Chapter Text
How had they started this again? He’d like to blame the cook for his loss of sanity, but he was pretty sure it had been a mutual decision to fall into it. Sanji tugged on his shirt, pulling him in closer as they grinded up against each other in the storage room. Over Sanji’s panting and soft, low moans he could just about hear the sounds of the port, distant shouting and cargo being moved. The Sunny, though, was quiet - apart from Usopp on watch everyone was asleep.
“C’mon—” Sanji urged him.
The cook squirmed, hands digging into his shoulders and hips grinding in an unsteady, desperate movement.
Zoro had been off his game and clearly Sanji was in no mood to wait around for him to do something.
“You’re rushing me, cook.”
Sanji cursed at him. Adorable. He looked flushed though it was probably just the stuffy weather - the humidity of this damn summer island was driving him nuts too.
“Maybe I just wanna take my time with you. You gonna let me?” Zoro said.
“W-what? Why would we need to do that?”
Yeah. Good question.
That’s how it started, wasn’t it? Just to get off. Just something easy. Less of a hassle than waiting ‘til port, searching the bar for someone decent and not a bounty hunter. Someone he could trust. Someone who had nice legs. Anyway.
Zoro grabbed Sanji’s tie. “You don’t wanna?”
The cook fidgeted again. Zoro again took note of the flush on his face, the panting, the hurried grinding—
“Hm, you close? Can’t handle it?”
Sanji snarled and cursed at him again as expected. While he was preparing a kick, Zoro undid the tie. It dropped to the floor between them.
“Oi, the fuck are you—”
Zoro undid the first button of Sanji’s shirt and suddenly the cook’s voice stopped working. Zoro placed his fingers into the cook’s belt hook, bringing him back in place and grinded deep and slow.
One more button.
He’d kissed Sanji’s neck before. Sort of. It was more of a rushed, sloppy bite in their first frantic tumble but. He wanted something else this time.
Two more buttons and Sanji let out a whine. Was he even aware he was doing it? No, he would’ve been too embarrassed. Usually, by now, Zoro’s face was buried in his neck, unable to see Sanji’s expressions or they were panting into each other’s mouths. Frantic. Desperate.
Zoro hurriedly undid the final buttons, earning a relieved groan from Sanji who yanked off his shirt with a surprising lack of care and threw it on the floor.
He’d seen Sanji without a shirt plenty of times. It wasn’t new, so why were his eyes glued to the pink nipples in front of him?
Whatever. Enough thinking. Zoro licked, gently grazing his teeth against Sanji’s nipple and was rewarded by a full-body shiver.
“You don’t need to,” Sanji told him, his voice shaking over each word.
Sanji was leaning back against the pantry’s wall, the red flush to his face now carried down his neck and chest. Zoro grunted, ignoring his words, and pinned him on the wall - one hand in Sanji’s hair, the other at his hip to push him fully back and helpless.
The position gave him even more control and the beautiful realisation that Sanji liked this, liked being pinned and liked being played with. Otherwise, the powerful thigh in his grip would be squeezing out his air supply by now.
“Faster, come on--” Sanji insisted, his blunt nails dragging across the skin of Zoro’s shoulders, “Fuck.”
The cook swore a lot on purpose. But, as he covered his mouth with his hand to muffle a moan it seemed like this time it was an accident.
“You’re all worked up, cook. Want my cock that bad?”
Luckily, Sanji was too worked up to notice how much he was also affected. He bit into Sanji’s neck to stop the dumb words that would spill out and the cook jerked in his hold, hips jolting forward and he practically collapsed in Zoro’s arms. The cook rested his forehead on his shoulder.
“You..” Sanji said, his lips drawing across Zoro’s skin in a way that he hoped the cook didn’t notice him shiver. “You’re still…”
Zoro grunted. Last time, he had just kept grinding into Sanji’s thigh and he could do that again. In fact, he was dying to do so. But he wouldn't without permission, not if the cook had had enough. Sanji lifted his head.
He didn’t dare look at Sanji right then. His desperation would be far too obvious.
“Sit on the crate,” the cook said.
What crate?
“It’s behind you, idiot. Try not to get lost on your way.”
Yeah, ok. So it was right there. Fuck him for not noticing it alright? He had other things on his mind.
Sanji took a deep, shuddering breath. The cook’s chest was still flushed pink, a few bite marks riddled around his nipples and one small love bite on his shoulder. He pulled out a cigarette and his lighter, eyes on Zoro the entire time, but stopped halfway.
“What are we doing?” the cook asked.
“Getting off.”
Or he would be. If Sanji would just give him the okay. Or leave so he could take care of it.
But for whatever reason the cook didn’t like his blunt response much.
Sanji sputtered, stomped his foot, and pointed at him all the while complaining about his manners. The cook always had fire in him. When he burned with rage, Zoro felt like burning along with him until everything in their way was ash.
“Oi, are you even listening?!” Sanji yelled.
“No.” He smirked. “I’m too busy looking.”
“Oi,” the cook grumbled. But he stopped yelling.
He could feel the ship rocking with the ocean waves. The waves were steady and low. The quiet and the peace, all while Sanji was looking at him like he was a puzzle to solve, were making him uneasy.
“You gonna leave or what, cook?”
“Don’t fucking call me that.”
Sanji shoved his lighter and cigarette back in his pocket. Blushing, he stepped closer, then dropped to his knees. Zoro felt his heart speed up to a worrying degree.
The cook tugged his haramaki out of the way, until Zoro lifted it over his head with unsteady hands.
“You sure?” Zoro asked.
Sanji’s hand on his thigh burned. “If I wasn’t sure I wouldn’t be doing it, moron. Just. Don’t pull me. Or I’ll kick your head off.”
Fair enough. He nodded in agreement, unable to speak. His throat felt dry. Sanji licked his lips, pulled his pants down, and Zoro slammed his eyes shut before he lost his goddamn mind.
He’d like to say he’d make it last, use the cook’s mouth until spit dripped down his chin, and use his mouth for his own but he’d been holding off for too long. The second Sanji sucked tentatively at the tip, he knew he was gone.
Sanji's hand was on his dick, covering the rest his mouth couldn't take. Those long, slender fingers. Sanji's hand was smooth. When the cook squeezed at his balls, Zoro knew he was close and did his best to warn him. Sanji pulled away.
“Where?” Zoro managed to ask, surprised by the rawness of his own voice.
Sanji licked his lips and answered, “My face.”
There was no way to fight it off then. With a final jolt of his hips, Zoro watched as he covered Sanji's face.
Fuck.
With Sanji's eyes closed, it was easy to catch him unawares and push him to the floor.
“Oi what the hell—”
Zoro flipped him over, so his chest was resting on Sanji's back.
“Tell me if you hate it.” Zoro demanded. “But I need to eat you out right now.”
Sanji went still. Distantly, he heard the cook panting. He didn't hear much of anything else. Nothing else mattered. He pulled down Sanji's trousers and underwear, pulled apart his perky ass and licked his pink hole.
“Ah, ah, what—”
He could get addicted to this. It was dangerous. He licked at the rim, again hearing the cook whining, until he couldn't hear anything past the loud thundering in his ears. He pushed him down flat onto the floor and fucked him with his tongue, for a moment he had a second of lucidity and could hear Sanji saying his name, his voice hoarse and broken. He didn't know how long he stayed like that, only he had the urge to flip the cook back over to play with his cock too to make him cry, and when he did the sight he saw made Zoro lose whatever sanity he had left.
Tear tracks fell down Sanji's flushed face, drool at the corner of his mouth, and the blush continued down his chest. The cook's cock was wet, weeping, and soft like he'd already finished at least once. His thighs shook as Zoro lifted one, eager to get back to work.
“I cant I can't I can't,” Sanji said, weakly clawing at Zoro's hair.
“You hate it?” He asked, squeezing Sanji's thigh.
Sanji covered his face with his hand and confessed, voice weak and barely audible, “ I love it .”
Who needed sanity anyway.
In this position, Sanji's thighs could easily wrap around his head and they did pulling him in deeper and making it harder to breathe but from Sanji's rapid panting the cook was having a hard time too.
Sanji soon hardened again and finished with a long, drawn out whine that made him think dangerous thoughts.
Sanji was too tight.
If he had oil.
Zoro growled and pushed in one finger while he sucked at Sanji's rim. The cook thrashed in his grip, crying out “Zoro!” and he wondered what Sanji would say if he fucked him with his cock, bent over one of the crates, if he's have to put his fingers in the cooks mouth just to keep him quiet. He mimicked just what he'd do with his cock with his finger, fucking into his sweet spot relentlessly.
Zoro moaned along with him, grinding his cock into the floor for some much needed relief, while Sanji's grip on his hair turned tight and—
Sanji squirted.
Holy fuck.
The cook's rapid breathing eased out as Zoro finally stopped, Sanji's face still covered by his hand.
“You good?” Zoro asked.
No answer.
Zoro asked again, this time leaning closer and pulling away Sanji's hand from his face.
The cook had passed out.
Zoro brushed aside his own desires and rebuttoned Sanji’s shirt, fastened his trousers and cleaned his face with his own shirt. After leaning the cook up against a crate, which from his experience napping in here he knew it was slightly more comfortable than sleeping on the floor.
Then, he found a bottle of sake and waited.
Sanji awoke slowly, turning his head to the side and eyes fluttering open.
It was a sight he hoped to see a lot more from now on.
“You awake?” Zoro asked.
“Mosshead?” Sanji blinked, looked him in the eye then scrambled forward in a panic. The movement was so quick, Zoro reacted by doing little but stretching out his arms to catch the cook if he fell. But Sanji dropped into his lap willingly and by no accident.
“Oi, oi,” Zoro muttered. “The fuck are you doing?”
“I passed out, didn’t I? Shit.”
“Don’t worry ‘bout it,” Zoro said, then huffed at Sanji’s attempts at arguing with him on it. “We should go back up to the crew soon.”
“But—”
“You can make it up to me later, if you want.”
Sanji scowled. “Fine. Later.”
“Try to look more eager, cook. It suits you.”
Zoro scrambled to the door as Sanji stood up and prepared for a brutal kick to his ribs. But, as he was running, he did look back and see the cook blushing.