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When Luffy introduces Ace as his big brother, Sanji's first instinct is to be distrustful. His brothers were nearly as shitty as Judge, and while he can't imagine anyone knowing Luffy and discarding him that way, that doesn't mean that Ace isn't trouble. So he watches and waits for the other shoe to drop. Waits for something to snap and break and turn ugly. He keeps an eye out for flinches and forced smiles and anything that even hints at bad things lurking beneath the surface of Luffy's utter adoration for Ace.
He sees none of that. What he does see makes his chest feel hollow, because all of it is so achingly sincere. The way Luffy looks to Ace for approval and gets it, the gentle and fond way Ace teases him, the casual physical affection. All of it is real. Luffy chatters away about their adventures and the beetle he found in the boys' room and everything in between and Sanji has to turn away because it makes something inside him ache.
He wonders what exactly was so wrong with him that he didn't get to have something like that.
He can feel Ace's eyes on his back as he scrubs the dishes, heat creeping up his neck like mercury in the old meat thermometer at the Baratie. There's something about him, something about his freckles and quicksilver eyes, that makes Sanji weak at the knees in a way he associates firmly with beautiful women.
"Want some help with that?" he asks in that thick drawl that makes Sanji shiver. Luffy has the same accent, he realizes, though much fainter than Ace's. "I know my brother ain't the best with chores 'n shit like that."
"No, no," Sanji waves him off, "You're a guest."
"Hey, it's the least I can do to thank you for takin' care of my handful of a brother," Ace argues, on his feet and at the sink before Sanji can get a word out.
He's taller than Sanji by at least an inch and the muscles in his back and shoulders are on full display, freckles dotting his skin. It takes Sanji a minute to get his mouth working. "I-" he tries, stuttering slightly. "If you you insist."
Ace hums, a low sound that Sanji feels in his bones. His face heats up for some ungodly reason when Ace holds out a hand. "I can dry, if you want?"
"Yes," Sanji say, the word expelling itself from his mouth like a gunshot. "Yes, that works. The towels are..." He trails off, fascinated, as Ace uses his fire to dry the dishes.
There's a careful sense of control that's almost more impressive than the wholesale destruction he wrought earlier. His hands are nimble and his fingers clever, glowing like skin stretched taught in front of lantern-light. His freckles stand out like negative-image stars, the hair on his arms flashing red-brown-gold. Sanji is staring. He knows he is. He can't help it, not when faced with something like this.
"See something you like?" The question startles him out of his ogling, and he flushes a deep red at the smirk on Ace's face when he turns his head to look him in the eyes.
Sanji looks away, flustered. He's not supposed to look, not at men and certainly not at his captain's brother of all people. His hands flex and he plunges them into the dirty dishwater just to give himself something to hold onto.
Ace is at his shoulder now, not touching but close enough that Sanji can feel the heat emanating off of him. "Luffy doesn't care," Ace starts, "He doesn't care about that type of thing. He never has."
Sanji is very focused on scrubbing the plate in his hand. "I'm not sure what you mean," he says, biting off the urge to hide and hide and hide.
Ace looks at him, long and measured, leaning forward with his forearms resting on the lip of the sink. "Nah, I think you know exactly what I'm talkin' about." There are faint scars under his pecs, and Sanji knows what they mean. He just doesn't feel like grappling with it right now.
Because here's the thing he'll never say: he's afraid. He's always been afraid, afraid of bugs and starving and the man who is not and will never be his father and Zeff dying while he's so far away and a million other things but especially he's afraid of Luffy one day deciding that he doesn't want him around.
He hesitates, setting the plate back in the water with a faint clink of glass against china. "And if I do know what you're talking about?"
Ace grins. "Then I'd say that you're easy on the eyes, darlin'."
Sanji sputters, face burning at the compliment. "I- Well, I guess- Thank you?" he finally decides on, voice cracking embarrassingly. "Really, I'm nothing special."
Something passes over Ace's face, a shadow so quick Sanji swears he imagines it. "I beg to differ," he says, moving so he can put a hand on Sanji's hip. "I think you're real fuckin' pretty, and it's a damn shame no one ever told you so."
The air leaves his lungs in a rush. Pretty. That's a word for women, for the ladies he flirts with any chance he gets. Not for him, never for him. But it wraps around him like a blanket, settles on his shoulders and makes something in his chest ache. Pretty, pretty, pretty.
Ace cocks his head, a slight quirk of his lips making something fizz in Sanji's gut. "Listen, I like you. I think you're somethin' special. Hell, ya hafta be, keepin' up with my brother's appetite. And I think you're pretty. So if you want, I'm offerin'. If you don't, no harm done. We can forget I said anythin' and do the dishes."
His hand is warm even through Sanji's slacks and abruptly Sanji wants. He grabs Ace by the shoulders and kisses him, clumsy and afraid but wanting all the same. Ace hums against his mouth, a smile curving into place even as Sanji tries to pry his way inside. The hands on his waist make him feel held and secure and small.
"I've never done this before," he admits, small and secretive against Ace's lips. "I didn't think I was... interested." Even now, pressed flush against Ace and with his tongue practically down his throat he can't quite admit to himself what exactly he means.
"In kissin' in general or kissin' men?" Ace asks, moving to mouth at his jaw in a way that makes Sanji's knees almost buckle.
"Well-" he gasps as teeth graze his pulse point, "I definitely enjoy kissing. I just didn't think I enjoyed men. Don't leave anything where someone can see," he adds breathlessly.
"'Course," Ace murmurs, teeth teasing and tongue soothing.
Sanji's breath is coming quick and his heart is pounding when he tugs on Ace's hair to bring him back up into a kiss that's a lot messier that their first. There's a hint of stubble on Ace's jawline and it burns pleasantly, dizzingly. He threads his fingers through his hair and tries to do what he does when he kisses women. The concept is the same, but the sensory differences are overwhelming. No tits, for one (he resolutely does not think about Ace with tits because that's rude and also something that makes his head spin a bit), and Ace's arms and shoulders are more muscular than any woman he's been with. He feels caged in in a good way, a way that makes his gut curl and fizz.
There's a thud just outside the door and Sanji instinctively pushes Ace away, fear electric and cold in his blood. The animal fear of don't get caught, don't let them see makes him dizzy. His chest heaves. Ace's hand moves to circle his wrist, light and comforting.
Sanji rakes a hand through his hair, "I'm sorry, I just-" He swallows, picking at his sleeves before fumbling with a cigarette. He doesn't even light it, just chews on it to have something to do with his mouth. "I've never done that before."
"It's fine," Ace says, hand still around his wrist. "Shit like this is confusing. I get it." He's smiling, and when Sanji searches his face he finds no hurt or offense there. "Let me help you finish up the dishes?"
Sanji smiles, his heart no longer going rabbit-quick. "Thank you."
(Later, when Sanji is stuck in a place that forces him to confront all the parts of himself that he's shoved in a closet in the back of his mind where they never see the light of day, he'll remember this. And when he sees the headline something inside him will crack just a little bit. He feels cheated, and guilty about it because he never had Ace to begin with. He never got the chance, and now he never will.)