Work Text:
He looked around the architecture- his steps loud on the cold floor as snowflurries howled and billowed outside the heavy walls and churchlike windows. The ceiling reached impossibly high- rafters hung and draped in silks and tapestry depicting stories ancient and divine. He glanced to the side, his voice calm- almost deadpan.
"I'd speak with the Wulfking, should he have me."
A scoff, and a figure stepped from the shadows to stomp past the visitor- a shock of auburn red hair tied tight at the back of his head as he called out in the auld north dialect spoken by the inner core of The Tribe. Another face seemed to fade into existence ahead of them, frowning grandly as birdlike eyes twitched and shivered as though restless in their sockets. They looked back, to this strange visitor who bore heavy steps but no sounds of breathing, and gave a sharp nod.
Thick tapestry curtains were hauled open with almost casual movements- the redhead's neck twitching from the barest hint of what seemed to be some kind of gill-slits as he watched this welcome intruder step forward.
"Shachi, Penguin- that is enough. You may leave us."
"...You sure, cap'n?"
"Always. He means us no harm."
Something like a throne, it was- wide enough for three men and padded with thick stitched cushions; the frame built of twisted steel and stolen oldwood; draped in furs and lit with soft firelight from the massive wall-hearths decorating the space.
"Good evening, Lord Vinsmoke. Whatever could bring you to the wilds?", laughed the man called The Wulfking. Narrow and solid; tan skin capped in scars like the snowdrifts that haunt around them outside the warm stone walls. He lounges with the ease of a sated predator- tonguing a too white tooth as he leans his head on his fist; the snowcat-pelt greatcoat gathered around him like a comfort, like armor.
"I've told you- call me Sanji, seeing as we are acquintances after a fashion."
"One day, perhaps."
He gets to his feet, hunter's cap set back upon the throne seat he vacated. Heeled boots click softly as he steps down from the low dais, the hem of his coat brushing over the floor as he approaches the visiting noble-of-sorts to stand chest to chest with him; tattoo to royal uniform. A winding thing, the decoration on his bared chest- bramblebranches made of black ink and scar tissue; a family sigil folded into a long standing threat- mistletoe branches and snowcat incisors and all manner of things to show the sign of a name nearly lost to history by now.
Trafalgar Law- Warlord of The Far North, the Wulfking of the Wastes and Captain of the Wild Tribe.
Holder of a devil's curse- the Ope-Ope no Mi; the Surgeon of Death, the Living Reaper.
"Now- What brings you to me, then? I have not seen you since the last Warlord's meeting."
Sanji looks down, and away- the telltale clickclickclack of his too sharp teeth gnawing at his metal half-mask's inset bit bar loud between them. Nervous; uncharacteristically so, and Law raises a dark eyebrow.
"...There has been. A strange progression."
"You are a man made of those, Lord Vinsmoke, why should this one be any different?"
"...I fear the modifications may be changing. I do not know if it is for the better or worse."
"I see.", acquiesced Law, raising an inkscarred hand, "...May I take a look?"
"I would not be here if I was not hoping for such a development."
"Fair enough."
The hum of static- the low thrum of air just before a lightning strike; the whisper of familiar commands more for the patient's benefit than the doctor's requirement. Law's free hand traces over the dark uniform, as if taking stock of something only he could see- when Sanji shuddered. The press of a thumb on the inside of the elbow pulled the shiver from the sullen noble and Law hummed in the back of his throat.
"I see."
"...It is only when I think of you, and your incessant need to touch.", snapped Sanji.
And Law laughed- something not many men could claim to be able to do over the man who stood before this self-made king.
This man, who was living madness- Sanji Vinsmoke.
A fellow Warlord; a Mercenary quarter-king in his own right. Stealth Black to the government; an uncatchable ghost, a haunt in the corners of business deals and taverns alike. The Masked Prince to those in the know; a man with fox's teeth and dehumanized eyes who wore scars so deep it didn't bear well to think about. The Warlord of the Unwanted Sea- a figure on a floating fortress bearing no marking, no loyalty, no sign of life until the target was inevitably swallowed; riddled with bullet holes, or worse- dragged deep down into the dim cells where no light can reach and tortured where God couldn't find them until the Vinsmoke got whatever it was he wanted.
Pray it wasn't entertainment.
"Can it be repaired, monsieur Trafalgar."
"Oh certainly.", Law said easily, almost bored, "...But I won't."
"And why NOT?!", snarled Sanji, before he ground his teeth together in annoyance, as he looked away to hide the worry in such pretty blue eyes.
"Because it is entertaining- to see a man normally colder than even myself be pursued by something so human and simple as a crush."
"How DARE you suggest such utter fucking NONSENSE."
"Methinks the mercenary doth protest too much."
"You... are despicable."
"And yet here you stand, cheeks pink and tongue stumbling in my presence as you fuss and fight. You leave much to be desired when it comes to the art of flirtation, kleine prinz."
"I hope that hell is cold when it welcomes its favorite son home.", growled Sanji, crossing his arms over his chest. The same sound of gnawing happens again; Law clicks his tongue and collapses the blue illumination around them. He flexes his fingers before reaching forward, relishing the rabbitlike jolt Sanji gives when he feels fingers fiddling with the buckle behind his head that holds his hard mask in place.
"The hell are you doing-!"
It loosens easily, and Law takes it with the same amused grin as a playground bully, "Wanted to see how far down that royal face your blush goes, Lord Vinsmoke."
"I have half a mind to kill you with God and your lackeys watching.", is the deadpan reply.
And again, Law laughs. He holds the mask by one strap over Sanji's head, leaning close enough to hiss by the royal's ear, "I dare you."
And then Law cough-grunts; grimacing slightly a the sharp strike to a bare chest; Sanji's knuckles like rebar and his reflexes fast as light, it seems. Law gives a nod, handing the mask back to his fellow Warlord and gently massaging what will no doubt end up a syrupy bruise by the next morning. Sanji glares down his nose at the Northern pirate before gloved hands tighten the buckle around his uniform's belt, letting it hang against his thigh.
"If you won't remove them- then can you help me learn to control them.", he asked easily.
Law stood straight, schooling his face stoic as he he tilted his head, "...What do you mean?"
"If you won't help repair this flaw, then help me mitigate it.", Sanji said with deadpan exasperation, "I cannot have this. What did you call it-"
"Crush."
"Yes, that- I cannot have it interfere with our business."
"It doesn't have to, Sanji.", Law said, a croon slipping into his words, "...Actually, it could be a net benefit, for the both of us."
"And how do you figure THAT, may I ask."
And then Law stood beside Sanji- arm going easily around the man's narrow waist to rest fingertips upon a firm hip, "Come with me, to my chambers- it will be... quite an involved discussion you see; and I'd prefer us both comfortable."
Sanji narrowed his eyes, "...I've never heard a heavier line of bullshit in my 42 years on this godforsaken planet. But. I'll play along- for now. But one misstep, Trafalgar..."
And there was a flickknife's blade tickling just under Law's well-kept scruffy chin.
"...And I'll have your head on my wall, and your teeth strung like pearls for my next dress uniform's trim, am I understood."
"Crystal, kleine prinz.", Law said coolly, "Now- allow me to escort you."
Sanji tucked the blade away, arms once more crossing over his chest as Law pressed him a little closer- silhouette to silhouette and they fell in step almost too easy and were swept away into the shadows and tapestries of the haunt of the Northern pirate...
Sanji had yet to notice the blush staining his cheeks, the rosy color trickling down his neck and up to his ears.
But Law noticed, and was eager to see how it tasted in the space over the frigid man's pulse.