Work Text:
The moon is full and pale. A light breeze sways the ship as if there had never been gale winds whipping them off course and tearing streaks through the masts. They will need to be patched and sewn, boards along the railing replaced. It will happen tomorrow.
-
Sanji stretches his legs out and eases Zoro back against his chest, listening to him softly talk of the swords crafted on the island they approach. It’s no question he’s sore and bone weary, his body too jostled by the sea. Sanji went up the steps behind him, kept his hand on Zoro’s back as they walked to the deck but, sitting here, his voice sounds easy, almost reverent in the way he describes the mastery displayed by the weight of the hilts. Sanji’s chin falls to his shoulder, rubbing the heel of his hand down Zoro’s hip. His thumb presses a long line to the side of the scar, pausing just under his hip socket. It’s the way Chopper showed Zoro, the way Zoro showed him after an especially bad morning—
He hadn’t come to breakfast after his workout. It wasn’t that uncommon. Sanji gave him the usual amount of grace, then waited. He busied himself in the kitchen, getting more concerned than he probably needed to be. At lunch, eight filed in and Sanji set off with a plate of onigiri in hand.
Zoro was still up in the crow’s nest, sitting against the wall, leg straightened and stiff in front of him. He immediately waved Sanji off, mumbling something about needing time to oil his swords. He couldn’t get down the ladder.
Sanji sat across from him and watched him eat in silence, catching one hand digging deep into his hip. He wanted to ask but knew he already walked a fine line by bringing him food. Zoro would only take the care in his voice as pity. He lit a cigarette.
“Just show me how to help, idiot,” and that night he did.
-
Zoro’s weight slowly softens into him as he falls quiet, taking a couple deep breaths with the pressure. It’s nights like this when he is with him, looking out at the sea, that Sanji thinks about the things he wants to tell him. Things he’s nearly lost the chance to.
He imagines the words slipping from his lips. Not here and not now but docked in some port town far, far away from the government’s reach. They would be in the kitchen while Zoro sits on the counter watching him pat rice around pickled plum. Or maybe sitting like this beneath a sunset with a view he’s far overdrawn. Sanji kisses his neck as Zoro tilts his head back, asking him to rub a bit harder in that one spot. It would be beautiful. He would lean close to him as he is now. He would whisper in his ear.