ever-hungry cohorts to prove his mettle and get some results.
Well, maybe he hadn’t entirely got it, but he was on the edge of a breakthrough! A hair’s breadth from true knowledge! ...not that it made any difference to the other boys, who chatted him out into the hall and waved farewell before sealing themselves back into their quarters, knowing full well that Sanji was still out prowling and the punishment for sneaking food could get…nasty.
For a while, the mighty hero stood there as he tried to formulate a way to break it easily to his companions that no, tonight was not the night for action…but then he realized Sanji couldn't possibly still be cleaning up. He had his dishwasher now—the most incredible technological spectacle of the kitchen ever manufactured!! There was no way he'd still be lurking around…sneaking…fangs bared, ready to jump on unsuspecting passersby…
No way.
So the champion of men hunched low and crept along with all the skill of an assassin, across the open deck, footsteps silent ascending the stairs on the opposite side.
There was a light still on, though dimmed, and aside from the gentle roll of the waves around the Sunny, the only other things Usopp could hear was the mechanical chugging of the dishwasher doing its best. So checking right, left, then right again, he ducked in, making quick behind the safety of the counter. Patting down his overalls, he plucked out notes, pouring over them to try and discern what the code actually was…
“Yesterday I could have sworn I saw him use a three, then a two,” he murmured, brows knitted, “—but last week I could have sworn the two came first, but then again—”
Hearing a groan, he froze, a hand clapped over his mouth. Terror coiled in his gut—with a sound like that…could it be zombies? Hoards of the undead from Thriller Bark, back for more? His knees quaked. He’d have to look eventually. Without knowing their numbers, how was he supposed to warn everyone else? Still, for his friends, anything was possible, so with dread in his gut, he managed to peek over the edge of the counter and—
Oh god! The humanity! Zoro was trying to subdue a zomb— Wait no, that was Sanji.
Oh god! Oh no! Sanji was a zombie attacking Zoro and— Waaaaaaait.
Usopp’s eyes narrowed. Though the kitchen was lit, it was scarcely better than the moonlight outside. As his eyes adjusted fully, he realized the truth of the matter.
Oh god! This was worse!! A million times worse! What a cruel mistress hunger was, blinding him to such a—uh…um. Well, it was certainly something. And with each passing moment, Sanji seemed intent on making himself just a little louder than the moment before.
Oh…oh boy.
But oh god! This was a disaster!! If he was caught, he’d be killed twice! Once for trying to break into the fridge and again and interrupting their— um…for lack of better terms, violent boy-kissing.
He ducked back down, hands shielded over the top of his head as he examined his options. He could lock himself in the pantry and cry until they both felt bad and apologized for scaring him (unlikely). He could try to bolt past through Chopper’s office and hope the two doors in between bought him time to slow them down and aid in his getaway (also unlikely, they were both faster). The third option…dashing out the way he came in—through the open doorway… That…was probably his best bet.
He coached himself—calm, deep breaths, don’t trip, stay low, don’t look back. You can do this. You’re amazing. The Unstoppable Usopp.
…and he disappeared unnoticed back into the night, silent as a still wind, naught but a shadow across the deck.
That was all well and good however, until Zoro flinched, his expression twisted in concern as the strikes of a closed fist pounding against wood stole him from his work darkening Sanji’s throat with red marks, his hands hot beneath the other’s shirt as short blunt nails held firm the lean curves of Sanji’s back.
A voice painted in panic and confusion rang out, practically a wail, shattering everything as the pounding returned.
“NAMI! NAMI, THEY’RE HUMPING!”
Usopp’s screaming cut through the haziness of Sanji’s thoughts like a bolt of lightning and he froze. Of course, the rest of the crew would be trying to be breaking into the stores because they never weren’t trying and of course, it had to be right fucking now when he was in the midst of…well. For once though, the sniper wasn’t lying, what with the position Sanji had been in, grinding eagerly against Zoro.
“Get off of me!” Sanji barked as his legs unwrapped—though there was definitely some protest as the jelly-like feeling crept into his knees. Anger and annoyance followed as he maneuvered away from Zoro.
Embarrassment was not the way to describe it. There was no shame, which surprised Sanji to no end. Instead, there was simply the annoyance that always came with the rest of the crew deciding that being a thief was better than asking or waiting.
“A rat saw us…” Sanji snapped as he lit a cigarette. Taking a sharp deep inhale, his exhale came just as harsh. Damn it, he’d really been enjoying himself and now this bullshit— “I’m gonna have to change the fucking locks again.”
In the dim lighting, the smoke trailed upwards, each exhale adding to the haziness. “Zoro, for the record, I don’t want to stop. That was…I liked it. I wanna try again.” Though it was a shy one, Sanji did offer him a smile as he let himself out, “I’ll see you in the morning.”