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Sanji isn’t looking in that direction. But it doesn’t matter. He’s acutely aware of Zoro’s presence (how could he not be?), standing off to the right behind him, probably leaning against the center island. Arms crossed, no doubt. The picture of nonchalance.
There’s a tension suspended in the air, pulsating, building. Sanji tries to snatch it up and dispel it onto the dirty dishes soaking in the sink, cleaning them furiously. If he just scrubs hard enough…
“Well?”
It’s almost a grunt, low and noncommittal, Zoro’s attempt to feign indifference. Sanji knows he uses it to keep his guard securely in place, to preempt the possibility of disappointment and at least appear to be less bothered if it comes. It’s a well-worn defense mechanism. And, boy, does Zoro wear it well.
Still, Sanji can’t help scoffing. There’s no way to be 100 percent sure, but he has an awfully good idea what Zoro is asking. And he’s surprised (but is he really?) at Zoro’s audacity to ask for it in that disinterested, careless manner when he knows full well that Sanji is frustrated.
“Seriously?” Sanji doesn’t even bother to turn around.
“What?”
“Unbelievable.”
There is no way that Zoro, after being in a terrible mood all evening, and then also taking it out on his crewmates, is now casually approaching Sanji, with all the grace and humility of a stubborn ox, to have sex. It is, truly, unbelievable.
“Whatever, cook. Have it your way.”
But Sanji isn’t about to let him get away with this behavior. He whips around, dropping a wet pan into the steaming water below, ignoring the small spray of suds that speckle his perfectly tailored suit. “Stop.”
And Zoro, who, sure enough, is walking toward the kitchen door, does stop. That voice always works on him.
Spurred on by a sense of satisfaction, the blond continues, “Turn around.” His demand leaves no room for argument. At least if Zoro knows what is good for him.
But he rarely does, so he does as he’s told, but it’s with an insolent saunter, arms crossed against his giant chest and eyebrows quirked up slightly. Sanji can read the look on his face, plain as day: What the fuck do you want?
Such a little brat.
“Are you aware of the effect your attitude has had on the crew tonight?”
Zoro doesn’t respond, pursing his lips to the side. Stubborn, unmoving.
Sanji is unfazed. He can deal with this. Taking a step closer to the headstrong swordsman, he presses on, “You have nothing to say for yourself?”
Zoro shrugs, an unbothered huff escaping through a smirk. “If you don’t want to fuck, fine by me. I don’t give a damn.”
“It’s not about that!” Sanji is careful not to raise his voice. He doesn’t need to. He can make Zoro yield in other ways. “I know you’re upset about what happened earlier. In the fight. You’re feeling responsible. But that doesn’t excuse you berating your crewmates, your friends.”
Another irritated sigh. “I would hardly call that berating—”
“You called Usopp a pathetic excuse for a warrior—"
“He was today,” Zoro shrugs again.
Sanji is rendered speechless, just for a second, but it is long enough for Zoro to interject, “We done here?”
If Sanji retorted angrily or swore out the other man, he might have lost. But he knows, in that second, exactly how to handle Zoro, how to give him what he deserves—and, more importantly, what he desperately needs.
A slow grin spreads across his face, his hands slipping into his pockets as he schools his expression, ridding it of disbelief, and strolls toward Zoro, poised as ever. Then, and only then, does the smug indifference on Zoro’s face falter. His Adam’s apple bobs, his body becomes tense, fully aware that Sanji is assuming the dominant role and internally deliberating between fight, flight, or…submission.
The lithe blond comes to a full stop in front of Zoro, unwavering as he stares back into steel gray.
“You want me to fuck you, mosshead?”
Zoro doesn’t answer, uncertainty flickering across his eyes.
“You want me to suck your dick, maybe eat you out? Have you writhing beneath my mouth, hmm?” It’s almost a purr, low and succulent, and Zoro takes another small gulp. It’s nice having someone wrapped around your finger, Sanji muses. “Or maybe you need me to rail you tonight, is that it? You’re so worked up, so tense. You want me to fuck you senseless, give you release? Help you forget? Hmm? Marimo?”
Zoro puffs out his chest a bit, desperately trying maintain even footing with Sanji in the only way he knows how: cool detachment. “I thought you didn’t—you weren’t going to…,” his breath catches in a clear tell of how coolly detached he is not, “y’know. Fuck me.”
Offering one of his impish smiles, Sanji perceives exactly how much it softens Zoro’s resolve. “You could be stomping my head into the ground, but if you were smiling at me like that, I don’t think I’d even notice,” he had once grumbled early on in their… arrangement. From his knees. Obediently lapping up Sanji’s precum while the cook looked down on him with the same grin, confident and seductive, making him prettier than ever.
“I didn’t say I wasn’t going to fuck you, sweetheart. But we have a pressing matter at hand. One that we must attend to first.”
His elegant fingers are tracing the outline of Zoro’s quickly hardening cock, visibly noticeable through his black pants, which means that all Zoro can manage in response is a gravelly, “Yeah? What’s that?”
“Your behavior,” Sanji all but coos, turning his palm towards Zoro’s length and squeezing softly. “There must be consequences for your blatant disrespect and cruelty toward your friends. You need to be punished. You agree?”
“I—I don’t—”
Zoro’s words are cut short when Sanji leans into him, tucking his face into the crook of the swordsman’s neck. Gently, he traces his tongue along the shell of Zoro’s ear, swiping across the dangling gold earrings and catching them between his teeth for a mere second. Gratified at the slight shiver beneath his lips, Sanji breathes out, “Do you agree?”
There’s a beat of hesitation, and then he can feel Zoro nod his head from where he’s busy nipping at the curve of the other man’s jaw.
“Good.”
Pulling back, Sanji is all business. He walks back toward the giant kitchen island, knowing that Zoro will be following behind him. An obedient little pet. Sanji fucking adores that about him.
“What is my—,” Zoro falters on the word. It’s too humiliating. And doesn’t Sanji just know how that turns on the normally placid warrior. “What’re you going to do?”
“You’ll find out soon enough, mosshead.”
“Cook.”
There might normally be a threat lurking beneath the word: Zoro irritated by Sanji’s antics and ready for a fight. But now it comes out almost in a groan.
Sanji knows how wound up the other man is. From the grueling fight earlier in the day. From the perceived sense of failure that he so easily internalizes, even when he’s given his best. From being combative with his crewmates and, undoubtedly, feeling bad about it—whether or not he’ll admit it. From wanting sexual release and not getting it as easily as he normally does from Sanji. (What can he say? He’s absolutely mad about Zoro.)
That’s why Sanji is about to do what he’s going to do. He needs to help Zoro relax, to take accountability for being a dick without letting it spiral into self-deprecation, to forgive himself. And there’s only one way that Sanji knows how to accomplish all that. By breaking him.
“Remove your shirt. And your haramaki.”
Zoro easily complies. He’s done this at least two dozen times at Sanji’s request. It usually ends pretty well for him.
Sanji hums his approval. “Perfect. So obedient when you want something. Isn’t that right, mossy?”
His words have an immediate impact on Zoro, a flush blossoming across his tan cheeks. But he bites his tongue, remaining silent.
“Now, your pants. Pull them down, to your knees.”
Zoro gives him an inquisitive look, hesitating. Typically, Sanji would just have him remove them altogether. But he thinks this is more fun for now. And he kind of wants Zoro’s legs to be somewhat constrained.
“I won’t ask again.” Sanji’s voice has gone stern. He’s not here to negotiate. “Not off. Just down.”
Fumbling slightly, Zoro at last unclasps his pants, hooks his thumbs into the waistline, and unceremoniously yanks them down until they’re pooled around his knees. His cock bounces freely, already nearly hard, glistening at the tip. Sanji loves to see it.
“Good boy.”
Sanji tightly grips the other man’s now-naked bicep—gloriously huge—and leads him, shuffling gracelessly, toward the kitchen island. “Bend over.”
“I thought you weren’t going to fuck me yet,” Zoro grunts out, literally incapable of snark.
“That’s right.” Sanji helps him with the process by planting a hand between his shoulder blades and shoving forcefully, trying to ignore the rippling muscle beneath his fingers. There will be time to savor them later, he reminds himself. “I’ve something else in mind.”
He can tell that Zoro feels awkward, bent over, palms flat on the countertop, his cheek pressed into it as well. And Zoro hates feeling awkward. But he’ll do this. He’ll put himself at Sanji’s mercy, allow himself to be manhandled when he could easily overcome Sanji with his considerable strength. And Sanji finds that utterly intoxicating.
He is overwhelmed, as he often is, with the surge of disbelieving gratitude that he, of all people, gets to be the one to put Zoro in his place. To see him like this, completely vulnerable and trusting. To guide and challenge and kiss and fight and fuck—and, yes, punish—the mighty swordsman. It is a goddamn privilege, honestly.
But that’s not the emotion he shows right now. Even as he stares at Zoro’s indescribably perfect ass, jutting out just right from his folded position. Damn. How he longs to worship it with his mouth, his hands, his cock. But Sanji must stay in control. Zoro needs it.
“You’ve been a bad boy, marimo,” he begins, trailing his nails up the back of the other man’s naked thighs. Even through his tan, as well as a gorgeous smattering of light freckles, Zoro’s skin can capture a mark. Which it now does, as Sanji presses harder, intentionally scratching into the surface and leaving pale pink lines behind. “You’ve behaved like a brat. And brats must be dealt with. Do you know how?”
Zoro groans involuntarily when Sanji’s hand comes to rest on his balls, which hang down heavily between his legs. “I—I don’t know.”
Sanji doesn’t buy that for a second. Zoro can be dense and oblivious at times, but not this much. It’s pretty clear where this is headed, but he knows the world’s-greatest-swordsman-in-training isn’t going to admit out loud that he’s about to have his bare bottom soundly spanked by a lowly chef.
No matter. He’ll be admitting it with his screams before too long.
Without further delay, Sanji raises a hand and brings it straight down across one of the taut, muscled globes that are currently at his disposal. Being the master of stoicism that he is, Zoro barely responds, but Sanji isn’t deterred. He wasn’t expecting a quick reaction. He knows this is going to be a process, and he’s here for the duration.
So for the next few moments, he focuses on the task at hand: alternating between cheeks, working them over from top to bottom, peppering a few hard strokes at the top of Zoro’s thighs, slowly but steadily turning the flesh a bright pink color. After a particularly stinging slap at the crease between his pert ass and muscular thigh, the swordsman squirms. And that’s when Sanji knows it’s time to take this to the next level.
Putting more force into his movement, the blond begins to speak in between each unforgiving spank.
“I don’t care”—whack—“if you’ve had”—whack—“a bad day.” He lays five hard swats to one spot and that draws another squirm from Zoro. “You.”—whack—“Do.”—whack—“Not.”—whack—“take it out”—whack—“on your friends.”
“Ughn.”
Zoro’s hands immediately ball into fists, and he ducks his head down, nosed pressed against the countertop. Undeniably embarrassed to have let that small grunt escape.
Sanji chuckles. “It’s starting to hurt a little, isn’t it?”
There’s no reply, but Zoro shifts slightly, planting his feet as wide as the confines of his bunched-up pants will allow, replacing his palms to the flat of the countertop and straightening his back. It pushes his ass out further. A challenge. Do your worst.
Sanji shrugs a shoulder, even though Zoro can’t see it from his current position. He’ll gladly take up the gauntlet.
“Fine. Let’s continue.”
His next target is the meatiest part of Zoro’s ass. He picks up the speed, putting even more strength into his movements. It’s delightful, watching the quickly reddening flesh jiggle with each blow, flattening slightly on impact and then bouncing back, ready for the next stroke. Sanji can feel the heat starting to radiate off the skin.
“You’re lucky the crew is out for the evening,” he reflects out loud, never stopping his hand. It’s becoming methodical now. Raise. Swing. Crack. “I know you’d just hate for them to hear this. The slaps across your bare ass. The sound of you getting punished like the naughty boy you are.”
Another small groan tumbles out from Zoro’s parted lips, alongside a trembling breath, and Sanji marvels that, yes, it’s a response the pain, but it’s equally drenched in arousal.
“Hmm. Maybe I’m wrong.” He takes his hand lower, giving Zoro’s thighs some attention. They quickly take on a blotchy hue. “Maybe you’d like that. Maybe it turns you on. Maybe you’d even want me to discipline you in front of everyone. Take you over my knee. Let you show off your pretty bottom.”
Zoro’s cock twitches between his legs. It’s almost as red and angry as his backside, glistening with precum and aching to be touched. Sanji would be lying if he said he wasn’t a little relieved.
This was a bit of a calculated guess. Yes, he secretly had been wanting to spank Zoro for who knows how long, and yes, he believes the belligerent young man needs it. Needs to be put in his place every so often. But he wouldn’t actually want to engage in this sort of play—mixing pain with pleasure and dishing it out with a healthy dose of humiliation—if it didn’t also arouse the swordsman.
The room suddenly becomes quiet.
Sanji steps back to admire his handiwork, catching his breath in the process. He’s awe-struck at the beauty before him. Zoro looks exquisite like this, his torso bare, the muscles of his back flexed from the top of his broad shoulders to his tapered waist—a show of control. His round bottom, presented so perfectly to Sanji, is now a solid red, hot to the touch. It must be hurting more than the swordsman is letting on, but Sanji would be lying if he said that wasn’t part of the appeal of the other young man. He’s so damn strong.
Sanji had never felt such monstrous attraction to anyone before Zoro. And it was instantaneous. Not that that was new. Sanji considers himself an open-minded free spirit. He has easily found beauty in a variety of people of all genders and he has been unashamed in exploring said attractions and connections. But all previous exploits were swept from his mind when he first laid eyes on the famous Roronoa Zoro at the Baratie.
Sanji was nearly crushed by the weight of what he felt when he took in that flash of bright green hair juxtaposed with unnervingly calm gray eyes, all of it set off by striking cheekbones. The cocky little smile that broke free only rarely, revealing a set of adorable dimples in those treasured moments. The calm composure of what some (read: Sanji) considered the ideal body. In a flash, Zoro had taken his breath away, and Sanji has been chasing it ever since. And then he learned that Zoro is quietly clever, irritatingly headstrong, and unbelievably loyal, and damn it if he wasn’t just fucked.
“You starting to learn your lesson?”
Zoro’s retort is immediate. “Your hand starting to hurt?”
“Hmm.” Evidently not enough.
Sanji saunters to the other side of the island, so he’s directly across from Zoro and can capture his eyes as he glowers at the cook from below.
“Not even a little,” Sanji answers at last, keeping the swordsman in check with his steady gaze. “But let’s up the ante anyway.”
In no rush—Zoro isn’t going anywhere—he gracefully unbuttons his suit jacket and folds it neatly, setting it on one of the barstools tucked beneath the spacious island. Zoro watches, trying to conceal his interest, but failing ever so slightly when Sanji unbuttons his cuffs and methodically rolls up his sleeves. Zoro’s eyes drift to the sinewy muscles flexing in Sanji’s now-bare forearms.
It’s taken the cook a little while to accept that Zoro finds him equally attractive, albeit a “pretty boy,” as Zoro first dubbed him. For some reason, Zoro seems enthralled with Sanji’s charm and charisma, his easy smile and flirty manner, his elegance and class—not to mention his lean, but deceptively strong body, chiseled and poised. At first, Sanji was caught off guard when he learned the sort of sway he held over Zoro through the power of their mutual attraction. But over the past few weeks, he’s grown more confident, intentionally wielding that power every so often, with pleasure but also always responsibly. Zoro seems to derive some sense of respite by placing himself in Sanji’s careful, loving hands, giving up his practiced control, and just being.
And that’s exactly the experience the cook wants him to have tonight. He makes quick work of his tie, long fingers playing at the knot until the silk falls loose.
“Hands out,” he commands.
Zoro swallows hard. Surely he knows where this is going. And Sanji is curious to see if the strong-willed young man will allow himself to be put even more at his mercy. He crooks an eyebrow questioningly. Well?
Zoro’s lips part, sucking in a gasp of air for reinforcement, and then he slowly reaches out both arms, his body becoming more taut across the countertop as it lengthens. He’s even got both wrists pressed together, Sanji notices. Precious. He’s really starving for sex and willing to gamble that this little act of submission will secure it for him.
Sanji smirks as he quickly ties Zoro’s strong, skillful hands together, his own fingers brushing over callouses and little knicks. The blond would go to war for these hands.
“Now, we’re going to continue. I will finish your punishment, you will apologize for your behavior, agree to apologize to the rest of the crew when they return from their night out, and then I’ll maybe—maybe—give you a good fuck as your reward. Understood?”
Zoro nods, but it’s not enough for Sanji. He raises both of his elegant brows, eyes boring into Zoro’s. He will get the respect he’s looking for.
Catching on at last, the swordsman huffs out an impatient, “Understood.”
Moderately appeased, Sanji nods in response, reaching for a bowl of produce that sits within arm’s reach. His fingers grapple with the contents for a second until he finds it. A lumpy, knotted root. Perfect.
He pulls it out, tosses it to his free hand, and then snatches up a small paring knife from the counter as well. Zoro continues to watch him.
“I know you, mosshead,” he says conversationally, tenderly stripping the brown skin off uneven knobs. “You need a release. An emotional release. But you won’t allow yourself that luxury. Without permission. A little incentive. So let me give you incentive. Let me help you. I’m generous like that.”
He has the root completely peeled now. He pauses, momentarily calculating how to pare it down to fit his intended purpose. The tacky juices stick to his fingertips as he plays with it.
“Do you know what this is?”
Zoro nods half-heartedly, but his eyes are uncertain. Maybe he has a guess but isn’t really sure. But he’s never going to admit that to Sanji.
“Ginger,” the cook supplies. “It’s delicious. Tangy, spicy. Its flavors can permeate a dish with just the smallest amount, settling into your tongue. In its raw form, though, the juices are highly potent. They can sting a little. But this delicious root has other wonderful uses as well.”
The silver knife flashes in the low lights of the kitchen as Sanji puts it to work again, carving out a decent-sized plug. Designed to perfectly stick between Zoro’s enflamed cheeks, but not without a little stretch. He holds it in front of Zoro’s face, making sure he can see it properly.
“Lovely, isn’t it?”
Zoro scoffs, but the fear flittering across his exquisite features is unmistakable. Sanji raises one hand to his mouth, licking up the length of his finger, collecting the sharp taste of the ginger on his tongue. Zoro’s own tongue darts out, swiping at his chapped lips. The blush settled high on his cheeks deepens beautifully. Sanji smirks.
“And I have such a special use for it.”
He’s in no hurry as he saunters back to the other side of the island, coming to rest beside Zoro’s legs. Building up anticipation is half the fun, after all.
The ginger root is laid to rest beside Zoro’s waist. Sanji needs both hands free for this. Stooping down, he quickly unbuckles the other man’s black boots, wordlessly guiding them off his feet. The pants come next.
“Step,” Sanji murmurs. Zoro submits and then he’s completely exposed from head to toe. It somehow makes the swath of red across his ass and thighs more prominent. It’s the only thing dressing his otherwise bare skin.
Sanji swats at the inside of one of his knees. A wordless command to widen his stance. Zoro implicitly understands because he once again obeys, his hard cock coming into better view, swinging between his thighs. Sanji has to physically resist the urge to lean in and take it into his mouth. He’s dying to feel the hardness again his tongue, to savor the taste of his lover.
Steeling himself against that powerful desire—a blow job is not on the menu right now—he stands up and reaches around toward Zoro’s face with one hand, finding his mouth. He presses his pointer and middle fingers to Zoro’s perfectly etched lips.
“Open,” he commands.
In a flash, his fingers are engulfed by wet heat, and Sanji almost chokes on a groan. Zoro moves quickly, zealously laving his tongue over Sanji’s fingers, taking them all way inside him, licking up the sides and playing with his rings. He’s just as hungry for something in his mouth.
“Good boy.”
He lets the process go on a little longer than necessary. It’s just too intoxicating. Sanji’s own dick has long been ready, pressing rock-hard in the confines of his slacks, and he’s inwardly cursing his penchant for wearing them a bit on the tight side. He normally loves to show off his lean figure, but right now, his cock is straining inside, begging to be released.
He needs to move this along. Pulling his fingers from Zoro’s mouth, and receiving a precious little whimper in return, he moves them to the cleft of the crimson ass before him. They trail up between the pert mounds, pausing on the puckered hole tucked inside. Using the slickness of Zoro’s own spit to assist, he gently massages the entrance and then pushes inside. For anyone else, he’d start with one finger and then work up to two, but Zoro is tough. He can take both from the start.
In fact, he once again moans as Sanji works his way inside. His hands, where they rest cuffed together above his head, flex involuntarily.
“Damn it, cook. More.”
And since Sanji isn’t a completely sadistic monster, he gives it to him. He slowly pumps his fingers in and out of Zoro’s entrance, breathless as it clenches around them, pulling them in deeper. Sanji could easily get lost in this, slowly and methodically bringing Zoro to orgasm with just his fingers, as he’s done once or twice before. But that isn’t the point of all this. So, he starts to scissor them, tenderly stretching the swordsman open, priming him to more easily receive everything that is yet to come.
Zoro shudders beneath his touch. “Plea…” He catches himself before it can fully transform into a beg, but only just.
Sanji adjusts the angle of his fingers and bends them, finding the sensitive area he’s looking for, drawing a trembling gasp from Zoro, and then pulling them out completely. Maybe he is a bit of tease. But it gets to Zoro every time, in the best possible way.
Zoro grunts his frustration, and Sanji chuckles.
“Is that what you want, Marimo? Something to fill you up?” His tone is silky, making his mockery even more potent. “I have just the thing.
Nimble yet gentle, he starts to screw the moist ginger root into the spot his fingers just vacated. He goes slowly, wanting Zoro to feel the stretch, as well as the burning sensation that will be ignited soon enough.
“F-fuck.” Zoro instinctively arches his back, desperate to have something deep inside him. He’ll be changing his mind very soon, but Sanji is all too happy to acquiesce for the time being.
He continues to push the root almost all the way into Zoro’s ass, until it’s snug between his plump cheeks. He taps the end, just to make sure it’s not going anywhere, and Zoro shuffles his feet, adjusting to the intrusion. Then he stills completely when he detects a different, and unexpected, sort of sensation.
“What the hell,” Zoro gasps out. “I-it burns.”
Sanji’s smug gratification is tangible. “Yes, it does.”
“You bastard.”
Swiftly, Sanji takes a handful of green hair, yanking back hard. He leans forward so his hot breath can bathe Zoro’s ear as he murmurs, “You’re not really in any position to be using that language with me, are you?”
“Fucking…,” Zoro splutters. Angry. Immobilized. Helpless as the ginger begins taking its agonizing effect. “You can’t—”
Sanji yanks again, creating a more pronounced arch in Zoro’s neck, forcing his gaze upwards. “Can’t what?”
Zoro shudders beneath his grip, a dozen emotions bubbling to the surface. Anger, obstinance, horniness, desperation, trepidation, desire. They all take turns playing across his face. His teeth gnaw at his bottom lip as he stares up at Sanji. Then the tension drains from his shoulders. They go limp, and he lowers his eyes, and Sanji knows he’s ready to fully submit.
“That’s what I thought.” He gently guides Zoro’s head back down toward the countertop before releasing his grasp on the bright green locks. “But you know you have to pay for calling me a bastard. I can’t let that slide. And I have just the thing.”
He briefly turns away from Zoro’s outstretched body, scouring the surfaces behind him and breaking into a wicked grin when he at last finds what he’s looking for. It’s lying on the drying rack, still damp. His favorite wooden spoon. Perfect for sautéing exotic vegetables. Perfect for beating the last shreds of willfulness from his beloved Marimo.
“Here we are.”
Zoro glances over his shoulder and his eyes widen as he takes in the wooden spoon, looking absolutely lethal in Sanji’s hands, and quickly registers its purpose.
“I think this will help to drive home the lesson tonight.”
“C-cook. No. I’m sorry.”
“Hmmm.” Sanji lightly taps the back of the rounded end on Zoro’s left buttocks. Allowing him experience just a taste of the hard surface and imagine how it will feel when it’s applied with force. “Doesn’t sound like you really mean it. That sounds like, ‘please don’t discipline me anymore.’ Not, ‘I know my actions were wrong.’ Let’s see if we can’t achieve a little more authentic contrition, shall we?”
He raises the spoon, carefully deliberating on the best angle to achieve maximum impact, and then pauses only to say, “Oh, and I’d be careful about clenching my ass cheeks, if I were you,” before bringing it down with a mighty crack.
The sensation of the wood on Zoro’s already tender backside is completely different from Sanji’s palm. It’s cruel and unyielding, resulting in a sting that spreads deep and wide. It only takes a dozen or so swats before the swordsman is twitching and making little noises.
“F-fuck, Sanji.”
Success. The blond always knows the dynamic has changed and he’s fully in charge when Zoro starts to use his real name instead of one of the many nicknames he’s conjured up for the cook over time. Satisfaction pulses through Sanji. He has Roronoa Zoro, this fucking gorgeous warrior, right where he wants him.
But it’s clear he hasn’t heeded Sanji’s warning. His ass is wriggling constantly now, left, right, up, down. Trying to no avail to escape the burn that’s spreading from both within and without, engulfing his poor flesh. Ginger and a large wooden spoon—the perfect combination for achieving unmistakable misery.
“What the hell?” Zoro is now panting, twisting, writhing.
But Sanji provides no relief. He continues to wail on both cheeks, letting the spoon leave its mark.
The symphony of the hard spanks mixed with Zoro’s increasing litany of gasps and yelps and curses is utterly exhilarating.
“Not so tough now, hmm?”
Zoro ignores the taunt, whimpering out Sanji’s name instead. A tortured sound.
“You should be grateful I’m using my utensil of choice, and not yours,” Sanji quips, laying into a sit-spot that is starting to look raw. He smacks it relentlessly, just to be sure, and Zoro moans. “I could be using the broad side of your sword. That would really teach you a lesson, wouldn’t it? To be spanked with your own weapon.”
A thin sheen of sweat has spread across Zoro’s entire body, catching the dappled light from above and illuminating the definition of his muscles as they tighten and twist. His legs are starting to buckle, his ass slipping down the side of the island, no longer presented for his punishment. That won’t do.
“Up,” Sanji commands, lightly whacking the lower curve of Zoro’s right cheek to indicate what he wants.
“Sanji, p-please. Please, no more.” The words are broken up with tiny gasps for air and tinged with desperation. All the fight has disappeared from the young man’s demeanor. “I-I can’t take it.”
But Sanji knows that isn’t true. Also, he thinks Zoro needs more. At least a little. “Up,” he says again, harsher. “Don’t make me ask a third time. Or we’ll keep this up for another half hour.”
With a shaky sigh, Zoro at last does as he’s told, straightening his legs and lifting his backside, making it once again the perfect target for the business end of Sanji’s wooden spoon.
“Such a good boy,” Sanji cajoles, pressing his palm into the small of Zoro’s back and pushing down. He can at least offer a helping hand to keep the swordsman in the proper position.
And then he resumes his efforts, swinging the implement and letting it connect with every inch of vulnerable skin. Again. And again. And again. Adding an assortment of blisters and bruises to the brightly flaming flesh.
Zoro’s given up any pretense of not caring. He’s now yelping and groaning with abandon, any words he might be uttering now entirely unintelligible. Perspiration drips down his face, running into the moisture collected in his long lashes… Tears, Sanji notes with pleasure. He knows the ginger is overwhelming his sensitive hole with an excruciating burn now.
“Stop clenching,” he says again, but softer, legitimately offering his guidance to the completely licked swordsman beneath him. “You’re just making it worse for yourself.”
And Zoro at last listens, relaxing his bottom, even as Sanji maintains a ruthless pace with the wooden spoon, letting it bounce helplessly with each swat. It’s deeply rousing, seeing him give in to his punishment. Relenting completely. Sanji can taste the buildup of saliva in his mouth and, fuck, he’s ready to replace that damn root with his own uncomfortably hard cock. It’s probably about time. He seems genuinely apologetic.
But Sanji has to make sure. “What do you have to say for yourself, Zoro?”
“I’m sorry.”
Close, but not enough. “About?”
“I’m sorry for being a jerk.”
“Mm-hmmm?” Sanji prods, giving another unforgiving whack to the outside of Zoro’s cheek, where it dips into a lovely dimple.
“To you. To the crew,” Zoro continues. His hands are squeezing in and out of fists repeatedly. Sanji can only imagine he’s dying to reach back and rub at his aching backside. “I’m s-sorry.”
“And what will you do?”
It takes Zoro a few seconds to respond. His whole body is squirming at this point, as he mutters beneath his breath, “fuck, fuck, fuck.”
“Zoro?”
He makes a noise of obvious frustration but answers, “I’ll apologize. To the crew. To everyone.”
“And?”
Zoro whines. What more is there to say? So Sanji helps out.
“And you won’t behave like this again.”
Relieved, Zoro quickly repeats the words, “And I won’t behave like this again.”
“You won’t,” Sanji agrees. “Or I’ll tie you down and, so help me, I will give you a beating that’s twice as brutal. You won’t be able to sit for days. Do you understand?”
“U-understand.”
“Good.” The spanking slows. “Let’s just be extra sure.”
Using his thumb and forefinger, he gently spreads Zoro’s cheeks, exposing the sensitive skin in between, along with the visible portion of the ginger root. He raises the wooden spoon once more, and Zoro must guess what’s coming, because he shudders.
“No, no, no. Sanji. No, please—”
His objection is swallowed by a little sob as Sanji rains down a series of powerful licks, connecting the spoon quite accurately with the end of the root to ensure it’s pumping nicely, and painfully, into Zoro’s sensitive hole with each stroke. On the last one, he’s finally rewarded with the shriek he’s been waiting for.
Now. Now Zoro’s ass is completely red. Each centimeter of it. Undeniably scarlet and mottled and marked with several gorgeous bruises here and there. And the swordsman is sniffling gently, his body gone limp. He’s slumped over the countertop, thoroughly spent. Pretty good work, if Sanji’s does say so himself.
It’s completely silent in the space except for Zoro’s quiet whimpers. Immediately, Sanji lets the spoon clatter to the countertop so he can wrap the other young man in an embrace, pressing his chest into his back.
“It’s over, Zoro.” His fingers soothingly card through green hair, now damp with sweat. His other hand is busy untying the knot in the makeshift handcuffs and massaging Zoro’s freed wrists. “You did so well. So well. So good for me.”
He presses a kiss to Zoro’s temple, and the swordsman hums softly, his breath gradually returning to normal. A few more seconds pass, Sanji letting his lips linger over the glistening skin of Zoro’s neck and shoulders, whispering praise for his lover, for his obedience. He finally receives a deep-throated moan in return.
“Sanji…”
“Yes?”
“Can you fuck me now?”
The blond breathes out a short laugh. There’s the Zoro he knows and adores. Always straight to the point.
“You think you deserve it?”
“Ugh.” Zoro squeezes his eyes shut, blocking out Sanji’s teasing grin, dangling precariously from the end of his rope. “Please?”
And every inch of Sanji’s body is wracked with desire, so he straightens up, drawing Zoro with him. “C’mon, gorgeous.”
Normally, the other young man might respond to the overt flirtation with a roll of his eyes. But he doesn’t. All traces of willfulness have been extracted and replaced with unabated want. Shuffling on unsteady legs, and still wincing from the pain emanating from his thighs and rear, he lets Sanji guide him to a table.
Of course, it’s still messy from dinner. But Sanji doesn’t have the patience to neatly clear it off as he always insists on doing. He just wants to be inside of Zoro as quickly as possible. Ignoring his better instincts, he carelessly pushes the contents off to one side, even letting some of the dishes fall to the floor with a cacophony of clatters and clangs. He can deal with them later.
Right now, he’s starving for Zoro’s lips. And there’s nothing stopping him from taking what he wants. Zoro is right here, waiting for him.
Cupping the swordsman’s sharp jaw with both hands, Sanji guides his face forward until they are sharing the same air. Hungrily, Zoro closes the distance, releasing every ounce of pent-up emotion into the kiss. Sanji moans at the contact. God, he may be more aroused than he’s ever been. The drawn-out nature of the evening has been as much of a punishment for him as the other young man.
He drops his hands, finding purchase on Zoro’s back, clawing at the thick cords of muscle that ripple and shift as Zoro roughly yanks his dress shirt free from the tailored waistline of his slacks and roughly dives beneath, searching for the warmth of Sanji’s bare skin.
Sanji deepens the kiss, gliding his tongue into Zoro’s open mouth, reveling in the taste. Familiar now, yet it continues to feel new and exciting, every single time. Somehow, there’s always, always that dropping sensation in the pit of his stomach when he has the swordsman’s lips intertwined with his.
Zoro lets Sanji explore his mouth freely for a few seconds before joining in with his own tongue, sliding it against Sanji’s and then trailing it across the edge of his upper lip. Sanji melts into the sensation. He loves the way that Zoro touches him, all greed and drive and curiosity.
The swordsman hadn’t come to their clandestine-hookups-turned-full-on-situationship with the same experience as Sanji. Not even close. But fuck. The cook has never found his kisses to be lacking. Quite the opposite. Zoro’s mouth dredges up all kinds of foreign feelings in his body—and maybe his heart as well. Massive, multi-faceted, mesmerizing feelings. It’s like he came equipped with some secret key to be Sanji’s absolute undoing.
Zoro’s fingers are working at the buttons on his shirt and Sanji helps out, partially to save time and partially because he’s worried that Zoro will accidentally rip them off in his current state of needing one thing, and one thing only. But Sanji stays close enough to drag his tongue up the other man's neck, sucking a mark off to one side. His teeth take the stage, scraping over the wet skin, and once Sanji is free of his shirt, Zoro drops his head back, giving him more space to work with.
There’s no way the other crewmates don’t have an inkling what’s going on. What has been going on for three months now. At least not the more observant among them. So at least Nami, Robin, and Franky. Sanji has marked up Zoro’s body in all sorts of ways, and vice versa. One can only come up with so many half-hearted and highly transparent excuses for obvious hickeys, scratches and teeth marks before the ruse is up.
Zoro groans wantonly as Sanji adds one more to the collection, and the cook thrills at the sound. Just how incredibly vocal the swordsman can be while having his body explored and ravaged is one of the best things Sanji ever discovered. It’s given him a presently unspoken goal to pry from the other man as many of those obscene sounds, in as many variations, as many times as possible.
“Mmm,” he drops lower, alternating licks and bites and kisses over Zoro’s thick chest, eliciting even more groans that get louder when his tongue laps at a hardened nipple. “You’re so hot. So fucking hot. You know that?”
“F-fuck.”
“Not yet. Soon.”
Lost in his personal ritual of devouring Zoro’s pecs—an almost religious affair for him—he subconsciously reaches behind to grope at his luscious ass as well, squeezing with both hands. His rough touch, normally a turn-on for Zoro, is met with a hiss, however, and Sanji immediately remembers the state he was left it.
“Oh, shit. Sorry.”
“Forget it.”
“Not a chance, darling. Let me take care of that.” Sanji pushes him backwards, until his thighs hit the edge of the table, causing another flinch of pain across Zoro’s face. “Lay down.” And he does. “Bend your knees. Spread your legs. That’s right.”
On the windowsill, Sanji has an array of plants and herbs that he tends to, using their leaves and sprouts and other properties for his cooking. To ensure maximum freshness. He carefully breaks off a plump spikey stalk from his aloe plant and gingerly squeezes out a large dollop of its cool gel onto his fingers. He never expected to be using his precious plants for this purpose, but he’s not complaining.
“This should help. At least a little.”
Turning back, all the air in his lungs seeps out in a tremulous breath. Zoro is a sight to behold. It feels almost sinful to look at him this debauched, lying on the table sweaty and trembling with want, his tan freckled skin positively lustrous under the light, his knees bent and his feet planted on the edge of the surface. Shamelessly exposing every inch of himself. Sanji takes it all in, from his rippling abs and the jut of his hipbones to his slick cock, angling from a patch of dark hair, and the curve of his ass cheeks, still a tantalizing shade of crimson.
“Beautiful,” Sanji whispers, slathering half the gel onto his other hand and moving back toward his waiting lover.
Zoro bites his lip, trying to squash an embarrassed smile. “C’mere and fuck me already.”
“Patience, sweetheart.”
He motions for Zoro to lift his legs, let them rest on his shoulder.
“Sanji. Seriously. I don’t need—”
“Yes, you do! Don’t argue with me.” Then he leans in, adding in a low, velvety murmur, “The sooner you do as you’re told, the sooner I’ll sink my cock into that tight ass of yours until you’re begging to come.”
That does the trick. Zoro tentatively raises his feet, bending his knees toward his chest. Impatient, Sanji squats down and swoops forward, lifting both the swordsman’s legs onto his waiting shoulders and out of his way. His hands are then gently traveling down the back of muscled thighs, spreading the soothing gel across seared skin. Upon contact, Zoro gives a stifled groan, half anguish and half relief.
“I think that’s making it worse,” he grumbles.
Sanji tilts his head, incredulous, “Seriously? You really think I would be putting something on you that’s meant to hurt? Or that I used this without being completely certain it would soothe your skin and help it not to bruise too badly?”
Receiving a non-response from Zoro, the blond grins triumphantly. “That’s what I thought. So quit whining.”
“Fine. Just hurry up.”
Despite the gruffness in his tone, Zoro’s long lashes have fluttered close, the muscles throughout his body starting to relax as he undoubtedly relishes the alleviation born from Sanji’s touch. The cook can feel, feel the tension start to dissipate, as Zoro’s lower calves grow heavier where they rest on top of his broad shoulders. And Sanji is happy to do this all day. Who else gets the pleasure of brazenly caressing and massaging the swordsman’s well-built thighs, his slender hips, his perfectly round backside? It’s Sanji. Only Sanji who is permitted to take him like this. To have his way with the mighty warrior.
That knowledge fills him with a dangerously intense yearning. His own cock is throbbing. And it’s made all the worse when Sanji finally slips both hands underneath Zoro’s ass, lifting him ever so slightly off the tabletop. Yes, Sanji is still intent on delicately rubbing the aloe gel into his marred flesh, providing some relief from the thrashing he was dealt by Sanji’s spoon. But he’s also giving himself a little something as well, watching with baited breath as his hands work over the other young man’s buttocks, kneading them, spreading them apart so he can revel in the sight of his tight hole, still red and swollen from the ginger, but obviously loosened and ready. Ready for Sanji.
There isn’t really anything else that's required to prep him at this point. But when Zoro lets out a deep, open-mouthed moan, gradually losing himself in the sensation of Sanji’s slick fingers fondling and playing with his cheeks, the cook can’t help himself.
Dropping to his knees he joins his mouth to his hands, bathing the scarlet skin with his tongue.
“F-fuck. Sanji.”’
The blonde hums in response, making sure Zoro knows he’s here—for him—and thoroughly enjoying himself as he licks up the other young man’s crease. It’s the flavor of aloe that he detects first, but it is immediately overpowered by ginger when his tongue presses into Zoro’s heat. Light and teasing at first, entirely meant to turn his groans into the most breathtaking whimpers, and then, once that is accomplished, and the swordsman’s thighs are trembling against his palms, Sanji takes his tongue deeper. Pushing and prodding as far as he can into the narrow entrance. It makes Zoro cry out softly, rocking his hips to gain more friction, more pressure, just more.
Sanji would chuckle adoringly at his neediness if his mouth wasn’t otherwise occupied with his favorite feast. He absolutely loves being in this position. His nostrils filled with, yes, ginger and aloe, but also that scent, rich and musky and erotic. The scent of Zoro. Wafting all around him, making Sanji ravenous. He wishes the other young man would simply close his thighs around his head and keep him locked here for hours.
But his nose brushes against a pair of balls, strained and throbbing, and he’s reminded that he hasn’t yet paid them, or Zoro’s firm cock, much attention. Rising slightly, he licks up over them until he finds the smooth, rounded tip resting against his lips, which are positively coated in saliva.
“Damn. You’re delicious. I love the taste of you.” He glances up toward Zoro and his chest tightens when he finds him already staring back. The swordsman's calloused hand reaches out, uncharacteristically tender as his fingers brush Sanji's golden fringe from his face.
“Sanji. Please. I need…” The words trail off into a frantic groan.
“I know what you need, handsome.” His lips are close, so close, to Zoro’s member. They brush the soft skin as he talks, his warm breath washing over the flesh. "You need to remember you don't have to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders. You can let others take care of you."
"Ughn." Zoro squirms, and it's not just from the irritating lack of Sanji sucking him off. He knows these words aren't easy for Zoro to hear, but he'll say them anyway.
"You did your best today. It wasn't your fault. Let go." He continues to speak the words into Zoro's crotch, nuzzling with his nose and lips but not providing any real friction. "That was today. Tonight, you're going to let me take care of you."
Zoro bucks again, searching clumsily for Sanji’s mouth. Not a chance. He places his forearm across Zoro’s lower waist, keeping him still. It’s him who can fuck the swordsman’s mouth—when he’s feeling generous—not vice versa. Sanji is here to slowly, sensually pull the other young man apart, bit by glorious bit, until he’s a sobbing, satisfied mess.
“Easy does it. You’ll get what you want. When I want to give it to you.”
This time Sanji’s name is pushed through clenched teeth, reeking of repressed frustration. It only serves to strengthen the blond’s resolve. His fingers trail up over Zoro’s taint, massaging his sensitive balls. He takes his time, rubbing, pulling gently at the skin, just the way he knows to do. Zoro cants impatiently, pressing up against the muscular forearm that is currently serving as a makeshift constraint. But it’s no use.
Sanji pushes down harder, keeping him caught against the table, and continues his machinations. Drawing out this agonizing foreplay as much as he can. After a few long seconds, he adds in his tongue, taking his sweet time to trail it from the base of Zoro’s rigid length, pressing it flat to the hard, veiny flesh, letting it pulse against him on his lazy ascent. When he finally reaches the tip, he kisses gently, brazenly, collecting drops of precum on his lips.
“Sanji. I swear—”
But the cook doesn’t let him finish. Without warning, he takes Zoro into his mouth, as deep as he can, and the other young man shudders in response.
“Yes. More. Please.”
Circling his hand around the hilt of the hard flesh, Sanji works at a much more frenzied pace, barely giving Zoro a chance to catch his breath. Overwhelming him with the delicious pressure and pull of his lips and cheeks, sucking upward and then plunging back down. He even lets his teeth graze the surface, just on the right side of too much. Until it’s all sloppy and wet, and Zoro is pushing helplessly against his arm, muttering a nonsensical mess of curses and pleas, and Sanji is pretty sure he’ll go crazy if he doesn’t take him. Like right fucking now.
Rising fully to his feet, he slips off his shoes and flicks open his slacks, pushing them down along with his pants, and carelessly kicking them off to the side. He repositions Zoro’s legs, gripping his hips and pulling him down toward the edge of the table. Giving Sanji a clear path to go inside him.
“You look so good like this, baby.” Tilting his head to the side, he plants a kiss on Zoro’s shin. “You make me crazy. You know that? You drive me absolutely…fucking…crazy.”
Pulling a chair toward him, he plants one foot on top, the bend in his knee giving him more leverage—when the time comes. And then he returns his steel-like grip to Zoro’s hips, holding him off just a second longer. Hoping it will push him past the point of desperation. Toward delirium.
Sure enough, Zoro groans, fisting his hands into his hair. “Sanji. Now. Want you. Now.”
And Sanji will give it to him. Quick and dirty and with no preamble. He lines up his cock with Zoro’s twitching hole and plunges inside, not stopping until he’s buried all the way in. His entire length enveloped in the most heavenly heat. But even if Zoro was thoroughly wet and needy, it’s a lot, all at once and with so much fury, the force of Sanji’s body as it slams against his igniting the pain left behind from his earlier punishment. Zoro gasps, shifting his hips side to side, adjusting to that inexplicable sensation of fullness.
Sanji gives him a few seconds to acclimate, using the time to stare in rapture at the other young man’s beautiful face, etched with a kaleidoscope of emotions in this rare moment of vulnerability. Roronoa Zoro unmasked. His eyes half-lidded, his rosy lips hanging open, his chest heaving with each labored breath, the feeling of euphoria building inside him like a storm, ready to unleash its power on its equally powerful host. He is a vision.
And then Sanji can’t take it anymore. Wrapping his arms around Zoro’s legs and resting his hands near the insides of his knees for support, he begins fucking the other young man in earnest. Setting a harsh, relentless pace, letting the overwhelming desire coursing through veins take the lead.
It’s a good thing Zoro likes it rough, because Sanji’s control is utterly spent and he has no choice now but to thrust into him with abandon. He did his best to serve his sweet submissive lover. He held off long enough. And now, given unadulterated and consensual access to the most tempting ass on the most tempting man in the world, he’s going to take and take and take. He’ll have his fill. But never truly. Because he could never truly get enough of the mighty swordsman.
“You feel incredible. So tight… how are you always so...bloody tight?”
Falling short of his normal silken charisma, his reverie borders on nonsense, but he can’t help it. Spurred on by Zoro’s moans and whispers of yes, and more, and fuck, and Sanji, he continues, “Can’t believe. You’re mine. All mine. Only mine. Want you. Need you. All the time. All the fucking time. Zoro. Zoro.”
Although barreling toward release at a dizzying speed, he won’t be happy until he’s delivered his darling, his sweetheart, his Zoro, to complete ecstasy. Shifting his hips, he aims his cock with more precision. And it doesn’t take long for Zoro to give a shout, quickly muffling the sound with his arm as he presses it against his mouth, so overwhelmed that he sinks his teeth into the muscular flesh. Almost satisfied, Sanji reaches out to get a firm grip on his dripping cock. He wants to give the other young man no choice but to come, and to come hard.
And he does, moments later, crying out a broken refrain of Sanji’s name. His release spills out over Sanji’s fist, pumping furiously to extract every last drop as if it’s a coveted treasure. It’s all too much for the cook. The sight of Zoro’s trembling body beneath him, his heaving chest, his eyes squeezed shut to help him through a maze of mind-glazing pleasure—it sends him over the edge.
“Oh,” he groans, throwing back his head. He slams once more into other young man’s tender ass. “Z-zoro. Fuck.”
It feels as if the orgasm is ripped out of him. Roots and all. The intensity leaves him struggling for breath. He rests against the edge of the table for support, letting it prop him up, as he pours out into Zoro. It drains him, emotionally, physically. And he has to be closer to Zoro. He has to be.
Bending himself between the other young man’s widespread thighs, he lays his head to rest on his mighty chest. Never mind that they’re both a mess of cum and sweat and spit. It kind of makes it all the more perfect.
The fast-paced beating of Zoro’s heart sounds in Sanji’s ear, sending waves of tranquility through his tired limbs. The familiar scar presses into this cheek as his hands grapple for Zoro’s shoulder, his neck, his hair. As if the detail of each feature might be impressed upon his fingers, helping Sanji to never forget them. No matter what happens.
Craning his neck, he presses a lingering kiss to Zoro’s jaw and then captures his slacken mouth, hard and heavy and passionate, thrilling when Zoro, through his post-orgasm haze, responds, gliding his tongue against Sanji’s and making his heart flutter. He’s getting worse and worse at reigning in his emotions toward the swordsman. They’re all out there, wild and raw. It’s a little terrifying.
And they make him want to do nothing but care for this brave, strong, infuriating man. In whatever ways he can. Even if that means giving him some much-needed discipline here and there.
Mustering his last remnants of strength, he stands, clasping Zoro’s hand and tugging softly. He has to make sure his own legs don’t buckle or they’re both going down.
“Come. Let’s get you to bed, sleepyhead. I’ll take the night watch.”
Zoro responds with a grunt, sitting up, and wincing immediately. “Fuck.”
Sanji bites back a shit-eating grin as he gathers their discarded clothes from the floor. He is supposed to be nurturing and caring for the other young man. Not teasing him. But he can’t help it. “A little sore?”
“A little?”
“Hopefully very, very much,” he smirks. “I hope it hurts enough that you won’t forget your lesson. Or what you promised you’d say to our friends tonight… or maybe tomorrow.” Who knows? They could be returning at an ungodly hour.
Zoro rolls his eyes, slowly standing and finding his bearings. “If not, I’m sure my boyfriend will remind me.”
Sanji’s heart skips a beat, but he tries not to show his delighted shock. Can’t risk scaring off a man who’s still nearly unflappable in the presence of even the tiniest bit of emotion. “Boyfriend?”
He has wrapped his arm around Zoro’s back, pulling him close and keeping him steady as they meander a little clumsily toward the kitchen door. Even as the word rings out in his head—boyfriend, boyfriend, boyfriend—he keeps his gaze straight ahead, refusing to turn toward Zoro. But he can sense the slightly quizzical look sparked by his response.
“Well, yeah.” It’s matter-of-fact. Pure Zoro. “I assumed. You think I’d let anyone else…,” the word seems to get caught in his throat because he gives a short cough before tacking on, “do that to me?”
Sanji can’t help it. He’s giddy. And feeling invincible now for so many reasons. He pinches at Zoro’s waist playfully. “Do what exactly, Zoro?”
“Nope.”
God, he’s adorable when he’s embarrassed. “Say it.”
Zoro makes a half-hearted attempt to shove Sanji away, but the cook’s grip is firm, and he pulls him back in. Nuzzling his nose into the swordsman’s neck he demands, “Say it.”
Zoro groans, his face fully flushed, and then spits out in a single string of words, “Spank me. Okay. You happy?”
“You have no idea how much.”