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Skypeia
Sanji had taken a break from dancing. Shandian women were strong, practically indefatigable, having been raised as warriors, and Skypeian women were pliant and sweet from a life of leisure and obedience. Both made for exquisite dance partners. But he’d been at it for two days. He needed to sit.
He flopped down with the biggest tankard of ale he could find and a bowl of roasted corn kernels tossed in an intriguing spice mix, looking forward to finding out if Shandora’s cuisine was as intriguing as its women. But to his great chagrin, Sanji found that he’d managed to pick a spot where the idiot swordsman was directly in his sightline. About a dozen paces away, Zoro was leaning back against the root of a giant, sacred tree. Sanji was about to walk over and make up something to bother him about, when he realized that Zoro was already busy talking to one of the Shandian warriors from the battle.
Wyper, Sanji recalled.
Zoro was sitting closer than he usually would with anyone but his nakama. Realistically, anyone but Luffy or Chopper. Sanji, too, would get that close. But only when either sparring or unconscious.
It wasn’t hard to pick up on what Zoro and his new best friend were talking about, now that Sanji was actively watching.
”What are these for, anyway?” Zoro’s voice was low, but clear even from where Sanji was sitting. Sanji cursed his perfect hearing.
Nauseated, he watched Zoro reach over Wyper’s shoulder, taking a singed wing feather in between his fingers. Sanji gaped at the display in front of him. Zoro didn’t touch strangers. Zoro didn’t small talk with strangers.
”They’re vestigial,” Wyper said, not nearly pissed off enough for Sanji’s liking.
”Hah?"
”They help a little with the steering on the dial skates, but we believe our ancestors had much larger ones.”
”So they got no practical use, then? Just decorative?” Sanji didn’t miss the teasing tone in Zoro’s voice. He’d been at the receiving end of it more times than he could count.
”They’re a Shandian’s pride.”
”Ah. Gonna be hard for you to pick up chicks with just the one, then?”
Wyper blushed indignantly, but didn’t take Zoro’s hand off his feathers.
”One and a half. Count them.”
”It’s not so bad,” Zoro said, not taking his eyes off Wyper for a second. ”A fighter needs a signature scar. Lets the enemy know who they’re up against. Gives them an idea of how scared they should be.”
”Oh?” Zoro had surreptitiously taken his bandages off, knowing Chopper was asleep in someone’s lap somewhere. Sanji really couldn’t blame him, in all this heat. But now Sanji had to watch in abject horror, as Wyper traced a finger down the brash, uneven scar that bisected Zoro’s chest. ”That what this is?”
Zoro’s eyes were dark, even from a distance.
”That one’s a promise.”
That was officially too much for Sanji. He got up, bringing the corn and the ale with him, and went to stand in front the disaster about to happen.
”Hey, angel,” he said, trying to put enough mockery into it that it sounded distinct from the way he said it to Conis. ”Luffy’s looking for you. Had something to say about old man Cricket.”
Wyper looked up at him with a poorly disguised sneer. ”The descendant of Montblanc Noland?”
”Yeah, him.”
The warrior heaved an irritated sigh, his eyes flicking back to Zoro. Then he stood (Sanji felt a little bad about the amount of effort it seemed to take for him to do so) and left in the general direction of the bonfire.
Zoro stared at him, looking vaguely annoyed. But then, he usually did. ”Luffy’s not looking for shit except another boar sandwich.”
Sanji knew that. Those sandwiches had been ingenious, though he said it himself.
He lit a cigarette, and sat down on the ground next to Zoro. On the opposite side of him from where Wyper had sat, and not quite as close.
”Any particular reason why you’ve decided to ruin my night, shit cook?”
Sanji had travelled with Zoro for a while now, and he knew the difference between leave me alone and leave me alone. This was practically an invitation to stay.
”You’re the one who’s ruining everyone’s night by making them watch you and heaven’s greatest warrior feel each other up in public.”
”Oh, everyone’s night, is it?” Zoro turned to face Sanji, who was a bit taken aback by how close he got. ”Funny, you’re the only one who seems to have a problem.”
”Believe me, marimo, everyone else is simply too polite to—”
”What are you, jealous?”
Sanji swallowed the last part of his sentence and nearly choked on it. Jealous? Certainly not. There was nothing to be jealous of. So what, if it made him a little uncomfortable to see Zoro cozy up so quickly to a man who’d tried to kill all of them less than 48 hours ago? Who wasn’t even nakama? That was a completely normal response to completely abnormal behavior. Everyone else probably thought so too. Sanji was just more honest about his feelings than most people.
”I assure you, asshole,” he sputtered. ”I get plenty of attention from the gorgeous, heavenly women of the sky, I have nothing whatsoever to be jealous of.”
”Oh, I’m sure.”
Sanji did not enjoy Zoro’s tone.
”It’s just off-putting to see you basically throw yourself at some stranger, when I’ve never seen you take interest in anything that wasn’t sharp and metal before.”
”I’m not throwing myself—”
Sanji really enjoyed the way Zoro’s face flushed dark red at that. It was a good feeling, knowing exactly which buttons to press to set him off. He was still the best at that.
”Whatever.” Zoro cut himself off. ”Are you done with your meddling now, you idiot curly-brow? Can you finally leave me alone?”
”Not just yet,” Sanji said, feeling like pushing until he had a fight on his hands. Well, on his feet. ”I need to record my findings for the scientific community. Please answer thoroughly.”
”Fuck off.”
”Come on,” Sanji said. ”The lone marimo, a species previously thought to reproduce asexually due to its complete lack of social competence, has found itself a potential mate. What is it about him? Science needs to know.”
To Sanji’s surprise, the tension in the air sort of fizzled out. His attempt to start an impromptu sparring match with a flustered Zoro had fallen completely flat. Zoro just shrugged. ”He’s a damn good fighter.”
Sanji stared. ”That’s it?”
Zoro watched him lazily out of the corner of his eye. ”You really wanna hear about this, cook?”
”Sure.”
Zoro put his hands behind his head and leaned back, his eyes back on the bonfire.
”The guy’s just intense. I guess I like that.” He grinned, and Sanji got the distinct feeling he was being made fun of. ”And the long legs and those stupid cigarettes he’s always smoking—”
”They’re herbal.”
”Mm. I like his outfit, too.”
”Really?” Sanji turned to Zoro incredulously. ”Leaf skirt and nothing else, that’s what does it for you?”
Zoro snorted a laugh, looked young, as he covered his eyes with one hand and shoved his shoulder into Sanji’s. Maybe Zoro had, for the first time since he’d known him, finally had too much to drink. Maybe he’d gotten better pain killers than Sanji.
It was all wrong, but Sanji couldn’t help but join him, wheezing with laughter though it stung his cracked ribs. ”Really, if it was short skirts, tattoos, and a temper you were after I’m surprised I don’t have more competition for Nami-san.”
”Oh, come on,” Zoro groaned. Sanji resented the implication that being head over heels for Nami was anything but an unbridled privilege. ”You saw him, right?”
”I saw a lot of him.” After all, not even the sky warriors of Shandora could control the way their garments moved when they were upside down, spread-eagle in mid-air.
”No, I mean, when he fought like that for his homeland. What he was ready to do to get it back. He’s insane.” Zoro heaved a sigh. ”You gotta give it to him, he had one thing he cared about and he…well, guy’s determined, ’s all I’m saying.”
”And you like that?”
”I guess.”
”You find stubborn, suicidal single-mindedness hot?”
Zoro grinned, and Sanji felt like the vearth underneath him dropped. ”Yeah.”
”Damn.” It was Sanji’s turn to look away. ”No wonder you went with Luffy.”
”Get fucked, cook.”
Sanji put a sharp elbow between Zoro’s ribs, and got a smack upside the head in return.
”Now are you gonna get out of here and let me score already?”
”Don’t be so crass, marimo.”
But he did. He left his corn and his ale behind, and he went to dance another night away with another beautiful woman.
His legs and feet ached, but for some reason he couldn’t sit back down.
Davy Back
It took the Foxy pirates a damn long time to set up the spectator stands for the final Davy Back game. Sanji had been fully prepared to spend that time finding out which of the food stands had the perfect snack for Nami, or, here’s hoping, rubbing her shoulders after the stressful day she’d had. They had made her paddle, for god’s sake, and Sanji hadn’t even been allowed to do it for her.
But it turns out, he was not the only one with downtime. And, it turns out, Porsche-chan was a little more grateful for the daring ocean rescue than he’d originally thought. She had found him as he was standing in line for popcorn, and pulled him behind a big pile of construction material by his necktie.
It was quite possibly one of the best days of Sanji’s life. Or at least the best one he was currently able to think of. And thinking wasn’t easy, with Porsche-chan dragging her tongue against his bottom lip.
She was sitting on a crate, with one hand still on Sanji’s tie, and her legs wrapped around his waist. The stupid fox mask was still on (not that Sanji would ever deride a lady’s choice of accessory as stupid) but she’d lost the hat somewhere. Her hair was still wet, when he dragged his hands through it.
His heart pounded, as he kissed little noises out of her, feeling her hot breath on his lips. The slide of her tongue against his took up all the space in his brain, felt like it was cooking him from the inside. She took her hand off his tie for a moment, and Sanji missed the steady pull downwards until he realized she was shrugging her jumpsuit off her shoulders. Sanji couldn’t help but shudder a gasp against her skin, as she was left in just her bikini top. He moved his hand from her damp tresses, to wrap around her bare waist. God, her skin was so soft.
Sanji hoped beyond hope she’d consider him worthy of touching that skin. Of kissing it, even. Never marking it. He knew that wasn’t what this was. But he held her waist tight, as he moved his mouth from her lips, pressing a hungry kiss against the side of her throat. Rejoiced at her stuttering breath, as he trailed his other hand up her still clothed leg. He dipped his mouth lower, feeling the strap of her bikini against his lips, then his tongue, his teeth, and then he felt himself be thrown backwards by a rough yank on his collar.
”What the hell—” he growled, spinning around, raising his leg to kick the shit out of whoever dared interrupt.
It was the marimo. Of course it was.
”Oh,” Porsche-chan said. She jumped off the crate, looking a little flushed, but otherwise unrattled, and she was lovely, lovely, lovely, lovely.
She hiked the top of the jumpsuit back up and Sanji’s heart bled. He realized with a tinge of embarrassment how he himself must look, tie askew, lips stung red, and still panting a little bit. No wonder the idiot swordsman had that dumb look on his face.
“See you at the death match, Sanji-kun,” she said sweetly, and disappeared around the big pile of leftover bleachers.
“I’ll be counting the seconds, Porsche-chwan,” Sanji whined, not trying even the faintest bit to keep the desperation out of his voice.
Then he turned.
”What the fuck is your problem, moss-for-brains? I was in the middle of something!”
Zoro’s expression soured immediately. ”Did all the blood leave your brain for somewhere else, you shitty cook? That’s the enemy you’re slobbering all over.”
”Porsche-chan is not the enemy.”
”She’s been up against us nearly every round.”
”So?”
”So she might not have pulled you back here with the purest of intentions, idiot.”
”God, I hope not.”
”That’s not what I—”
”Well, I’ll never get to find out now that you’ve barged in like the cave man you are.”
The adrenaline was still spiking Sanji’s blood, and he felt the familiar buzzing in his chest cavity that usually went along both with romancing a pretty girl and knocking the stupid swordsman on his ass. This was something Sanji had noted many times before, and as always, he chose to file it away in a corner of his brain where he could safely ignore it.
Zoro just rolled his eyes and huffed.
“What the fuck is wrong with you? Are you only attracted to people who treat you like shit?” Zoro grimaced. “God. Is it like a thing, for you?”
“No, asshole. Not that it’s any of your business. But if she looks like that, she can treat me any way she wants.”
“That’s moronic.”
The way Zoro looked at him wasn’t right. But, luckily, Sanji could take any look as an invitation to fight.
”You’re moronic, shitty moss,” he mumbled, raising his leg. But Zoro stubbornly refused to draw his swords. He just kept staring.
”I don’t get it, cook. Does loyalty mean nothing to you?”
Sanji balked, so surprised he put his leg back down.
”That’s taking it a bit far,” he said. ”We all know Luffy’s gonna win, it’s not disloyal of me to—”
”No, I mean with her.” Zoro even had the decency to look a little embarrassed when he said it. ”It doesn’t bother you she’d stab you in the back in less than a second if her captain told her to?”
Oh. Sanji hadn’t expected it to be a genuine question. It had been a good long while since he’d learned that anything coming out of Zoro’s mouth was either insult or provocation.
”No, dumbass,” he said. ”That doesn’t make her disloyal. You said it yourself, Porsche-chan is incredibly loyal, just not to me.”
”And that’s fine?”
”Yeah, sure. Why would she be loyal to me, she doesn’t even know me.”
”That’s my point.”
”But she’d do anything for that ugly captain of hers. It’s part of what makes her so lovely.”
Zoro just stared.
”You really don’t care she’d betray you for another man the second she got the chance?”
”No, that’s fine. Kind of hot, even.” More than kind of. Sanji had never really felt like examining it, but blind devotion had always been a trait that made him weak in the knees. Weak everywhere, really.
Zoro finally tore his eyes away from Sanji. ”I don’t get you.”
Well. Sanji supposed it’d be a cold day in hell when Roronoa Zoro understood the strange machinations of Sanji’s heart.
”I haven’t earned it,” Sanji admitted.
It was quiet between them, for a moment. The only sign Zoro was still listening was a raised, inquisitive eyebrow.
”I’m looking forward to it,” Sanji said. ”Earning devotion like that. It’s part of falling in love, I think.”
Zoro crossed his arms. ”So the poor, miserable bastard you end up falling in love with, will be…?”
”Fiercely loyal, without a doubt. Someone I can trust completely. Someone I could trust with my life without hesitation.” Sanji waffled a little, on whether to admit the rest. Even thinking it made him feel strangely vulnerable. ”…someone who trusts me back.”
He half expected Zoro to laugh at him. But he didn’t. Just looked back up at Sanji.
”…sounds like nakama.”
Sanji huffed a laugh. Yeah. He supposed it did. ”Which is why Nami-san’s my soulmate, obviously.”
It might’ve been a trick of the light, but Sanji could swear he saw the corner of Zoro’s mouth twitch upward.
”Now, if you’ll excuse me,” he continued, lighting up a cigarette and starting off toward the almost-finished amphitheater. ”I’m gonna go see if Porsche-chan needs a snack or a foot rub or a husband before the game starts.”
”Fine.” Zoro paused for a second, looked back in the direction Porsche-chan had left. ”Just…did you have to pick the worst one?”
”She is not the worst one. Just take one look at her captain and tell me she’s the worst one.”
Zoro nodded thoughtfully. ”God, I’m glad I didn’t find you dry humping Foxy behind some planks.”
Dry humping? Dry humping?
”I was not dry—” Sanji couldn’t even say it. ”Not that you’d know the difference, idiot marimo, seeing as you couldn’t get anyone to do that to you if you tried, ’cause you shower once a month and your rank clothes only get washed when you fall into the sea.”
”Oh, defensive.”
”Whatever.” Sanji ashed his cigarette in a way he hoped looked both suave and vaguely threatening. ”If you ever sabotage me like this again, I’ll kick your ass. I mean it.”
”I’d like to see you try, shit cook.”
Water 7
After that, it became habit.
Zoro, the unmitigated asshole, would trot up next to Sanji whenever he was asking a pretty waitress, vegetable vendor or beach goer to tea, and tell her how brave she was for being near Sanji despite his rare and contagious fungal infection. Or chastise him for leaving his heavily pregnant wife all alone on the ship. Or, on more than one mortifying occasion, simply imply Nami-san was back on the ship, sunbathing topless.
Sanji had precious few opportunities to get revenge. Zoro seemed to be more selective than Sanji (not that that was a particularly high bar to clear). Even once he’d gotten a clear idea of Zoro’s type (strong, self-sufficient, insane), he was amazed at all the perfectly decent looking men Zoro seemed to have no interest in, despite ticking all those boxes and more.
Although sometimes, usually late in the evening, Zoro would disappear into a corner with someone, wearing the scowl Sanji was reasonably sure was his flirting one, and Sanji would get a chance for some payback. The most effective method seemed to be to goad Zoro into a fight, which he was already very good at doing. Usually Zoro’s intended would be long gone by the time they finished beating each other to a pulp.
But then they reached Water 7, and Usopp left, and Robin disappeared, and everything lost its meaning. Sanji’s world was crumbling around him. His family, his nakama, was slipping through his useless fingers, and Sanji hadn’t felt so powerless since he was a child on an empty rock.
The night Usopp left, they all slept out on the deck. Just in case he’d come back. Sanji found himself next to Zoro. Both of them were awake. Both of them with their heads turned towards town.
”You know what that was, right?” Sanji said.
”Stupid.” Zoro’s eyes were closed. ”Reckless.”
”A suicide attempt.”
Zoro looked at Sanji, his carefully schooled expression having cracked, just a bit. ”Luffy wouldn’t—”
”He almost died after those Franky guys got him. He hasn’t recovered. He could barely stand. And he decides to fight Luffy?” Sanji thunked his head against Merry’s patched up wall. ”That was on purpose.”
They listened to the sound of the quiet waves splashing against Merry’s hull for a while.
”You better not go after him,” Zoro said. ”Luffy couldn’t handle it.”
There was something about him Sanji didn’t quite recognize. Zoro loved Usopp. That much was obvious to anyone who’d spent more than a day and a half on the same ship as them. And no matter how much he acted like he was first mate in name only, Zoro took that duty incredibly seriously. He didn’t like it when things weren’t right with the crew. And right now, nothing was right with the crew. None of them knew what to do to fix it, and that was it, Sanji supposed. He wasn’t used to seeing Zoro unsure of his course of action.
But one thing was still familiar, still the same. There was still the constant, unyielding loyalty Zoro had for Luffy. Nothing else in the grand line made sense, nothing else was reliable. But Zoro’s devotion to their captain was like an island due north. Which, on the grand line, was as rare as it was comforting.
”I’m staying,” Sanji said.
Forever, he wanted to say. As long as you’ll let me.
It took getting Robin back, and Usopp back in reach, for the panicked rattling in Sanji’s brain to die down. They were together again. His family.
And finally, finally, Sanji was grilling. Nothing better than grilling. He had a beer in one hand, some tongs in the other, and he was cooking up marinated meat and vegetable skewers faster than even Luffy could scarf them down. He’d spent most of the night prepping in the Galley-la kitchens, marinating chicken, pork, and water-water meat in large vats and mixing up bathtub sized troughs of lemony ice tea. It was Robin’s favorite on hot days. He’d bought baskets full of birds eye chili to make a fresh tomato salsa exactly as spicy as he knew Usopp wanted it. Things were good.
He even had Paulie to help him out by the grill. Whenever Sanji took some skewers off the grill, it was Paulie’s job to fish a corresponding number out of a plastic bag in the cooler. And, he seemed to have taken it upon himself to make sure Sanji’s beer was cold and Luffy was kept out of the salsa bowl. He was a good guy.
Funny, too. Turns out, the two of them had a similar outlook on beautiful women, although radically different ideas about how much clothing they should be wearing. Still, it was rare that Sanji got a chance to hang out with guys his own age that weren’t on his crew, and it was even rarer that he took that chance instead of finding someone more female to glob onto. But this was nice.
”Hey, chief, my hands are covered in raw chicken, mind lighting one up for me?”
”Sure,” Sanji said, hanging the tongs on the side of the grill and taking a cigar out of the weird holster on Paulie’s jacket. Paulie held his hands up to avoid contaminating Sanji’s impeccable workspace.
Sanji bit off the end of his cigar and put it between his own lips to light it. The smoke was rougher than what came out of a cigarette, tasted like earth and leather, and Sanji didn’t miss it when he put the cigar between Paulie’s teeth.
Paulie smiled a crooked smile, and puffed on it. ”Thanks.”
”No worries.”
”Paulie.” Zoro turned up suddenly, completely quietly, like he did sometimes. It drove Sanji up the goddamn wall.
”Hey, Roronoa,” Paulie said pleasantly. ”Want a skewer?”
The glare Zoro directed at Paulie might’ve been meant as friendly, but Sanji wasn’t entirely sure.
”Cook,” he said, ignoring Paulie and his generous offer. ”I’m thirsty.”
”So go dunk your head in a toilet bowl?” Sanji flipped over four perfectly grill-marked skewers with an experienced flick of the wrist. ”Clearly, I’m busy.”
”Clearly,” Zoro muttered, and grabbed Sanji’s beer from where he’d set it down on a side table. He drank deep, then went back to glaring at Paulie.
”Y’know, Paulie,” Zoro said. ”Cook here hates ropes.”
”What?” Paulie looked a little confused, as he wiped his hands on his cargo pants, effectively smearing them with potential salmonella.
”Can’t stand the stuff. Complains any time he has to bring the sails in on the ship.”
Sanji blinked. ”What the fuck are you talking about, mossy?”
”So if I were you,” Zoro’s voice was bordering on threatening, ”I’d leave him and his skewers alone.”
All Sanji could do was stare. It wasn’t completely unlikely that Zoro had gone spontaneously insane, but he supposed some external factor could have set him off. Maybe he’d been in the sun too long. Maybe Sanji’s beer had finally killed off his very last braincell.
”Oh,” Paulie said, looking embarrassed for whatever reason. ”Sorry. I didn’t realize it was like that. Between you.”
What.
”What,” Sanji said.
”It’s not,” Zoro said at the same time, talking over Sanji, ”like that.”
”It’s not like anything,” Sanji said, making an abortive gesture in Zoro’s direction. ”Really I can’t overstate how not like that anything is. With us.”
The nature of the situation was slowly beginning to dawn on Sanji. The joke was (or was supposed to be) that Sanji and Zoro made a sport out of messing with each other’s ill advised island hook ups. Easy. Simple. Funny.
So why was Zoro acting like Paulie was one of Sanji’s ill advised island hook ups?
”But it—” Sanji started haltingly, ”Also isn’t like that.” He pointed to Paulie and flopped his hand around like a fish in its death throes, ”here.”
”Right,” Paulie said, one of those trademark blushes creeping down his neck, ”Yeah, no, of course not.” He looked from Sanji to Zoro, and back to Sanji. ”I’m gonna go, uh, throw a towel over your red headed friend. I think she’s trying to give me a heart attack.”
In any other situation, Sanji would have protested loudly. But as it was, Sanji could only watch Paulie awkwardly jog off towards Nami, trusting in his heart that she would be able to ward off his attempts at enforcing modesty by herself.
He turned to Zoro.
”What’s wrong with you, mossy?” The question came out as more of a hiss than anything else.
”What’s wrong with me?” Zoro hissed back. ”You’re the one who’s freaking out.”
”Obviously you got hit over the head by that shitty giraffe one too many times, or maybe the moss infestation has simply reached your occipital lobe,” Sanji poked him in the centre of his huge, stupid forehead. ”But Paulie’s a dude.”
”So?”
”So, asshole, I don’t go for dudes.”
”Touchy.”
”We were just hanging out, and now you’ve made it weird.”
”Well sorry for ruining your date, curly.”
”It’s not a—” Sanji had to take a deep breath and consciously make sure both his feet were still firmly on the ground. Chopper had told him in no uncertain terms that if either he or Zoro fucked up their sutures there would be teeny tiny reindeer hell to pay. ”I told you, it’s not like that.”
”Well, you might wanna tell Paulie that.”
”Wuh,” Sanji managed, deflating completely. ”You think he was…? No, Paulie’s into girls.”
”Sure he is. He’s also into you. Clearly.”
Sanji flipped a skewer over without looking at it. Zoro clicked his tongue derisively.
”Don’t give yourself an ulcer ruminating on that one, curly.”
Zoro disappeared in the direction of the numerous barrels of beer Sanji had made sure were stacked an appropriate distance away from the pool.
For the rest of the night, Sanji got skewers out of the cooler by his damn self. And he ruminated.
It didn’t need to be weird. So, Zoro had committed an embarrassing social blunder. Luffy had tried to eat the large chunks of animal reserved for the giants. Nami-san had looked absolutely breathtaking in her bikini. The water in the pool was wet. It didn’t have to mean anything. Nothing had to change.
Sanji just had to stop thinking about it.
Only, Sanji couldn’t stop thinking about it.
He thought about it on the walk back to the Galley-la barracks, after leaving a charcuterie spread out for whoever was still hungry (Luffy).
He thought about it as he toed off one shoe at a time, undid his tie, and neatly folded his pants and shirt up.
He definitely thought about it after a full hour of lying in his skinny bunk bed trying to think about anything else.
Sure, Sanji liked Paulie well enough. But not like that. Not like he would a woman. He didn’t want to take care of Paulie like he would a woman. Or, it’s not like he’d hate to cook the man a meal and watch him eat it, but he didn’t want to put him on any kind of pedestal. Didn’t want to fawn over him and press deferential kisses to the back of his hand, didn’t want to get down on his knees and—
Well.
No. No, Sanji didn’t want any of that. He just enjoyed Paulie’s company, is all. That stupid marimo was getting some signals crossed, that’s all. Though it had to be said, Paulie wasn’t bad looking. For a man. He was strong, and capable, and he smelled like smoke and sweat and rough hewn planks, and there was something about the way he blushed so furiously that others might consider cute.
And you had to give it to him, the man stood by Iceburg until he couldn’t stand at all. Went up against his closest friends. His nakama, Sanji supposed. All for Iceburg. He couldn’t call that anything less than complete, blind devotion.
Sanji rolled over in his bunk. Punched his flat pillow a few times and wiggled around to get comfortable. He pulled one arm out of the comforting heat of the blanket nest he’d made. It was too hot in there anyway.
Devotion. The word rolled around like a terrible, disruptive marble on the hardwood floor of Sanji’s brain.
He sat himself up. He swung his legs over the edge of the bunk, and dropped down on the floor. He was only going out for a smoke on the porch. He didn’t bother dressing any more formally than the boxers and Galley-la t-shirt he’d worn to bed. It wasn’t like anyone would see him.
Sanji was halfway through his first cigarette when Paulie showed up.
”Hey,” he said.
Even in the middle of the night, Paulie still wore those stupid ski goggles on his head. Sanji realized with a rush of embarrassment that he found it endearing.
”…Hey.”
”I just wanted to check up on you,” Paulie said, looking a little sheepish. ”You weren’t in the kitchen manically chopping something, so I wanted to make sure you’re okay.”
”Yeah. I’ve got another big batch of water-water meat marinating since this afternoon. I’ll just make some salads to go with it in the morning. Maybe some ceviche, if I have time.” Sanji really wanted to ask what the hell water-water meat even was, but figured Paulie hadn’t come to talk about mysterious local proteins. ”…I appreciate it though.”
”Good, good.” Paulie came up onto the porch, stood next to Sanji looking like he still had more to say. ”Just, uh, things aren’t weird, right? After today?”
”No!” It came out a bit too loud, and a bit too quick. ”No, please, don’t worry about it. Zoro was just being a dick, it’s like a thing we do. Like, a joke.”
”Yeah?”
”Yeah. He’s dumber than he looks. Which is a pretty high bar to clear.”
Leaning back against the bannister, Paulie shrugged one shoulder and took a breath.
”I think you oughta give him a little more credit,” Paulie said. ”I mean, he was right. I was hitting on you.”
Shit. Sanji swallowed hard, tried to look as nonchalant as he possibly could. Was it normal, to say that kind of thing so casually?
”Oh,” was all he could say. ”Actually?”
”Mhm.”
Paulie stood close to Sanji. Not that Sanji was in any way a stranger to crowding into small spaces with other men (kitchens, galleys, bunk rooms, combat), but Paulie buzzed in his periphery like he was some great unknown. Paulie made himself impossible to ignore, when he stood close to Sanji with intent.
He could only really compare it with the promise of a fight brewing with Zoro. The tension was similarly inescapable, similarly electric.
Paulie didn’t put his hands on him, as he leaned forward into Sanji’s space, kissing him with surprisingly soft lips. Sanji kept his eyes open. He had to.
The kiss didn’t last long. Paulie leaned back, red in the face but with a painstakingly neutral expression. ”Sorry,” he said. ”Hope you didn’t mind too much.”
Sanji tried to think, but it was hard with the way his head was like a hundred man kitchen during dinner rush. The key to that kind of service was focusing on your own shit. One thing at a time. Sanji felt the lingering heat of Paulie’s lips recede from his skin.
He looked at Paulie.
”Do that again.”
The corner of Paulie’s mouth curled upward. ”You got it.”
This time, Paulie snaked one strong arm around Sanji’s waist, crowding closer, kissing fiercer. He kissed Sanji like Sanji would a woman, and it made him feel dazed, light headed. He didn’t know. Didn’t know that Paulie’s stubble against his skin would confuse him first, then thrill him. Didn’t know he’d enjoy his lips being gently coaxed apart as if he was something worth discovering.
He didn’t realize he’d closed his eyes this time around, until he heard footsteps approach and then stop.
Breaking away from Paulie, Sanji turned to see Zoro on the path up to the barracks. He was staring.
Staring, Sanji found, like he’d seen something priceless shatter and break.
For whatever reason, Sanji’s throat constricted. He couldn’t speak. Which was probably for the best, because what was there to say?
This was normal. This was part of it. The whole thing had started because they kept seeing each other like this. In the middle of…whatever this was. This was normal, for them. A joke, for them.
Zoro was still in on the joke. Right?
”’Scuse me,” Zoro said, averted his eyes, and pressed past them to get into the barracks. He closed the door behind him.
Sanji could only stare at the door handle, as if it would rattle to life again at any moment.
He nearly jumped, when Paulie let out a sigh next to him. ”I told you I didn’t wanna fuck anything up for you two.”
”Huh—” Sanji said, having almost forgotten he was there. ”What’s that mean?”
”Nothing, I guess.” Paulie pulled away, kept his hands to himself, took a step back and then another. ”Good night, Sanji.”
”What? Where are you going?”
”Good luck.” He gave Sanji a peck on the cheek with an alarming air of finality.
And then he was walking off toward the shipyard, and Sanji was left wondering if the temperature had just dropped several degrees due to some mystical weather event, or if it was just the absence of Paulie.
Fuck.
Sanji’s heart was beating. Fast. But for some reason, when he tried to make sense of Paulie, and his hands, and his stubble, all he could picture was Zoro’s face.
Zoro’s stupid, devastated face.
Shit.
Sanji smoked two more cigarettes back to back. It didn’t take him long. He took long drags in quick succession, breathing the tarry smoke deep into his lungs. It soothed his battered airways, but that was all. The nicotine only added to the buzzing in his fingertips that might’ve had to do with Paulie, might’ve had to do with Zoro, might’ve had to do with the fact that it was a beautiful night and yesterday he’d almost died.
He stubbed the second cigarette out on the bannister and followed Zoro inside.
It was dark in the barracks. Darker than outside, with no moon to cast its light. Sanji threw his lighter and his pack of smokes onto the bedside table and jumped up into the bunk above Zoro’s. Of course they had assigned bunks (no matter how chaotic their sleeping arrangements were on the Merry, their captain had insisted that real bunk beds were different than hammocks, and needed to be properly divvied up). And of course Sanji’s was a top bunk. He was very good at jumping.
He let his head fall heavy onto the pillow.
”You’re back early.” Zoro’s voice was low, reaching up from underneath.
”You’re an idiot.”
It was hard, falling asleep after that. But that night, after an hour or two of fitful tossing and turning, the dreams began.
Sanji was certainly no stranger to the type of dream that had him grasping for half-felt, half-imagined ecstasy, had him waking up feeling equal parts embarrassed and refreshed. After all, he had an active imagination even during waking hours, of course his dreams were as vivid and as thrilling as his daydreams.
And he didn’t mind them. He certainly didn’t mind them when they featured Nami in a starring role, or on occasion Robin, or some anonymous giggling mermaid. Sanji was fairly sure he wouldn’t even have minded seeing Paulie in one, after what had happened. But that’s not who ended up haunting Sanji in his sleep.
No, night after night, his subconscious self arched his back underneath a ridiculously muscled chest, his hands grasping at ridiculous green hair.
It was Zoro’s hands, that would roam over Sanji’s body, the feeling heightened exponentially by the dizzying, disorienting landscape of a dream. And in the mornings, Sanji would wake up feeling equal parts guilty and confused.
But worse than those dreams, were the ones where Zoro would just look. He would turn those doleful eyes on Sanji, and Sanji would look back. Would be allowed to. Expected to. He’d know, like you know things in a dream, instinctively, that Zoro was his to look at (and he was Zoro’s to see).
Worse still, was when the image of Zoro would look at him and say things like mine, and only mine. Use words like us, like sweetheart, like forever.
From those dreams, Sanji would wake up feeling completely fucking mortified.
Thriller Bark
Sanji was sitting next to one of Lola’s men. His hands were stiff and raw from cooking, and his legs ached. He hadn’t sat down since he woke up. But everyone was fed. All the dishes were either washed or actively in use. He had no excuses left. So he’d let one of the formerly shadowless men coax him down onto a piece of castle wall and hand him a drink. And fuck it, he was telling jokes and Sanji was laughing. It felt really fucking good.
The man refilled his cup with whatever swill they’d found in Moria’s basement. Sanji leaned in, and thought about how easy it was to talk to someone when there are no stakes. No history. Nothing vast and unknowable brewing between you. The man’s voice got quieter, and Sanji leaned closer still, to hear him.
”Fuck off.”
Sanji looked up. There were bags under Zoro’s eyes, and he looked paler than he should. But Chopper was good at his job, so the only sign left of the nothing that had happened were a bandaged chest and some stitches near his hairline.
Sanji’s new friend looked up in surprise, and looked back at Sanji as if expecting him to object. Sanji just kept his eyes on Zoro.
”You heard the man,” Sanji said, exhaling a cloud of smoke. ”Fuck off.”
”Jesus, fine,” The man said, and scurried off. Sanji hadn’t bothered learning his name. But he supposed he’d go and apologize later.
Zoro sat down next to him, picking up the bottle of alcohol the man had left behind.
They were both silent, for a long, stretched out moment.
”You sabotaged me, you bastard,” Sanji said eventually, taking another drag off his cigarette.
Zoro looked at him, oddly wide eyed. ”You were actually gonna…” he said, staring at Sanji like he’d just grown a second head. ”With him?”
”What?” Sanji abruptly went very red. ”No! I mean, with Kuma.”
”Oh.” Zoro sounded calmer, went back to staring straight ahead. ”Well you tried to sabotage me first.”
”And why the fuck didn’t you let me?” Something in Sanji snapped, like it so often did, talking to Zoro. ”Why didn’t you use your stupid, moss-riddled brain for once, and let me take it?”
Zoro stubbornly kept looking ahead.
”The crew needs you around, asshole,” Sanji continued. ”Luffy’s not gonna be king of the pirates without you."
It was too much. Too much, that he couldn’t admit that he was hiding behind Luffy, behind the crew.
He needed Zoro around.
The truth of it was dizzying. Sanji moved to stand, needed to be somewhere else. Anywhere else.
He’d barely gotten off the ground, when he felt Zoro’s broad, strong hand close around his wrist.
”Do you think we could just get another cook?”
Sanji’s body went still. ”What?”
”You said–” Zoro’s grip tightened, and it didn’t feel entirely voluntary. ”You said, we need to look for another cook. Do you think Luffy would have anyone else?”
”I mean, he’d have to deal with a slight decrease in quality, obviously, but—”
”Do you think you just fill a function, it that it?” Sanji could barely look at Zoro. ”That so long as someone puts meat on the table, everything will be the same, no matter who it is?”
”…I’m the cook.” That was his function, that was his purpose. If that’s all he was, it was still more than he could’ve ever hoped to be.
”You’re our cook.” Zoro’s voice was frustrated, angry, fucking grating in Sanji’s ears. He didn’t want to hear. ”You don’t get to throw your life away just because you’ve got an inferiority complex the size of this goddamn zombie boat—”
”Who taught you what an inferiority complex is?”
”—And you don’t get to fucking die. Full stop.”
Sanji stared at him. Felt his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed around something large and intrusive lodged in his throat.
”What? And you do?”
”You’re not hearing me, shit cook.” Zoro’s voice was barely more than a growl. ”You’re ours. Nobody else gets to have you. Not heaven, not hell, not God.”
Oh, fuck. It shouldn’t have been, God, it fucking should not have, but hearing the possessive edge in Zoro’s voice was like sinking into a hot bath. Sanji wanted to cling onto it, he craved it, he wanted it desperately to be real. To be about him. Only him.
Sanji jerked his head in the direction Lola’s crew member had left. ”Not that guy?”
He didn’t expect Zoro to break eye contact. To look down, to look caught. He nodded, almost imperceptibly, and looked back in Sanji’s eyes.
”…Okay.” Sanji stepped a little closer, then. Stood over Zoro and felt the grip on his wrist turn soft, almost shy. ”If he can’t have me, he can’t have me. All you have to do is tell me why.”
That turned out to be too much for Zoro, who let go of Sanji’s wrist as if he’d burned himself.
”Fuck, cook, you can do whatever the hell you want—”
”No, don’t try to get out of this, you piece of shit.” Sanji stubbed out his cigarette and flicked the butt at Zoro’s stupid broad chest. ”Tell me. Why do we keep sabotaging each other?”
”I don’t know.” Zoro dragged a hand over his face and took a swig from the bottle. Sanji knew it was too sweet for him, but Zoro nearly drained it all anyway. ”I’m in love with you.”
”Oh.”
It settled heavy and warm in him, the thought that Zoro didn’t just want him, but wanted to keep him. For Sanji to belong to him. And fuck, Sanji’s head spun with the surging realization that he wanted nothing more than to belong to Zoro. For Zoro to belong to him.
Like a salt shaker belongs to a pepper shaker. Like they’re part of the same set. Like a horse is part of a herd. Like he’s part of a greater whole. Like Zoro’s swords belong to him, like Sanji’s hands belong to him. Like they are an inextricable extension of him.
Maybe he’d wanted it for a while. Maybe for a long time, actually. Maybe even since before he’d seen some long-legged, cigarette-smoking, stubborn son of a bitch put his hands on—
Oh.
Sanji sat back down. He felt Zoro’s warmth through his shirtsleeve. Sat closer than he would have, before.
”That’s good.”
”Good? Why’s that good? You love me back or something?”
It was now Sanji’s turn to avert his eyes. If he knew his own treacherous body right, his ears were going a very telling shade of red.
Zoro, the bastard, didn’t have the sense of tact to ignore it. He looked back at Sanji, eyes wider for every second Sanji didn’t answer the question.
”What the fuck is wrong with you, cook?” He leaned back into Sanji’s space, scanning his face like he thought Sanji’s feelings might be written out in tiny font on his scleras. ”Tell me no.”
Sanji grimaced and kept looking pointedly at anything that wasn’t Zoro. ”I can’t.”
”…You can’t.”
”You heard me, shitty moss.”
The heat from his ears had spread down his neck, and Sanji was now quite sure he closely resembled a stop light. It was still impossible to look Zoro’s way.
”You love me.” Zoro stated simply. ”That’s so embarrassing for you.”
”Wha—” Sanji squawked, ”You just said you’re in…that you—”
In pure indignation, he turned to yell at the stupid, infuriating swordsman, and it was like all the air was punched out of his lungs.
Zoro was grinning like the sun. Like he used to.
It felt like his heart was going to pound its way out of Sanji’s chest. It dawned on him then, that that grin had always made him a little light headed. True, he used to attribute it to rage, and would do anything in his power to make Zoro pull his usual scowl, so that all would be right with the world and Sanji would be sane again. But no. The fluttering in Sanji’s chest had nothing to do with rage.
The laugh that came out of Zoro was breathless, relieved. And Sanji could only keep staring. Gingerly, carefully, as if Sanji was some animal that would easily startle, he took one of Sanji’s precious hands in both of his. Palm up. He stroked the divot where his thumb connected to his slender palm, and it sent electric currents down both sides of Sanji’s spine.
There was no world where he could have imagined such a soft gesture from those hands. Not directed at him.
Zoro lifted Sanji’s hand slowly, and pressed a kiss to the back of it. And when Sanji dared to lift his eyes to Zoro’s, he could only see devotion.
Whole hearted, blind devotion.
It didn’t waver, even as Zoro grimaced at him. ”What’s with that stupid look on your face?”
”I’m happy, you absolute bastard.”
Not trusting himself to say any more words, Sanji simply laced their fingers together, and closed the last few crucial centimeters of distance between them. Sanji kissed him briefly, softly, tasting the sweet liquor on his lips.
He drew back, but refused to follow his instincts and run away. So he stayed, feeling his hand start to sweat in Zoro’s, his head filling with the scent of cold steel and Chopper’s healing salve. Listening to the shaky breath being sucked into Zoro’s lungs, he figured maybe he wasn’t the only one in deep waters.
For a fraction of a second, Sanji got to see the wrecked look on Zoro’s face. Just like he had that night in Skypeia, Zoro looked his nineteen years. He looked young, open, even a little bit dazed. But then Zoro leaned back in and Sanji was being kissed again. And again, the kiss was brief. Too brief. But Sanji didn’t have it in him to hold it against Zoro when he bumped their foreheads together and put his free hand up to hold the back of Sanji’s neck. Like he was scared he’d run.
”Don’t fucking knock me out again,” Sanji said. If this was real, and it seemed to be real, then he needed to be free to protect it.
”Then stop trying to kill yourself.” There was a tinge of annoyance in Zoro’s voice.
”Stop acting like you’re the boss of me.”
”Sanji.”
The sound of his name on Zoro’s lips blew any argumentative thought straight out of Sanji’s head.
”I can’t—” Zoro huffed, sounding weak for the first time since Sanji had known him. ”I can’t let go of you.”
”Good,” Sanji breathed again, and Zoro surged forward, gathering Sanji up in his arms, and kissed him until his head spun.
Sanji let himself feel it. Let his hands roam over the rough bandages covering Zoro’s chest, let his tongue swipe at the seam of Zoro’s lips until he let him in, let his hands grasp at that stupid green hair. And Zoro’s hands at his waist, his neck, sent showers of sparks through his nervous system that he really hoped had nothing to do with Dr. Hogback’s experiments.
Kissing had always made Sanji’s head turn to soup. Giddy pleasure usually mixed with an overwhelming sense of gratitude and the desperate, clawing notion that he’d inevitably fuck things up. And, sure, that was still there. Lingering on the outskirts of his mind. But this was Zoro. There were no bad qualities Sanji fervently wanted to conceal that Zoro didn’t already know about. And that was terrifying, in a way, but a comfort too.
So he shrugged, and let himself be thrilled by Zoro’s calloused hands slipping underneath Sanji’s shirt, stroking his spine sweetly. By the reverent kisses he placed on the side of Sanji’s throat. By his teeth, grazing the sensitive skin there.
By the time Luffy started shouting for Zoro, Sanji had nearly forgotten there was anyone else on the island. The ship. Whatever it was.
Zoro pulled away from Sanji reluctantly. But at the sight of him, lips stung red, eyes blown wide, and a bright red flush covering every visible part of him, Sanji had to ball his fist up in his open shirt and give him one last sappy, earnest peck, before letting him go.
Neither of them spoke, as Zoro got up to leave. But when Zoro turned his back, Sanji couldn’t help grabbing his wrist tight, making him look.
”You better stick around,” Sanji said, hoping Zoro would understand him. ”’Cause I’m not going anywhere.”
”I know you’re not, you stubborn bastard.”