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It's sort of pathetic, the way Sanji gets whenever a woman so much as casts a glance at him. Two pretty eyes and his brain turns into mulch – useless. Not that he's particularly smart the rest of the time, but then at least you can hear him talk in his normal voice, none of that (attempted) seductive tone that makes him sound like he got possessed by a horny demon.
Right now, Zoro's staring at him over the rim of his glass. Sanji stands on the small balcony at the other end of the bar, next to a woman whose arms could probably snap him in half if he gave her a good enough reason to try. Sanji doesn't seem bothered – far from it, really, if the sickeningly sweet smiles he keeps shooting at her are anything to go by. Zoro's face scrunches up in distaste. He tips his head back and downs the contents of his glass in one go. The burn of alcohol in his throat is a welcome sensation.
That afternoon, they stopped at the island to stock up on food and other necessities. Before they disembarked, Zoro had planned to spend the night alone, drinking in a seedy bar somewhere far away from his crew – just to remember who he'd been before all of this had started, when he wasn't used to eating in company everyday yet. Sometimes he misses the quiet.
So that had been his plan, but then Usopp started complaining about his lack of “spacial awareness,” to which Nami argued that those words didn't mean what he thought they meant, and the two went back and forth until Zoro snuck away... only to find himself with Sanji walking at his side.
“With your sense of direction and your addiction to booze,” Sanji told him, shit-eating grin fixed on his face, “we'd be lucky to find you on the moon tomorrow.”
“I don't need a babysitter.”
“Think of me as more of a compass.”
“I'd like to think of you as gone from my sight.”
“Oh, trust me, Mosshead, I'll be too busy to even remember that your ass is sitting in the same room. You can pretend not to know me while I charm all the ladies inside.”
And that's exactly what he's been doing since they stepped into the bar, approaching all the women like his life depends on it. He never seems to be particularly successful at it either, so maybe it's not about charming the ladies at all. Maybe he just gets off on the humiliation.
The strong woman leaves Sanji's side, and Zoro brings another glass to his lips. That should serve him as a lesson, but Sanji's smile doesn't waver: his gaze follows the woman as she walks away, and it's like the rejection didn't even sting.
They never do, Zoro shouldn't be surprised. It's almost like the flirting is enough, like Sanji doesn't need to get any more than that. “That's where all the fun is,” he once told Nami, after she'd asked him that question, and she looked at him like he was crazy. She might've been onto something.
Zoro stands up and walks to the balcony. Sanji's still standing there, back against the railing and both elbows on its edge. He looks so relaxed. It's annoying.
“Oi, Mosshead,” he says as soon as he spots Zoro in the crowd. His smile widens. “I thought we didn't know each other tonight.”
Zoro feels his expression twitch. “Yeah, well. I was starting to feel bad for you.”
Sanji tips his head back in a hearty laugh. “What? I'm doing great. No need to be worried about me.”
“Worried? Try embarrassed.”
“Jealous much?”
Zoro stiffens. Sanji's is leaning in his personal space now, still smiling, cheeks flushed with alcohol and the heat of the bar. Zoro is suddenly aware of the fact that he took off his jacket, opened the first buttons of his shirt and rolled his sleeves up to the elbows like he always does when he's cooking. There's a lot of skin showing. Zoro's mouth goes dry.
“Jealous of what?” he asks, turning away.
“You're all alone at your little table. No luck?”
“I came here to drink.” And then, because he can't help it, “If I wanted to get lucky tonight, you'd have no one to talk to.”
A lie, of course. His and Sanji's interests lie in different places, after all, but the other doesn't need to know that.
His words make Sanji laugh again, and Zoro has to grip his drink tighter in order to keep his own face schooled in the same stoic expression. He can handle his alcohol alright, but it does make it a little harder to control what his face is doing at any given moment.
Sanji hums. The sound is closer now, his mouth so close to Zoro's ear that he can feel his breath against a temple. It's warm and smells of wine, and it makes Zoro shiver.
“I guess some women do have a thing for the strong and silent type,” Sanji says. He smirks and licks his lips. “But you'll have to open your mouth at some point.”
Zoro shoots him a significant look. “Not to talk.”
Sanji's eyebrows twitch upwards, and his smile dims somewhat, taking on a surprised and considering edge. Then he pulls away from Zoro with a tsk. His gaze skirts across the crowd in the bar, and then it stills: there's a new woman at the entrance, long red hair woven in a braid, and legs for days.
“You talk a good game,” says Zoro, with a sudden wave of urgency he himself doesn't understand, “so how come I never see you leave with any of your conquests? Maybe you're doing it wrong.”
Just like that, Sanji's attention is back on him. “Apologies,” he says, shaking his head as if confused by the turn of the conversation, “I just don't accept criticism from someone who doesn't understand women, Marimo. But I could teach you a thing or two about them if you asked really nicely.”
“Like that weird names crap you've got going on? Is that serving you well?”
Sanji frowns. “What names?”
“Madam. Sweetheart. Gorgeous. Shit like that.”
“It's charming.”
“It's stupid.”
Zoro raises the drink to his mouth. Before he can feel the cold glass against his lips, though, Sanji intercepts it, removes it from Zoro's grasp and downs it in one go, and for a moment Zoro's too stunned to do anything but stare, wide eyes and lips parted in silent shock.
“Shit, Marimo, don't look so stricken, you'll make me feel bad. I'll get you another glass, yeah?” Sanji pats him on the shoulder and then winks at him as he starts making his way towards the bar. “Don't run away, lovely.”
Zoro's hand slides down to grip the hilt of his sword. He feels his whole body tense, sudden warmth blossoming in his chest and snaking all the way down to his legs and feet.
“The fuck was that,” he mutters to himself.
He spends the rest of the night getting drunk, sitting as far away from Sanji as he possibly can. If he's lucky, he will forget about this soon.
𓊝
He doesn't forget about it.
Not for a lack of trying. It's just that every time the waiter tries that shit on someone else – Nami, when they're at sea, and then any other woman who crosses his path on dry land – Zoro's mind goes back to that night at the bar, sees Sanji's mouth curl in that annoying smirk of his, cheeks red and too much skin showing, his tongue moving in the shape of that infuriating word.
Lovely.
Zoro attributes that to the fact that it came out of nowhere. No one's ever dared to use a pet name for him, and unfortunately, no matter how much he'd like to, he can't exactly skewer Sanji with his sword. Luffy wouldn't appreciate it, so Zoro's stuck with the ghost of that unpunished deed, something unresolved in the back of his mind – corrupting. Driving him insane.
It's an early afternoon on the Going Merry, now, and the crew has just finished eating lunch. Sanji's the first to get up, and he starts collecting plates, glasses and cutlery to get them to the sink. When Nami hands him her and Usopp's plates, he accepts them with a grateful smile.
“Thank you, Nami, you're an angel.”
Nami rolls her eyes, but it's fond now, after so much time spent together on the ship, and Sanji's smile gets even wider, his eyes crinkling at the corners. Stupidly.
Zoro takes a long sip of his beer: the bitter taste complements his mood. This hasn't been a good week, and it's not even Thursday yet. Just yesterday, while they were ashore, Usopp ran his mouth and got into a fight that he couldn't win. Of course, Zoro could've ended that without even having to unsheathe his sword, and he would've done that, had he not gotten distracted. Cue some rando with no sense of self-preservation stabbing him with a butter knife. Now his side hurts, he's pissed as fuck, Sanji can't stop getting on his nerves, and to make matters even worse, it's his turn to help with the dishes.
The others leave the kitchen and Zoro stands up. When he brings his plate to the sink, Sanji shoots him a quick look and a smug smile. “How did you like the food?”
Like he doesn't know.
“It was edible.”
“That's the best you an offer?”
“That's the best you can cook?”
Sanji seems to find that comeback impossibly amusing. He lets out a laugh, open and warm, and gives Zoro a playful shove with his shoulder. “Any better and you'd lick the plate clean.”
“Is that what happens in your wildest dreams?”
“In my wildest dreams,” Sanji says, and his voice takes on a different tone, low and velvet-like, “people put their tongue to better use.”
The cup Zoro's drying off slips from his hands and hits the counter. Sanji laughs again, and Zoro has half a mind to smash the cup against his face and let him taste it – but Luffy wouldn't appreciate it, probably, so he sets it aside and keeps drying like nothing happened.
“Ah, you're too easy.” Sanji shakes his head with a smile. “I'm just messing with you.”
“Dreams are all you've got, after all.”
“Sure. Hey, how's the wound?”
Zoro pointedly avoids his gaze, keeping his eyes fixed on the plate he's holding instead. The rag in his hand is so damp by now that he doubts it's doing much to absorb the droplets still clinging to the surface. It's basically just smearing them around.
“Wound? It's barely a scratch,” he says.
“A little too deep to be called a scratch.”
Zoro shrugs. “Felt like one.”
Sanji shakes his head. He wipes his hands clean and reaches out to Zoro, who startles and lets another plate fall onto the counter. “Hands off, waiter.”
Sanji hums, grabs his shoulders and turns him around. “Let me take a look.” He pulls up his shirt to reveal the bandages underneath, and Zoro's too stunned to do anything except stare at his head like it's sprouting horns.
“You haven't changed them,” Sanji says, and it's not a question, so Zoro doesn't answer. Sanji slowly unravels the gauze wrapped around his midsection, and every time his hands brush against Zoro's stomach, his skin comes alive with millions of tiny sparks that make Zoro want to knee the other in the face and walk out of the kitchen.
“See? It's fine,” Zoro says once the other is done with his impromptu medical examination.
Sanji pokes the reddish spot just under the wound with his index and middle finger. His skin is cool, and Zoro's muscles twitch at the contact. When Sanji looks up at him again, his expression is lost, like he's thinking about something else. Then he shakes his head. “You should put ointment on that. Forget the dishes, I'll do the rest on my own. Ask Nami to give you some of that stuff she bought yesterday, yeah?”
Zoro raises an eyebrow. “You a doctor now?”
Sanji laughs and then leans closer. His voice drops, low and sensual. “I can be whatever you want, darling.”
Zoro has to muster all of his self-control not to get his hands on the other man – either for violence or for something else, he's not really sure. When he leaves the kitchen, it's with Sanji's laughter following him down the corridor.
𓊝
This island is a nightmare. The mosquitoes here are as big as Zoro's fist, there are snakes everywhere, and worst of all, the only liquor they serve tastes like it could melt metal. Zoro still drinks it, of course, because alcohol is alcohol and his stomach can handle almost anything, but it sucks. As if that wasn't bad enough, there's a gang of local criminals that really don't know what's best for them, since they keep trying to fight his crew in a futile attempt to make them leave; but fighting's only fun when your enemy knows what they're doing, and these guys are useless without a weapon and even worse with one. Zoro's already knocked out seventeen of them while they were in the town square, but they just keep spawning out of thin air – much like the mosquitoes – and Luffy made it his mission to catch every single one of them and kick their ass, so Zoro won't rest until it's done.
It doesn't take long. They leave a trail of whining bodies from the town square to the hill that watches over it, upon which stands a big mansion. There they find the rest of them, dozens of men and women with painted faces and colorful clothes. What they make up in numbers they lose in everything else – not only are they weak, they're also stupid, so much so that Zoro almost feels bad for dirtying Wado with their blood.
Almost.
Now they're standing in the middle of the entrance hall, surrounded by bodies. Most of them are unconscious, but some are still trying to stand back up. Nami jabs her staff in someone's side and the man's face hits the ground with a thud. He stays down this time.
“Who's gonna clean up this mess?” Usopp asks.
Zoro looks at him, then at the hall, then at the stairs leading up to the bedrooms. “I'm gonna check the rest of the house.”
Luffy claps his hands once and beams at him. “Great idea, Zoro! I'll check the kitchen.”
“Really?” Nami sounds unimpressed.
“What? I just wanna make sure there are no enemies hidden in the cupboards.”
“Try not to get poisoned this time.”
Zoro shakes his head, but keeps walking up the stairs. When he hears footsteps behind him, he doesn't have to turn around to know that it's Sanji. His fancy shoes are unmistakable, with their clack clack sound against the marble floors.
“I can't get lost in a house,” Zoro tells him.
“Color me doubtful.”
“Just keep your mouth shut.”
“And leave you without the company of my voice? Now that would be just cruel.”
“I'll live.”
The stairs lead to a wide corridor, with doors on each side. The walls are decorated by rows of paintings in big golden frames: landscapes, sea storms, a handful of portraits of people wearing hats too big for their heads. Zoro steals a few glances inside the rooms he encounters on his path. They're empty.
“Mosshead,” Sanji calls. “Are you looking for enemies or for a place to take a nap?”
Zoro's jaw twitches.
“Y'know,” Sanji says, and even though Zoro can't see him he can feel the smile inside his voice, “I'm pretty beat myself. Mind if I join you?”
Zoro doesn't get to answer – which means he doesn't get to tell Sanji to fuck off somewhere else – because a short guy with an old rapier in hand jumps in front of him at the end of the corridor and starts swinging.
“Oh, there's another one,” says Sanji, his tone somehow both amused and unimpressed.
“Must be our lucky day.”
Zoro steps back, hand already on the hilt of his sword, but Sanji's at his side in a fraction of a second. He kicks the stranger's hand and sends his rapier flying against the wall of the corridor. The weapon falls to the ground with a dull metallic sound, leaving the other man stunned and frozen with surprise.
“Didn't work too well for you, huh?” says Sanji with a smile. The man tries to punch him, but Sanji ducks and steps forward, circling him with one smooth motion so that he's now standing behind him. With another kick he makes the man fall forward, then keeps him down with a foot planted between his shoulderblades. “You should've jumped out the window when you heard us coming,” he says. “It would've been less humiliating.”
The man plants his hands against the floor in an attempt at getting up again, but Zoro crouches down in front of him. The man raises his head to meet his gaze. “See,” Zoro says, “I wouldn't do that if I were you.”
The man lets his head fall back against the ground. “My crew's gonna kick your asses,” he grumbles.
“Your crew's half dead downstairs.”
“And all over town,” adds Sanji. He steps back, removing his foot from the other's back. He shoots Zoro a winning smile. “What would you do without me, eh, Marimo?”
Zoro scoffs. “Have fewer headaches.”
“What's life without a headache or two.”
He walks away from the defeated man and towards Zoro, who's still crouching. Zoro glares at him one last time and stands up. “I wanna get back to the ship. I'm done with this shit-hole.”
“Yeah. The food's terrible here.”
“Drinks are no better.”
“I'll walk you back, then.”
Two hands wrap themselves around Zoro's ankles and pull. Zoro loses his balance. He glances down: the man who attacked them is getting on his feet, and Zoro's too busy falling to do anything about it. He can only stare with rage swirling in his eyes, and if looks could kill that man would be dead right now. Zoro doesn't need looks, though: he just needs to stand up, run after that dirty little rat and shove his sword where the sun doesn't shine.
Two strong arms snake around Zoro's shoulders and waist so that he doesn't hit the ground like a sack of potatoes. He probably would've liked that better.
“Get off me,” he says, but Sanji must be in an awkward position himself, because as Zoro struggles to get free, he feels the other man stumble, and then they both fall back, Sanji's arms still around his body, his warmth seeping onto Zoro's skin through the thin fabric of his clothes. Somewhere ahead, glass breaks.
Zoro props himself up on an elbow and glares at his crewmate. “You let him escape.”
Sanji laughs. “Me? You were about to find yourself with your ass on the ground.”
“Like you right now?”
“Ah, Marimo.” Sanji smiles, and it's a muted thing, eyelids heavy, eyes unfocused and yet so clear. His blond hair surround his head like a weird halo. It makes him look stupid. Zoro can't avert his gaze.
“We could probably still catch him,” Sanji says after a few seconds, and the moment – whatever it was – is broken. Zoro stands up and looks at the other end of the corridor, where a shattered window lets in the cool breeze of the evening.
Sanji gets to his feet. “Well,” he says, gesturing towards the newly made exit. “After you, beautiful.”
Zoro turns around, jaw clenched so tight he could break his teeth. He wants to tell Sanji to shut up and fuck off, not necessarily in that order, but he swore to himself that he would give him no satisfaction – ever! – about this ridiculous obsession of his, so he ignores the words and starts walking back to the stairs.
“You go after him,” he says.
Sanji doesn't do that.
They go back to the ship together.
𓊝
It started as a game. The first time he called Zoro ‘lovely’ it was to mock him, a small revenge for having been mocked in turn. He barely registered his reaction – the sudden tension in his shoulders, hand reaching for the hilt of his sword – but he did see it, and thought, uh. It bothers him. And it did, it does, every single time without fail: Zoro glares and tenses up and looks away, changes the topic, acts like nothing happened even though Sanji can read it on his face, the delightful mix of flustered and angry he gets as he turns around and walks away. Funny at first, and now something else.
Sanji doesn't do it often. He can't risk making it a habit, turning the whole thing into something expected. Then it wouldn't catch Zoro by surprise anymore, and half the fun would be spoiled, and he really doesn't want to give it up; so he lets some time pass before he tries again, and is rewarded with the sweetest reactions every time. Not only Zoro's reactions, but also his own – the warmth in his cheeks and chest, deep in his belly. The same he feels any time a gorgeous woman catches his gaze.
He wasn't as shocked as he thinks he should've been after finding out that he also likes men. On the contrary, it makes a lot of sense, clears quite a few things up. It's also a huge pain in the ass, since out of all the men in the world, he had to develop those feelings for Zoro. Not that Sanji isn't used to unrequited affections, but it's easy when he can at least make those affections known. Zoro, though – Zoro can never know about this, which is starting to be a bit of a problem, because Sanji keeps getting caught acting strange, and there's only so long he can come up with excuses for his behavior. Like right now.
“What are you staring at?” Zoro asks, unsheathing his sword from the belly of one of the thugs they're fighting with. There's blood on his cheek, on his shirt, on his arms. His blade glows red under the torchlights. His skin is covered in sweat.
Sanji puts on a smile. “You look a little tired, Marimo.”
“Yeah, tired of your bullshit.”
“Ha!”
They're fighting in the depths of a tunnel system that Sanji didn't wanna enter, but such are the joys of being part of this crew: there's always something deeply unpleasant to do in order to set right a wrong. That, and Luffy never really thinks before he does something stupid, like chasing a giant man-eating serpent and its fanatic devotees through a cave that for all they know could be the door to the hell dimension. It's definitely got the right smell.
“This way,” Zoro says, and Sanji would never trust those words out of his mouth, except right now there's only one direction they can move in, so it should be fine.
Still, “As soon as there's a fork in the road, I'm leading.”
“You have a map of this place?”
“Whatever path you choose, we'll just take the other one.”
Zoro shakes his head, but doesn't try to argue.
They walk for a while, wary of the dangers lurking in the dark. The tunnel they're in, according to the story they heard in town before this whole thing started, should lead to an underground temple dedicated to the serpent, a creature that some islanders think is the incarnation of a deity of death called Fom Ksilir Bas Utem, or something like that. The temple is situated in the middle of a huge cave, with a high ceiling covered in luminescent minerals. That's probably where Luffy and the others are, and Sanji doesn't like it one bit, because this is not the place for a fight, especially when Luffy is involved. This whole thing could come crashing on their head any second now, and that feeling of imminent danger only worsens when they reach a section of the cave in which long sharp stalactites protrude from the ceiling. Sanji walks a little faster, with both hands in his pockets and eyes fixed high above his head. The light emanating from the torches is just enough to delineate the rocks' pointy ends – a natural guillotine waiting to fall on whoever is unlucky enough to find themselves underneath it. Sanji doesn't want to be that person.
“This is no place for a fight,” Zoro mumbles behind him, echoing Sanji's own thoughts.
“Yeah. The sooner we get out, the better.”
“Can't be too far now. Pass me the water.”
Sanji opens his bag and hands him an almost-empty bottle. He watches intently as Zoro flicks the lid open and brings the container to his mouth – the way his Adam's apple bobs up and down at every swallow, the solitary drop that slides down the side of his chin and on his neck, disappearing into the stained fabric of his shirt...
“You're staring again.”
Sanji snaps his head up. “Whatever you say.”
“So what, now I'm imagining things?”
“I wasn't staring, I was lost in thought.”
“Lots of thinking, lately.”
“Isn't that true.” Sanji forces out smile. “Let's go,” he says, and pats Zoro on the shoulder as he passes him. Zoro, though, doesn't follow him, and Sanji eventually stops and turns around. His stomach gets all tangled up in sudden trepidation. “If you wanna stay here, be my guest. We'll collect your body when it's over.”
Zoro studies him. It's unnerving.
“What?”
“You're a pain in the ass.”
Sanji scoffs. He reaches out and takes the bottle from Zoro's hands and shoves it back into his bag with a smile. “Talk shit, don't drink.”
They walk again, and this time Sanji keeps himself in the lead. He can feel Zoro's eyes on his back, burning holes through his jacket and shirt, but at least he can't see his face anymore. He tries to focus his attention on the faint noises coming from the path ahead, getting louder and louder the closer they get, or the tremulous flames on the walls. His throat is dry, but he doesn't want to stop now, and the idea of putting his mouth where Zoro put his just a few moments ago makes him uncomfortable.
A loud sound comes from the tunnels ahead. The whole cave trembles, and Sanji fumbles to stay upright as the earth shakes beneath his feet. “Shit.”
“This is no place for a fight,” Zoro says again.
“We need to stop them.”
They run towards the noise. There are screams, now, too – no voices that Sanji recognises, which is both bad and good, he will only know for sure once he's there to see. A sudden light shines at the end of the tunnel. Zoro and Sanji launch themselves ahead into the tallest cave Sanji has ever seen; not that he's seen many, since he spent most of his life in the middle of the ocean, but this one's still massive. At the center of it stands a palace made of stone. From the ceiling, millions of blueish and greenish lights shine down on them, making their skin look pale, almost sickly.
Gripping the building with its chicken-like claws, a weird creature halfway between a snake, a bird and a mole rat, all wrinkles and sinuous body, shrieks.
“The hell is that,” says Zoro, eyes fixed on the monster's wrinkly gray-pink skin. People are grabbing the coarse fur on its back, fighting against it and each other whenever it gets still enough for them to do so.
Sanji whistles. “Something I really don't wanna have to see up close,” he says, but still lets the bag he carries drop at his feet.
“Yeah.” Zoro unsheathes his swords. “You can stay here and let the professionals do the job.”
Sanji huffs out a laugh. “And get all the credit? Pass.”
Zoro smirks at him, and they launch themselves into the battle – or at least they would, if the battle wasn't taking place on a giant beast curled around a palace, closer to the ceiling than to the ground. All they can do is run towards the entry and the stairs leading up one of the towers. The whole thing vibrates beneath them at every movement of the snake-chicken-mole rat creature.
“Couldn't they do this outside?” Sanji screams.
On the stairs, they're attacked by a group of men and women dressed in dark blue. Even though they're armed with swords and knives, it's clear by the way they use them that they're not trained warriors, and Sanji and Zoro make quick work of them. They keep climbing up the stairs, then, cross a corridor, find another staircase, another corridor. Sanji's legs burn from the exertion, and his skin is hot and tacky with sweat.
A loud noise, then the ground underneath their feet shakes as a huge set of chicken claws breaks through the wall above them. Sanji takes a moment to regain his balance, and then blanches, his stomach lurching when he hears the echoing growl of earth crumbling on itself. Another claw breaches the castle. Stone falls down above Sanji like an avalanche.
Something tackles him out of the way. Amidst the dust, Sanji makes out the green of Zoro's hair, the muted glint of one of his earrings. He wraps his arms around the other's nape, hand cradling his head protectively as they fall back and roll to the side, the wind knocked out of their lungs. They both cough as detritus makes its way into their throats, and Sanji's body trembles with adrenaline and fear. His legs feel soft as butter – he's not even sure he can move them. It's like he's been emptied, the sudden terror of an imminent death scooping up his insides and squashing them on the floor at his feet. He could've died. It would've been a stupid death, too, and maybe that's what really shakes him.
For a few seconds, Zoro's a comforting weight on his chest. Then he wriggles free of Sanji's hold and gets back to his feet. “That was close,” he mutters.
Sanji doesn't follow. He keeps staring at the collapsed wall a few meters from his foot. He could've been buried under there, but Zoro saved his life. Not like it's the first time.
“Uh.”
Zoro's hands – big and warm and the right amount of rough that makes Sanji wonder how they would feel wandering underneath his clothes – wrap around his forearms. Zoro pulls him up and there he is again, an inch away from Sanji's face, looking annoyed. His eyes glint with something else, though, something urgent and just a little desperate. Wishful thinking, perhaps.
“Forgot how your legs work, handsome?” Zoro asks, and it shouldn't make Sanji this flustered, because the word was uttered with as much sarcasm as it's humanly possible to achieve, but still he feels his knees get weaker and his heart skip a beat. They're close and Zoro just saved his life and called him handsome while looking ragged and dirty with sweat and dust and Sanji wants... He wants. He's been wanting for a while now.
So he leans forward and kisses Zoro on the mouth. He knows he should stop himself as soon as he makes his move, and the knowledge doesn't waver as he gets closer, closer, close enough to feel Zoro's breath against his cupid's bow, but it's too late. The kiss is not a choice as much as it's an instinctive response, like putting out your arms in front of you when you're falling: you can only brace yourself for the pain that it's about to follow.
Still, Sanji has the good sense of pulling back as soon as his lips touch Zoro's. “Apologies,” he says, stepping away. He clears his throat and fiddles with his clothes in a futile attempt at collecting himself. So much reddish dust collected in every little wrinkle of the fabric... “I don't know what I was thinking.”
Zoro grabs him by the shirt, his eyes alive with something that Sanji can't quite decipher. It could be anger, it could be something else – he doesn't dare give a shape to those thoughts. He's probably about to get punched.
“Save your apologies, waiter,” Zoro says. His gaze flickers down to Sanji's parted lips, and – oh. Maybe not a punch, after all. “And your thinking.”
Their mouths collide in a second kiss. This one is longer and messier, tongue meeting tongue, teeth scraping against soft skin. Zoro's fist is a hot weight against Sanji's sternum, knuckles to bone, while his other hand pulls at the hair on his nape, lightly, not enough to hurt but enough for Sanji to feel it. Sanji presses closer, his palms trailing up Zoro's arms and shoulders to rest at the sides of his neck. He gently pushes his thumb against Zoro's pulse point. The frenetic beat matches the one in his own body.
Sanji's legs tremble, and he's kind of annoyed at his own body for acting up like this, until he realizes that the ground underneath his feet is actually shaking. The world comes back to him in a wave of dust and shrieks and cries. “Right,” he says, reluctantly pushing Zoro away just enough to stare at the monster through the hole in the wall. A giant yellow eye peeks inside the castle. “We should do something about that.”
Zoro picks up his sword, nodding at Sanji like nothing happened, like he didn't have his tongue in the other's mouth just a few seconds ago. “We'll have to jump on its back,” he says, and Sanji has to fight a smile because there it is, the little shiver in his voice, the subtlest hint of breathlessness.
“Need a moment?” he asks.
Zoro glances back at him. When he registers Sanji's self-satisfied expression, he rolls his eyes, but Sanji doesn't miss the twitch at the corners of his mouth. “You overestimate yourself.”
“Do I?” Sanji's smile widens. He fixes the collar of his shirt, over-intentional, making a little show of it. “If we had a little more time I could show you why you're wrong.”
Zoro's gaze lingers on Sanji's hand, his throat, up to his lips. Back to Sanji's eyes, a mirror of his own desire. “Let's get this over with and maybe I can let you try.”
“Ready when you are,” Sanji says.
He's talking about the battle ahead.
He's talking about everything else, too.