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Warm sunlight beamed through the window of the small hotel room Sanji was staying at in the Sabaody Archipelago and reflected off the small mirror hanging on the wall. It bathed his smooth, pale skin in gold, glittering on the fine hairs of his upper thighs and stomach.
It had been a little over two years since he’d had the time to really get a good look at himself in the mirror, to examine every dip and curve of his own body. He’d certainly grown up, lost the little bit of boyishness he still had when he left the Baratie, but that didn’t mean he’d filled out. He’d simply grown up, as one does.
Sanji’s quads flexed as he turned to get a different angle of himself in the mirror. His thighs were thicker, but very obviously from muscle. It wasn’t a grotesque bulk, but lean and efficient, an amount that suggested functionality over aesthetic.
Sanji turned to the side, gazing over his left shoulder. His glutes had also, apparently, become more defined and rounded.
His abdomen too, though defined, was less thick and boxy than Marimo’s had ever been. More appropriate for maintaining stability during kicks and stuff. And other stuff. His pectorals and arms weren’t as developed as the muscles in his legs, he didn’t fight with them nearly as much.
Sanji’s eyes followed the new soft angles of his body. He’d never been particularly masculine, Judge made a point of that years ago, but now the disparity between him and real men was clear. The new thickness in his legs and nipped in waist created the illusion of curves, almost feminine in a way. Slim arms, soft, pink nipples added to the illusion.
Earlier this morning, he’d been out on the town, browsing shops, enjoying the peace of the Archipelago. He purchased several items that he spread out on the bed next to him. Three women’s panties. A baby pink thong with little bows on the hips, a lemon yellow panty with a lace trim, and a bright green thong with a small flower embroidered on the front.
Tossed to the side lay the gift box the lady at the sales register had wrapped the panties in, along with the purple ribbon she’d tied the box with. She’d asked Sanji if he knew his girlfriend’s favorite color. His girlfriend, you know, the one he was buying the panties for.
His hand brushed the bedspread next to where he had neatly arranged the undergarments and let his fingers curl and grip the fabric of the sheets. He’d already bought the underwear, it should not be this hard to pick one and put it on, dammit.
Yes, Sanji knew that he spent the last two years in nothing but dresses and skirts. He rolled his eyes, grumbling at the memory. But this was his choice, his own statement of who he is inside. He could do whatever he wanted, he’s a free man now.
“Pick one and put it on, dumbass, it’s not that hard,” Sanji whispered, soft enough for only himself to hear.
A soft whine escaped from the back of his throat, and he grit his teeth. He squeezed his eyes shut and reached for the pink one.
Sanji brushed the coarse blond hair trailing down from his belly button and further down to his soft cock. Gently, he slipped his long legs through the holes of the delicate lace garment. He pulled it over his knees and carefully worked it over his upper thighs, laying the straps to rest just above his hips.
He pulled the front down to fit his balls. It was a bit too snug in the crotch and loose in the waist, clearly not meant to accommodate a body like his. He pulled the straps a bit higher and let the thong rest between his asscheeks.
It felt nice.
He took a small breath and straightened his back. He looked in the mirror.
The underwear was pretty.
But was Sanji pretty in the panties? Dainty little baby pink bows lay just above where his sharp hip bones jutted from under his skin. Fine lace stretched around his cock and ass, letting coarse blond hair stick out around the edges. Long, hairy, legs stuck out underneath, clearly belonging to a man.
The toilet flushed in the bathroom and the sink ran.
Sanji leapt across the room, reaching for the soft sweatpants he brought to the hotel, nearly tripping over his own feet as he yanked each leg through the holes.
The bathroom door opened. Callused hands were wrapping a towel around a heavily muscled waist. Bright green hair and three golden earrings still damp from a shower.
“Took you long enough, Marimo.”
The edges of Zoro’s lips perked up and his remaining eye crinkled. There was a warmth in his eye when Zoro looked at him that Sanji had never noticed before.
“Wouldn’t have taken so long if you’d aimed away from the hair.” Zoro snarked, tone lacking the bite it usually kept. He opened his arms towards Sanji, inviting an embrace.
Sanji hesitated.
In Kamabakka Kingdom, Sanji told himself that it didn’t matter what he wore, there was no one there to judge him. He’d sooner die than let anyone on his crew see the frilly dresses and sharp stilettos he’d been forced to wear. Decked in lace and floral prints day in and day out.
Now, he’d chosen to wear the underwear for himself, hidden under his pants.
The guilt of keeping anything at all hidden from Zoro was crushing, making him positively miserable.
“Wouldn’t have had to aim if you’d let go when I told you, you brute.” Sanji’s fingers fiddled with the drawstrings of his pants as he leaned into Zoro’s chest, letting the other man wrap his muscular arms around him and card his fingers through blond hair.
“What’s this?” Sanji looked up. Zoro’s hand rested on the bed sheets next to the yellow and green panties. His brows furrowed as he squinted, an expression of confusion on a face Sanji hadn’t seen in a long time.
“It’s nothing, ‘s stupid” Sanji whispered, bowing his head into the crook of Zoro’s neck to hide the hot blush building on his cheekbones.
It was shameful, trying to force himself into a role he didn’t belong in, a level of beauty, poise, value, that wasn’t designated for someone like him. A man. It’s like trying to hide the stench of rotting meat behind a veil of sweet perfume. It feels nice for a little while, but when the cloud of vapor falls, the shit is still there. The little pretty things make Sanji feel pretty, feel good, for a little while but it would neve last. Zoro would agree with him.
There was only one opinion that mattered to Sanji, other than his own. It was Zoro’s.
He’d never tell Zoro.
Sanji could feel Zoro thumbing the trim of lace peeking out from above his waistband on his back. His breath caught in his throat, diaphragm spasming.
He stiffened in the embrace, quads coiling in preparation to run far far away from whatever their little mess of a situation had grown to become in the last few hours.
“I don’t think it’s stupid.”