Work Text:
Zoro surged forward, teeth clenching into the familiar hilt of Wado.
“Watch it, shitty cook!” he barked, blade clashing with the open jaws of a sea monster inches away from Sanji’s hand.
With a flick of his wrist, the lighter clicked closed, and Sanji, calm as ever, shoved it back into his pocket.
“I had it—” With a well-aimed kick, Sanji sent the creature screeching back into the dark water, “—under control, marimo.”
Zoro glared, chest heaving, as he watched Sanji exhale smoke like he hadn’t almost lost a hand to some overgrown sea worm.
“The hell you did!!” Zoro lashed out, knuckles whitening around his swords. “Or what, you don't care about your hands anymore?!”
“I said, I had it!”
“You were distracted!”
“I was—”
“If it's not women, it's those fucking cancer sticks!”
He didn’t mean to snap like that, not really, but fuck it. The image was still vivid in his mind, Sanji’s hand, torn from the wrist, blood soaking the deck, and—
“Can you take this seriously?!”
Sanji bared his teeth. “You think I'm not taking this seriously?!”
Zoro’s scowl deepened. He knew. Knew that Sanji took it seriously—when it came to everyone else. Just not himself. Never himself. And Zoro was sick and tired of watching Sanji treat his own life like it didn’t matter.
Because it mattered. Shit. It mattered so much.
“This is the New World,” Zoro growled, “not some backwater pond in East Blue!”
“Oh yeah?” Sanji shot back. “What about you, you drunk bastard? I saw you down that bottle of sake before lunch!”
“And still, I'm the one here saving your ass!”
“I don't need you saving me!”
“And we don't need a one-armed cook!”
Sanji froze.
The air cracked between them. Clouds darkened in the sky above them. It was too late. The blue eye staring back at him was cold as ice, jaw tense, cigarette limp between his lips.
“Fuck. I didn't—” Zoro tried to backpedal.
Sanji cut him off with a look sharp enough to cut his heart.
“Got it,” he said. Tone flat. Final. He turned, the ship creaking under his footsteps.
Zoro’s pulse spiked. Fuck. His breathing turned shallow, and his hands cold with sweat. Yet every cell in his body burned with the urge to move.
He lunged forward, catching Sanji by the wrist, and tugged him back.
The ice in Sanji’s eye had melted, now a glassy blue. Zoro’s breath caught in his throat, stomach twisting uncomfortably.
He did that.
Sanji blinked furiously as if to force the tears back before they fell.
Zoro swallowed, his throat dry and his tongue heavy with everything he couldn’t say.
“I didn't mean it like that,” he managed, voice low.
Sanji yanked his arm free. “Sure, you didn't.”
He turned again.
Zoro’s blood ran cold.
“What if I lost you?!” The words ripped from his chest before he could think.
Sanji stopped, body rigid against the raging sea behind him.
Zoro struggled to breathe. The air stuck somewhere between a scream and a plea.
A moment passed. It felt like an eternity.
Then Sanji took another step forward, and Zoro moved.
He stepped in fast, cutting him off, cupping Sanji’s face, catching blue eyes simmering with confusion. Somewhere by their feet, Sanji’s cigarette hit the deck, forgotten amidst its smoke.
“What if I lost you?” Zoro repeated, softer this time, pressing their foreheads together. “Then what?” he asked, lips inches away from Sanji’s.
Sanji’s gaze fell. “You’ll find a new co—”
“Fuck that,” Zoro snarled. “We need you.” He drew a shaky breath, speaking lower. “I need you.”
Sanji’s breath hitched. “…What?”
The truth was already out there. What more did he have to lose?
He couldn’t lose Sanji.
“Cook,” Zoro exhaled, closing the distance further, lips gently brushing against the corner of Sanji’s mouth. “I need you,” he said again. Certain. Begging.
Admitting it out loud made something burst in his heart, blood rushed to his ears, his pulse quickened like he had just fought a thousand marines in less than a minute.
Relief. He finally said it.
Fear. He might’ve just fucked everything up.
Love. He loved Sanji.
Whatever happened now, whatever Sanji did—Zoro loved him.
Always had. Always would.
Sanji stayed still, but Zoro could feel his breath warm against his cheek. Stayed silent, but his heartbeat spoke volumes. Thudding loud enough to reverberate against Zoro’s chest, as if trying to break free.
Just like his own.
Zoro’s lips twitched, a shaky smile, a solid need.
“Can I,” he whispered, afraid to break the moment, “kiss you?”
Sanji tensed. Zoro heard him swallow.
Then, a faint nod.
A sharp inhale, nerves buzzing with anticipation. Zoro’s hands trembled ever so slightly between the strands of blond hair.
Carefully, Zoro pressed his lips to the corner of Sanji’s mouth, brushing his nose against his skin, breathing in sea salt, heat, and Sanji.
Sanji made no move to pull away; rather, he seemed to lean into Zoro’s hands. Closing the last bit of distance, Zoro caught soft lips with his own. Tentative at first, but as Sanji’s hand fisted into the fabric of Zoro’s shirt, pulling him even closer, Zoro gave in to his desires.
He kissed Sanji with built-up desperation, wrapping his arms around him as if afraid he would lose him if he ever let go. That the sea would claim him as theirs. And Zoro kissed him with every intention that he would never let that happen.
When they broke apart, Zoro found Sanji’s hand, gently brushing his fingers against the pristine skin. Just to be sure.
No tears, no wounds, no blood.
“We don't need another cook,” he said, lifting his hand between them. Inspecting it, replacing the earlier image in his mind. “We want you.”
Sanji stared, cheeks tinted pink and lips glistening.
“Whole. Safe. And alive.” Zoro brought Sanji’s hand to his mouth, breathing him in once more. Kissing his smooth palm like a silent promise.
Sanji flushed a brilliant red to the tips of his ears and yanked his hand away.
“What's gotten into you?!” He shrieked.
Zoro chuckled. “Adrenaline, maybe. Or,” Zoro cupped his cheek, “I just finally stopped holding back.”
“You’re an idiot!”
“Yes,” Zoro admitted, leaning in for another kiss.
