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“Wild Spirit, which art moving everywhere;
Destroyer and preserver; hear, oh hear!”
- Ode to the West Wind, Percy Bysshe Shelley
The snap snap of Sanji’s lighter echoes through the marbled hallway, taking a beat to refresh his oral fixation before continuing with the plan. He’d diverted the head of the operation, Mr. Zero, to be far more focused on bantering over the den-den mushi than much of anything else. However, he probably should have been keeping track of his own whereabouts in kind. He’d gotten haughty. Overconfident.
He went down the wrong hallway. Then, another wrong hallway. And suddenly, the endless corridors started to feel more like a labyrinth. The feeling of the walls closing in was followed with attempts to re-orient himself, all to no avail. As he turned another corner, something peculiar started to happen.
At first, he thought the vent above his head had burst, some kind of unexpected gust from the outside world. It started small- an itch in his eyes, growing to shroud him in dust. Specks turned to streams of sand, now gathering with what felt like some bizarrely pointed intent. Gusts screamed around him, blurring his vision until nothingness. And then, as the gusts seem to bounce off the walls, they start to gather at the center of the narrow hall before Sanji.
As the sand solidified into some kind of nebulous figure before him, he could hear it: A low grumble that seemed to reach through the torrent around Sanji:
“Found you, Mr. Prince.”
Sanji could tell from the voice, the one he’d taunted all night. This was him: The infamous Mr. Zero. Crocodile. The one who had been terrorizing Alabasta. Stopped in his tracks, Sanji wordlessly examines the figure blocking the hallway, trying to stay steel in his resolve, but when the other man is so patently intimidating, it’s difficult.
Sanji had seen his fair share of larger individuals in his adventures, but seeing how this man towered nearly a meter over his own frame was quite intimidating.
“You must think you’re so clever-”
That is when Sanji notices it: That eagle-eye leer from the man towering over him.
A leer of examination, of some strange recall being mentally calculated through Crocodile’s mind as they stood there, across from each other in the dark hallway.
With a single swipe of that wretched claw, Sanji was snared by the tie. Blink and you miss it- and Sanji did, dumbfounded at the way Crocodile’s searing glare felt when it pored through him.
Why did he look at me like that? Like he… Knows me?
That was the only thought Sanji could muster, nearly asphyxiating as Crocodile now used his other hand to grab at the nape of his neck, clustering Sanji’s collared shirt and stubbled tender flesh against his vise grip.
Sanji started to grab at his neck, looking towards Crocodile with pleading eyes as the larger man strode, smaller figure in hand, back to an unremarkable dark wooden door. Swinging open the entryway, Crocodile tosses Sanji to the floor and swiftly slams the door closed.
White-hot, followed by pitch-black, fills Sanji’s vision as his head thuds against the tiled floor.
He has no idea how long he is out.
Ultimately Sanji’s vision dissipates back to a blurred view through bitter, hazy smoke. Somewhere in this lost time, Sir Crocodile had taken the liberty of binding Sanji, propping him up on a chair across from his desk. Sanji had noticed the cigar the Mr. Zero had been gnawing on since encountering him in the hallway, but by his estimation this man must be chain-smoking the damned things in this room every waking hour. Sanji thinks to himself:
I know I have a bit of a smoking problem, but really? It stinks in here…
Sanji turns his nose up at the bitter stench, realizing the last cigarette he lit before being kidnapped had disappeared in the ruckus. His hands start to shake- anxious about the prospect of going too long without his next nicotine fix. Whether his dependence was mental or physical, it made little difference. In this very moment- he was screwed, without even the comfort of a cigarette to get through to the other side.
Everything about this man was secretly terrifying to Sanji. He’d talked a big game on his little den-den mushi, but being face-to-face with this gruff and impatient figure seated at the desk before him was deeply unsettling. Vivi hadn’t mentioned his stature, his pallid complexion, the sheer scale of the claw that sat where his left hand should be. Blinking his dizzied eyes, Sanji looks back at Mr. Zero. Speechless, for the first time that night.
“So. Mr. Prince. Interesting moniker.”
Sanji refuses to respond. What the hell is he supposed to say, anyways? Crocodile continues:
“Would you like to hear how I got my own pseudonym?”
Another blank stare from Sanji, unamused. Sir Crocodile pretends not to see, not to care. Lighting up another cigar, he pulls a second from the drawer and gestures towards Sanji with it. That’s when Sanji spoke up. He hated the taste of cigars.
“No. No thank you.”
“It was not an offer you were supposed to refuse. When a gentleman gives you one of his cigars, you should be polite and take it. Just a few puffs. You know, you don’t even inhale.”
Crocodile lets a grin crease across his face, wrinkles gathering at the edges of his lips and eyes. Even with the typical signs of aging, Sanji thought to himself, he still looked quite youthful. Powerful.
Crocodile is still amusing himself, rolling the cigars around in his fingers as he strides towards the chair he’d bound Sanji to.
“Even when I was young, younger than you, I knew better than to turn down a cigar.”
There’s a strange friendliness that’s starting to radiate off of Crocodile, an unearned familiarity as he forces the butt of the cigar into Sanji's mouth; Sir Crocodile starts to laugh to himself while lighting it, much to Mr. Prince’s reluctance.
“The mere concept of ‘zero’ itself was founded in this very desert, did you know that? By ancient scholars.”
A grunt leaves Sanji’s mouth, just to try and shut this bizarre creature of a man up, to no avail.
“Connected not just to the western wind, which made the moniker feel fitting for my powers, but for another reason.”
Crocodile dissolves, reappearing in his seat behind the desk once more. Hand propped under his chin, he keeps lecturing his hostage audience:
“Emptiness. Nothingness. The idea of making something go from worthy to worthless. Mathematicians decided they needed a number to encapsulate the very theory of non-existence. And from that, mathematics was able to expand greatly. Especially in matters of bookkeeping and economics.”
Sanji chokes out a protest from the heady cigar in his mouth, careful not to let it fall on his shirt: “So what? You’re some kind of dork? A math themed nickname… Real tough.”
Crocodile glares at Sanji in his periphery, but keeps droning on through puffs of his fresh cigar:
“I help people who are nothing, become something. Well, part of something. An objective, for the good of the world. I help people level their past lives to zero- if they have a past life to even speak of, that is, and start anew. Under me.”
Sanji revels in how his taunting riles up the bigger man, the only meager sense of rebellion he has against his captor. He refused to show any sign of intimidation, even if it felt warranted. He wouldn’t go down without a fight. Sanji would return to the Straw Hats. To Vivi. He will help Alabasta be released from the clutches of the monster before him.
He just needed to save himself, first. He considered the possibility of trying to use the cherry-red tip of the cigar to sear off the ropes that bound each wrist to the arms of the chair, but that would require Sir Crocodile’s gaze to leave him, even for just a second.
Why wasn’t his gaze leaving, even for a second?
And why, oh why, was it still so intense?
Sanji’s weak taunts about his nickname did not seem to shake Sir Crocodile enough. A squint brews in Crocodile’s beady eyes, thinning brow furrowed as he examines Sanji. Curiously, he asks:
“You look familiar, boy. You know that? Prince…”
Sanji shivers, realizing exactly what feature Mr. Zero had been so fixated on all evening:
That damned cowlick that’d form in his eyebrow. That giveaway Vinsmoke brow.
Sanji had defected from his family many years prior, completely disavowed his bloodline, but strong genes can follow you to the ends of the planet. Sanji had largely avoided being found despite the strong resemblance, but it seems his lucky streak had ended in the hallways of this building today, across from the head of Baroque Works.
“I’ve heard through the grapevine- You know, how it is…”
Crocodile’s tone turns playful, more sadistic than before as he takes a pause to ash his cigar. He looks at Sanji, nodding to see if Sanji needed the ashtray. The smaller man refuses to meet Crocodile’s gaze, and the man behind the desk scoffs as he continues to monologue to Sanji:
“You hear rumors. Always wonder if they hold any weight… This one I heard once was interesting though, would you like to hear?”
Sanji remains still in his chair, eyes shot down to his lap, letting the pale white ashes of the cigar drop onto his slacks. Lowly, he grumbles back to Crocodile:
“What? You just brought me here to smoke and gossip, you freak? Let me go. My friends will be here to kick your ass in no time. They’ll know I’m missing.”
“I wouldn’t count on it, mister… Prince.”
Sir Crocodile pauses, drumming his fingernails on the mahogany desk before continuing:
“That’s what it was… A certain royal military family, and their weak little son who defected when he was just a boy… Vinsmoke…”
That damned name leaving Crocodile’s lips, punctuated by bitter puffs of tobacco, stung Sanji’s core as it hit him in the face. His eyes shot up, heart skipping a beat at the very mention of the name he cast away so many years ago.
“How…”
“That brow of yours. Everyone in your family has it. There’s comics on every newsstand in the North Blue with a family that looks just like you. You really thought you could hide from somebody like me that easily, hm?”
“You… You caught me off guard…”
“It wasn’t that difficult. You want to play pirates, huh? Run away from Daddy and rebel?”
Crocodile laughs, letting Sanji tremble in his shoes.
“I’ve been there too, son. But this life- This life is not for you. How about this… I’ll make some calls, and get you back home to Germa, okay? I heard they would love to get their hands back on you. I also heard that they had some ideas for how to make sure you can pay them back for the humiliation you caused by being a weak and cowardly defector.”
Holding back tears, Sanji remains resolute:
“I left because I knew I was better than those fucking sociopaths. Much like I’m far better than you… Goddamn creature…”
Sir Crocodile continues to feel this building, profound incredulousness towards the man across from him. Trying to stifle his irritation, Crocodile thinks to himself:
The mouth on this scoundrel, even in the face of being caught.
Calling me a "Creature"... Fuck him. What a brat.
Drifting over to Sanji once more, hovering behind the chair, Crocodile holds the crest of his hook against Sanji’s neck and taunts him, hot breath in Sanji’s ear:
“I would watch your tone. The difference between me offering salvation versus throwing you back to whatever awaits you back in Germa is one call.”
“Anywhere but there.”
Crocodile affirmatively hums, hook still pressed firm against Sanji’s clavicle.
“I can tell. So, you tell me… What’s so bad about home that’s led you so astray?”
And with this question, a strange tenderness comes over the metallic touch of Crocodile’s claw against Sanji’s body. A feeling almost as if he was trying to trace Sanji’s jaw, as one would gingerly do with an index finger.
Sanji gulps, the sensation of blood starting to slowly drip from the mark of Crocodile’s touch on the underside of his face.
“I just didn’t fit in,” Sanji croaks.
“Soft,” Crocodile taunts in return.
“I prefer to think of it as ‘sane.’”
“Right.”
“Far better than being a hardened maniac like you, Mr. Nothing.”
The intensified press of Crocodile’s appendage against Sanji’s cheek made him shiver, starting to regret the notion of talking back to the man towering over him.
“Nothing? I suggest you change your tone with me, if you’d still like to hear my charitable deal to keep you from being sent back to Germa for whatever they’ll pay.”
“They’ll pay nothing for me. I am dead to them. Worthless.”
“I doubt it.”
“You never heard how my father and brothers spoke of me.”
Crocodile grunts, stepping away from Sanji’s chair to pour himself a drink. His face is pensive, silent for a rare moment. Trying not to choke on the cigar smoke pooling in his mouth, Sanji takes slow and shallow breaths as he keeps his focus on the threat lurching around the room. Crocodile is circling his prey, swishing brown liquor in a highball glass, eyes scanning Sanji with a strange spark in his pupils.
“I think your father was right, Mr. Petit-Prince. Maybe I should just try to find his contact, call him… See what I should do to his no-good cowardly son.”
Sanji starts to thrash against his restraints, pleading:
“Please. Please no. Even if you want to torture me, don’t you dare try to contact my old family.”
And with a smile, sitting back down calmly in his cushioned chair, Crocodile quips back:
“Why shouldn’t I?”
Sanji takes a beat to think, then answers:
“Wouldn’t you be putting your own men in danger? What if they decide to take me back by force, hm?”
One of those smarmy, knowing smiles scrawls across Crocodile’s face, unbothered by the threat:
“A seafaring military operation gives me little pause in the desert, son. And didn’t you just say you were worthless to them? So… What is the truth? To me, it seems to be this…”
He completely snuffs the cigar he’d smoked down to nothingness in this exchange before pulling another fresh cigar from his desk once more, leaning against the side while lighting the new fix. Letting out a slow puff, coolly punctuated with a sigh, Crocodile turns his eyes towards Sanji once more:
“The truth is, you’re desperate to stay on the run from Germa. From the Vinsmokes. And that little curly brow is your damn smoking gun, now isn't it? It was only a matter of time, you know that?”
“You’re all talk, Mr. Zero. You’re not going to do a damn thing. All you want to do is run your pathetic mouth.”
Mounting frustration reddening Crocodile’s face, he stammers and leans across his desk in front of Sanji, waving the edge of his hook towards the smug blond:
“Don’t fucking test me. I will locate my contacts affiliated with Germa right now if I’d like. Either that, or I’ll kill you.”
“Hm-”
Crocodile flies out of his chair, standing with his palm thudding onto his desk before striding back over to Sanji’s chair. He presses his hook into Sanji’s jaw once more, silencing any accusation of an empty threat. Continuing his torment, Crocodile remarks:
“My one reason for pause is this… I don’t know what value you hold for me. After all, why would I let some two-bit, mouthy interloper like you join my organization?"
The pressure of Crocodile’s claw on Sanji’s neck was making him squirm. Making him feel as if it was time to plead. It felt debasing, but it’s what a man must do in a desperate hour such as this, gracefully:
“Please. I can cook. I can fight. I just… Just cannot go back to Germa. I worked too hard to get away. Sir-”
The older man interjects, his grip loosening on Sanji.
“Sir. There we go, much better. I appreciate the politesse, little prince.”
Sanji can hear the icecubes in Crocodile’s glass clanging against his ear, compounding with the agonizing tinnitus that had been humming in his skull since blacking out against the cold tile floor.
“The more polite you are, the better the deal will be, petit-prince.”
Instead of the expected slashing or bludgeoning, Sanji is met with a gentle nudge from the hook, one that draws his gaze to the side. Crocodile takes in this new angle, continuing to examine Sanji: Flashing that crooked smile punctuated with a snaggled canine, that dirty fucking stogie in the crook of Crocodile’s mouth was all that filled Sanji’s direct vision. Sanji, under the microscope of Crocodile's gaze, was drowning in the feeling like the man before him was just ready to eat him alive.
Fear. I hate the fear I’m feeling. I feel like I’ve failed Vivi. Nami. The entire crew. I’m so sorry, everybody.
“If you really would like to start anew, I can help you with that, Vinsmoke-”
“Sanji. My name is Sanji. I don’t use that other name. I haven’t in years.”
“Ah yes. Good start. Mr. Prince wasn’t quite fitting either, considering how you’ve eschewed your family name. Where have you been all these years, Sanji?”
Sanji struggles against the ties still pinning his arms against the chair, and much to his surprise it seems to cause a shift in Mr. Zero. Straight-faced and quietly, Crocodile undoes the bindings on Sanji’s wrists. He smiles down at his ex-captive, then walks back towards the bar cart as Sanji rubs his forearms and looks back, dumbfounded.
“I’ve been desperate like you before, Sanji. How would you like my help starting fresh, the right way? I can take you in as my personal mentee. From the ground up, of course. Zero.”
Now a newly released hostage, still speechless and motionless in the chair he had just been freed from, Sanji now takes his turn examining his counterpart in the room; he watches as Crocodile deftly pours more liquor into his crystal glass, how he adjusts the ascot resting on his broad chest. The smirk, knowing and lascivious, curling across his square face.
There was an adrenaline still pounding in Sanji’s veins. One that sensed tension. Danger. An asterisk to that last item of Crocodile’s offering:
Zero.
The idea of finally being able to erase the Vinsmoke association for once and for all, the prospect of receiving actual guidance in a new beginning… He couldn’t lie, it was an offer that was difficult to stick up his nose at. And it seemed, from his body language walking from bartop to desk, Crocodile knew that. His eyes did not leave Sanji once, impatiently awaiting an answer from the man. Fighting against the dryness in his throat, Sanji inquires, trying not to let his voice crack:
“What’s the catch?”
“What do you mean, catch?”
“If I agree to let you help me, what will happen? After all, you had me tied up just moments before this. I thought you were going to kill me. Send me back to my bastard of a father. Now what, you want to help?”
“Yes, is that so unreasonable? To see the desperation in a young man’s eye and want to help him?”
“Is this what you did to Vivi?”
Crocodile chokes, eyes bobbing back and eyebrow raising to look at Sanji from his desk. Sanji thoughtlessly blurts out:
“Miss Wednesday.”
And then, Sanji realizes:
Fuck.
In his haste, he revealed a mole in Mr. Zero’s operation. A very important one, at that. Bigger grin than before, Crocodile replies:
“I thought that little bitch was up to no good. Trying to take me down from the inside, hm? Most likely to get her family back in power here in Alubarna. Good thing she recruited inept losers like you to help. I hadn’t bothered to look into my suspicions surrounding her sooner, but I should have known. Now, you’ve done the leg work for me.”
“Screw you. The others will still carry on the mission.”
“You are all outnumbered. I doubt it. Now, how about you start enjoying that cigar instead of letting the ash crumble all over your slacks? I have a feeling we’re in for a long talk.”
Sanji hates the smugness of this man, how he knows Crocodile has only loosened his grip on him because he doesn’t see Sanji as a threat. This man sees him as little more than some stray to be dealt with or fostered.
Pathetic. Just like I always felt growing up.
As if reading Sanji’s mind, Crocodile speaks up, casting his gaze to another distant corner of the room:
“You know, there’s no shame in relenting. In asking for help. I lived many, many lifetimes before settling here in Alubarna. I’ve helped many young people like you before, but I've also been willing to accept help from others.”
Crocodile’s softened grin was sickening to Sanji, enigmatic and unsettling. In this newfound gentler affectation, Crocodile quips:
“How rude of me, I should have offered you a drink after…”
Another one of those knowing little laughs that irritated Sanji to all Hell. Mr. Zero continues his inordinately familiar torment against Sanji’s brusque silence.
“... Well, I loosened you up in one way, and I should have offered to loosen you up in another, right? What’s your poison?”
“I’m not getting drunk with you, creep. What is going on here? Why so friendly all of the sudden?”
“I think I see a lot of myself in you, Sanji. A younger, more foolish version of me, that is. One that would get caught so easily.”
Sanji scoffs:
“Oh, fuck off. It was just a stroke of bad luck.”
“Getting lost is an amateur move. You’ll learn better under me.”
Sanji grabs at the cigar in his mouth between his fingers, adjusting his posture and taking a puff. Bolstering himself, mirroring the man before him, he continues his negotiations:
“And what exactly would be my role, then? You said mentee- for Baroque Works, or the casino? You know, I have experience in hospitality too. At the Baratie, you may have heard of it. I can make myself useful in many places here, I swear.”
Sitting down and pivoting around in his chair, Crocodile’s expression is obscured from Sanji’s view as he replies:
“Let’s start with “personal assistant.” That’s a role that many of my treasured associates began with.”
“So what, a secretary?”
“Something of the sort. Come here, to my desk.”
Sanji stands, approaching the desk, curious as to what could compel Crocodile to let him come here and examine his workspace further already.
“Discretion. Do you understand discretion?”
“Yes.”
“Despite how your lack of it is exactly what got you caught tonight?”
“That’s not-”
“You were mouthy and flashy, trying to cause a scene over your den-den mushi with me all evening. And it was fun, it was cute-”
Sanji cocks that giveaway Vinsmoke brow at that last adjective. Cute? The bourbon-tipsiness slurring Crocodile’s speech at this moment is giving Sanji even further pause, the ramblings feeling more incomprehensible with every word. Not noticing Sanji’s curious expression, Crocodile prattles on, turning in his seat to examine the man stood before his desk:
“-But it ultimately led to your demise. I could hear you squawking in that damned thing down the hallways, and that’s when I found you. Fool.”
“Whatever.”
“Not whatever, if you’d like me to mentor you, that is.”
Sanji nods. He has to adjust to this- to his new arrangement, now apparently sealed over this bizarre exchange. Crocodile was pushy. Sanji got the idea that he wasn’t the kind of man who liked to take no for an answer, and he didn’t feel as if he was in the slightest position to even say no to this man. After all, sparing his life and helping him more effectively start anew was a better deal than Sanji could have possibly fathomed. From the moment his head hit the floor earlier, Sanji had secretly feared certain death.
Now, the chance at a life anew?
He decides to soften his tone in return:
“You’re correct, Sir.”
“Sir. I don’t think I told you before, how nice that word sounds leaving your lips.”
“Thank… You?”
Crocodile stands from his chair, leaning in towards Sanji as he rises, that smirk still searing into the smaller man, soaking him in nerviness.
“Are you certain I cannot interest you in a drink?”
“No. I’m okay.”
“Okay…?”
Mr. Zero gesticulates with his hooked arm, as if expecting one last word on Sanji’s refusal. Rolling his eyes, Sanji responds:
“... Sir.”
“There we go. Good boy.”
That puzzled Sanji even further- What strange praise. He must be tipsy.
Circling the desk, Sanji’s confusion mounts as Crocodile slides his hand across Sanji’s waist, grabbing at his side while trails of smoke dance between the two of them. That’s when Sanji feels the bulge in the other man’s pants, rutting against him, pressing him into the thick rounded edge of the desk. Taken aback by the forwardness, Sanji protests:
“What the fuck are you doing, get off-”
“Aht, aht, that’s not…”
Sanji shudders as he feels a firm tongue lap against the dried scrape that Crocodile left on his jawline earlier, lightly gasping from the sting of it reopening against the warm saliva of the other man. The width of the behemoth’s tongue nearly reaches the bottom of Sanji’s throat, and the disgust that the smaller man feels is disorienting under the gravity of Sir Crocodile. In his cruel and raspy lilt, Mr. Zero commands:
“That is not what a good personal assistant does, deny me. Now, I’ve watched that pretty little mouth of yours wrap around that cigar all evening. I’d like to see them around something else, if you know what I mean.”
“Disgusting. You’re disgusting.”
Sanji spits out a slur towards the other man, trying to elbow him away. Instantaneously, Crocodile crooks the dull rounded edge of his prosthetic under Sanji’s head, angrily ensnaring his new assistant:
“You have some fuckin’ nerve talking to me like that, you know?”
“I don’t swing that way.”
“Bullshit.”
The angle of Crocodile’s claw tips up, the very edge of it piercing into Sanji’s bottom lip. Still planted against the smaller man’s back, Sir Crocodile growls into his ear:
“With lips like this, it’s a waste. A terrible waste. You’ll learn to love it. To love me.”
Reaching over Sanji, Crocodile snuffs his cigar in the ashtray on his desk. He takes the opportunity to further press into the man beneath him, his growing erection throbbing against Sanji’s backside before lowering his mouth towards Sanji’s ear, biting at the right earlobe. Sanji initially protests against the nauseating inebriated open maw of Sir Crocodile meeting the side of his neck, lip still caught in the snare of Crocodile’s claw. But there's something intoxicating in its own right about the sensation of the man folding into him, over him, all over him now. Sanji shifts his stance, leg shaking between the desk and the thick muscled thigh of the man behind him. In the mere shock of the boss’s forwardness, Sanji had barely noticed how his loafers now dangled over the small carpet blanketing the area where he's been interrogated and targeted this entire evening.
And now, much like prey dangling from reptilian teeth, Sanji felt ensnared. But as Crocodile's firm touch, accented with thick bands of gold on nearly every finger, travels down Sanji's torso and pulls at his dress shirt, he wonders how reluctant he is to the growing charm of the man behind him.
After all, underneath the suffocating head note of his cigar smoke, there was a softness: Vanilla, sandalwood, myrrh all mingling with the brown-liquor love bites loosening Sanji's collar. The low rumble of Crocodile groaning reverberated through Sanji's ear, the mere magnitude of his new crooked mentor feeling beyond mountainous behind him now. Sanji whispers, near breathlessly:
“I guess I better learn to give in, to like this. After all, that vanilla… It's sweet…”
His mind softening against the ever-strengthening hold of Mr. Zero, a warm, rosy flush tinting every corner of his folded-over body, Sanji lets the man undo his belt and start to tug at the waistline, the rounded bit of Crocodile's hook pressing Sanji by the small of his back into the surface of the desk.
Even in this moment, so prone; feeling resigned to never returning to the hope of the prior mission, of Luffy, of true freedom, Sanji scanned the papers under his face to see if he could find any hint to his own personal escape: Not one that clearly will be earned quid pro quo at the edge of this desk, starting tonight.
No hope. His nerves continue to bounce light-speed off every inch of his inner consciousness as he feels himself get even more flustered at the sensation of Crocodile's silky charcoal slacks, engorged with Crocodile's full girth, rubbing against his bare ass. It felt unfair to Sanji, to be so vulnerable while the man behind him had barely loosened the scarf around his neck.
“Are you just going to jizz in those overpriced pants of yours, or are you going to actually do something, Sir?”
Sanji gulps, a pleasantly surprised laughter starting to bellow against his spine from Crocodile. He hated when he'd try to act tough just to end up in some kind of unfortunate innuendo like this. A slip of the tongue, one that the other man was eager to grasp at. No further banter from Crocodile- only the sound of his belt buckle hitting the floor, the sensation of his thick index finger starting to pry at Sanji's hole.
Melting further into the top of the desk, Sanji can barely continue to read the wrinkled papers beneath him as he thought about the sheer scale of Sir Crocodile, how even this finger pinched at him and made a single tear stream down his face. He hears a repulsive spitting noise behind him, wetness beneath Crocodile's touch between his powerless legs.
“You just don't know when to shut your mouth and keep yourself out of trouble, do you? I think I kind of like that.”
Crocodile leans further onto Sanji’s back, taunting in his ear as he presses his finger deeper into Sanji:
“Reckless. You see, I bite my tongue sometimes... Trying not to start fights I don't want to finish.”
Sanji whimpers at the advance, squirming under the press of the larger man’s body. Sir Crocodile continues, hot breath against the warmth of Sanji’s flustered face:
“You don't seem to have the same regard. Perhaps, I can learn a thing or two from you as well.”
Sanji weakly musters some awareness, some fortitude to bleat out a weak, grainy fuck you before his breath hitches against the slow, teasing rhythm of Crocodile's hand against him. Sanji let his resistance wane at the feeling of the larger man fingering him while enveloping him in open-mouthed kisses at the nape of his neck. Pinned to the desk, Sanji feels drool pressing out of his cheek, gathering by his lip onto the desk. The weight of Crocodile against him, the way his own cock twitched against the hardwood desk, it was near-agonizing pleasure and torment rolled into one; a sensation Sanji didn't want to let into the door. One he felt nonetheless.
He knew, deep down inside, he'd always end up in the clutches of a man like this. Somebody strong. Powerful. Show him the way, the better way that is. Sanji could march to the beat of his own drum, but always ended up turning to someone else when he got lost.
It'd never been like this at the Baratie though, not with Zeff. He felt lucky to feel safe on the Baratie, and now he questioned why he had even left.
Here and now, Sanji felt… Unsure.
Not unsafe, but uncertain.
Certainly, the sandpaper grit of Crocodile's subtle five-o-clock shadow grinding against his spine as he loosened Sanji's shirt with his teeth had some part in breaking his brain.
There was danger here; untread territory. But Sanji felt intrigued at every passing touch, the waves of intensity that came with how the older man pawed at him.
When Sanji feels a stronger tug, a tear through the button-down he'd been wearing right down the back seam, he protests, stifling his hums of growing pleasure from Crocodile's teasing.
“Y-you owe me a new shirt…”
“Now that you're mine, I'll dress you up in far better clothes than this cheap suit. I won't have my assistant caught dead in anything less than the finest…”
The condescension. The disdain. Sanji wishes it could elicit a disgust response in his mind, but all that could race through his head right now was the prospect of being dressed up by this man, like a little doll. A vision of him looking up at Crocodile, having his skinny tie pulled taut with that thorny grin looking down at him.
It made Sanji twitch against the desk again, groaning at the mere thought of staying locked here in this demented arrangement. Breathlessly, Sanji turns his head to try and face the man behind him, hoping his expression would give way to Crocodile's intent. What bore down on Sanji was a self-satisfied sneer, his eyes with widened pupils probing Sanji's tired face. Sanji whispers, weak smile trembling through his lower lip:
“Your eyes…”
“What?”
Crocodile slows his pawing at Sanji, rising slightly from his press into the smaller man's back with curiosity. With less weight on his lungs, Sanji speaks up again, more clearly:
“Your eyes…”
“What are you saying?”
“Nothing… I just noticed… They're blue. A blue-grey.”
Crocodile is wordless, still hovering over Sanji, paused in confusion. Sanji anxiously interjects once more:
“Mine are deeper blue, I guess. But yours… They are very unique. Scary. But… very pretty, almost. One of a kind.”
Sanji can feel this sense of hovering over himself at this moment, like something has taken control of his body and started softening towards Sir Crocodile. A version of himself that knew that fawning against the demanding storm of this new command was the only way he'd get out alive.
With a heady laugh, Sanji watches Crocodile's mouth curl into a sort of bashful grin, averting the very slate-blue eyes Sanji just perceived from the man beneath him while ramping up his teasing once more, the sensation of his middle finger starting to stretch and prod behind Sanji. The blond lets out a delicate throaty gasp, shifting his folded-over body so slightly to let Crocodile continue to stretch him.
“Sweet-talk will get you nowhere, pumpkin. Do you really think that saying we have the same eye color will earn you some special treatment? I will be using you as I see fit. Where I see fit.”
Feeling more devilish, leaning into the perverted tete-a-tete with the man, Sanji retorts:
“Then do it. All you've done all night is bend me over this desk and play with my ass. You're uncreative. Unremarkable. I've done shit like this fooling around after a few drinks at a port. You don't scare me. You're just some sad, lonely, middle-aged fuck.”
“Really now? Mister ‘I don’t swing that way’ has some pointers for me? Why lie to me before?”
“I wasn’t lying before. I usually don’t fuck dirty old men.”
The hooked hand of Sanji's captor dissipated and returned in a headlock around Sanji's throat. Angrily, Crocodile whispers into the side of his captive:
“There you go again, with your fresh fuckin' mouth. I was being kind, not just ripping your ass in two. I didn't think you were such a whore on top of being this much of a brat.”
Just as Sanji is about to talk back, the two of them hear thuds at the door. Sir Crocodile had deadbolted it shortly before binding Sanji to the chair earlier, and now he could hear the familiar mutterings of his cronies:
“Sir, Mr. Zero sir. We have updates on the breach that's occurring in Alubarna. Please, it's urgent.”
Crocodile sighs, knowing he must. This disruption- not the knock at the door, the one caused by this blond interloper and his little friends this week, it did rattle him. Far more than he cared to front, especially when he could tell that this unnerving little tramp in his office right now was still holding out for an exit. Crocodile had heard Sanji agree to their arrangement, but knew it wasn't with his entire soul. After all, who would happily and gleefully stay at the threat of being sent back home, sent back to a life that doesn't fit you in the slightest? A life that makes you feel less yourself?
Sir Crocodile did not care to fully elaborate to his new counterpart the fullest extent to which he understood Sanji's plight. And now, with the knock at the door, Crocodile had to think fast. Grabbing Sanji by his diminutive scalp, palm completely reaching over the top of the smaller man's body, he shushes the boy:
“I am going to place you under the desk and unlock the door. You will behave and stay silent. You will not try to pull any tricks, like trying to get the attention of my colleagues or your dirt-bag friends somehow, depending on who's at the door.”
His vise grip bore down in the flaxen strands of Sanji's hair, savoring the whimpers of the man beneath him:
“Keep in mind that my colleagues would love nothing more than to kill you at my word. They don't know about our newfound little partnership. Let's keep it that way. Be a good boy and wait under the desk until Sir is done with his meeting, yes?”
Rigidly, Sanji nods against the gravity of Crocodile's hand on his head before being pulled up by his bangs and led under the large wooden desk. The space beneath is larger than anticipated, just enough to fit him knelt in front of where the chair slotted in. He could hear Mr. Zero buckling his belt, unlocking the door, beckoning his cronies in. Sanji scoots his knees on the floor slightly at the sight of Crocodile rolling into his seat, knees invading the space where Sanji felt himself crouched. Each of Mr. Zero's tree-trunk legs frame Sanji's shoulders, trapping him to remain face-to-face with the half-erect cock still throbbing in his slacks.
Sickly curious, Sanji starts to stroke at Crocodile, poke and fondle at the way his length sat across his thigh. When Sanji hears the Baroque Works cronies start to drone on, he decides to pull at the zipper of Mr. Zero's pants.
Slowly.
As to not make a noise, of course.
Discretion is key, after all. Let's see how discreet I can be, Sir. And how much I can make you lose your stoic facade in this stupid little rendezvous.
Sanji can feel Crocodile's leg start to shake when he undoes the button and belt on the boss's slacks. He savors hearing how Sir’s voice croaks and breaks when Sanji pulls his erection out of the undone zipper, letting the tip of his tongue graze the veiny underside of Sir’s cock. He hums with delight as he starts to suck at the soft brown tip, smiling on the inside every single time he can hear the discomfort and unshakeable arousal simmering in Sir Crocodile despite all of his protests. All his attempts at maintaining his stony exterior were breaking under Sanji's touch, a secretive yet voyeuristic outburst under the desk Sanji's new boss had stashed him underneath.
It was unmistakable, the effect Sanji had on the man seated before him: The way he'd keep mispronouncing words, stumbling over his speech, asking his underlings to say that again, ah, I didn't quite catch that-
Every randomly misplaced sigh. The way that at one point, Crocodile's hand reached under the desk, coaxing Sanji's mouth further onto Sir's lap.
Sanji knew he'd found exactly how to play this man like a fiddle. Exactly where he would slot in here. He'd never think of himself as one to sleep his way to the top, but he realized that this could be the one true weakness of his new, seemingly overpowered and omnipotent boss.
Shameless. Lonely, desperate, and shameless. He's loving this, having these poor clueless saps in the room while I'm doing this.
Fingers tangled in Sanji's hair beneath the desk, and Crocodile knew he was doing a poor job at keeping his composure. One of his associates, Daz, looked back at him quizzingly:
“Are you okay, boss? You seem rattled.”
“Fine… Just. Thank you for the updates. I guess I didn't expect to have all of these individuals penetrate our operation so-”
A poorly timed wince against the devilish tongue of his new toy beneath the desk punctuates Crocodile's reply.
“- so deeply. I must ask you to go.”
“Before we do. We've received word that they lost the location of one of the pirate crew members. Mr. Prince. The one you mentioned was mouthy with you over the phone.”
“Mouthy- yes.”
Sanji hums a slight laugh through his mouth at the irony, loving the squirm it elicits from Crocodile.
This is strangely fun, Sanji bemused. To tease a man like this, hear him fumble this meeting so badly. Those bozos in the room have to know something is up, right?
Sanji didn't understand the strange desire pooling in him right now, one of nearly wanting to be found out, but he didn't question it. He only kept working his tongue and hollowed cheeks faster against Crocodile's lap, saliva in ropes sticking to the man's pants. Sanji wondered if he'd even stand from his post to usher his colleagues away, knowing exactly how sloppy, and oh, so mindless, Sanji had been beneath the desk.
Utter lack of discretion.
After an awkwardly long pause, only punctuated by Crocodile shakily clearing his throat and the clack of his underling’s boots pacing the tiled floor, Crocodile replies:
“I have personally dealt with the Mr. Prince problem.”
Sanji feels a teasing crease of Mr. Zero's fingertips in his scalp, pushing him fully into his crotch, subtly bucking his hips towards the kneeling man in his rolling chair. With another sly laugh, Crocodile tells his colleagues:
“I silenced him.”
Tears starting to well at Sanji's eyes, he lets himself mindlessly suction at Crocodile's commanding touch, hoping that the man was close to climax. As soon as the heavy office door shuts, Sanji can feel a burst of consciousness and light flood in as Crocodile pulls back from his desk, out of Sanji's mouth. Sanji can sense a temper rising in his new boss, one that starts to ramp up his anxiety and fear once more. He had felt so confident mere moments before, finding a way to get even with this man who had Sanji under his thumb now. It seemed that no matter what, unfortunately, Sanji would be bested at every turn.
Sanji can hear the calculated sadism tinging Crocodile's voice as he leans over in his chair, peering into the alcove where Sanji knelt.
“You. Did you think that was funny? What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“I don't know, Sir. What was wrong with you? Seems to me like you enjoyed it too.”
“I did not. I could barely focus. That was important information. If you cared to listen instead of being a provocative little whore under the desk, maybe you would have heard some news about your friends that was of some interest.”
Sanji's heart drops.
What did he mean?
“Are they okay? I swear if you hurt Nami, or Vivi-”
“You don't deserve that information. It's classified.”
“You're bluffing. I can tell. My friends are fine.”
“Wouldn't you have liked to know for certain, mon petit prince?”
As Crocodile slides back in his chair to stand, Sanji crawls up from the desk and watches as Crocodile smooths over the front of his pants, disgusted at the saliva sticking to his palm.
“Sloppy.”
Sanji didn't know exactly what that was an indictment of when Crocodile said it, but the double entendre hit him at both slots: the disappointment of knowing he didn't listen to a damn thing that crony spy said to Mr. Zero, and the sick satisfaction of watching the larger man get flustered and embarrassed at how much he had let himself loosen up in return.
“Seeing how desperate you are to please, I'm going to ask you to get up again.”
Wordlessly, Sanji stands to his feet, about elbow-length from Crocodile. Both of them still standing by the desk, Crocodile pivots to press Sanji against the furniture once more, throwing Sanji's body to sit atop the smattering of papers and send the entire desktop into disarray.
“And take off those cheap pants again. Now.”
With a frustrated, insulted expression on his face, Sanji hesitantly nods and peels off his slacks, kicking off his shoes until he was in little else but his briefs and socks. Sanji couldn't fully fathom why he'd been so eager to undress for the bossy asshole of a man, until the buttons of Crocodile's dress shirt started to come undone.
The thick sea of chest hair over Crocodile's pectorals, reaching downwards over his navel to cover the expanse of the older man's torso was irresistible to Sanji. Thoughtlessly, he found himself leaning up from the desk, running his thin hands through the wisps of hair that covered Crocodile's abdomen. Sanji rested his palm on the back of Sir's neck, pulling him down to kiss the man, begging with his tongue for Crocodile to keep teasing him, keep touching him, to keep the mind games going until both of them couldn't stand it any more.
“Please Sir, I've stripped off all of my cheap clothes. Haven't I been good?”
With this saccharine tone, Sanji traces his touch down to Crocodile's slacks, pulling out his erection again to rub at it softly, arm reaching between his legs spread wide across the desk. Pulling from Sanji's grasp, Crocodile palms his erection and starts to prod at Sanji's hole, watching as his little assistant happily bore the pain of the tip starting to enter. Even with the stretching out, Sanji found himself wincing and slightly crying at the way his body resisted the sheer size of the larger man. Pulling back once more, Sanji remains frozen as Sir Crocodile leaves the room, returning with a jar of waxy oil. Scooping up a dollop in his hand, Crocodile lets the sweet-smelling salve melt in the heat of his palm before rubbing it between Sanji's cheeks, letting his finger tease Sanji one last time before prodding at Sanji with his erection. This time, the diminutive man sprawled across the desk lets out a squeal- one of eager, perverse pleasure- as Crocodile slides into him, hips bucking against Sanji's and rattling the desk with his force.
Sanji throws his hand over his mouth, trying to stifle the groans escaping his lips. He doesn't want to like this. He doesn't want to love it. But he does, the sheer size and girth and how this man can bear down on him; the strangely magnetic allure of Mr. Zero's musky aura now overwhelmingly hypnotizing to the exhausted Mr. Prince.
If this was Sanji's life now: this fiery chaos, this banter; power plays, the electricity and uncertainty of being used by a man like this, so be it. Reaching down with shaky hands, Sanji starts to play with himself, one hand still stroking at the hirsute and softly muscled form of Sir Crocodile.
“You like Sir's body, don't you, Mr. Prince? I bet you've really never been with an older man, haven't you?”
Leaning closer, slightly cushioned stomach rubbing intoxicatingly against Sanji's cock, Crocodile coos into Sanji's ear:
“I'll be sure to be gentle, then. Maybe, you could learn to be a better lover too. That mouth of yours… It's just okay.”
Sanji groans as he watches Crocodile reach his thick fingers into Sanji's jaw, prying him open by the lips and making him suck at the calloused golden-ringed digits.
“We will have to keep breaking you in, maybe as a permanent installation under my desk for now, since you seemed to like to play that little game.”
More bellowing laughter vibrated through Crocodile's body above Sanji as he continued to thrust against his new assistant's eager little body pinned to the desk. Sanji despised how his brain, in this hazy state of desperate arousal, could think of little else than how heavenly Sir felt when pressing against him. How it made Sanji leak with precum, leaving a wet spot of hair curling above Crocodile's navel as the larger man rose again, looming over Sanji with mischief dancing in-line across the scarred face of Sir Crocodile.
This weathered man- Sanji could tell, he could feel it- he knew he had broken Sanji right down to perfect, workable pieces. He would be Crocodile's little pet from now until forever, at this rate. There was no hatred or anger that sprung from Sanji's core anymore.
Just that damned boundless desire and lust that he was always worried would pull him away from greater things.
Sanji was close to climax after watching Mr. Zero’s fingers leave his mouth and trace his own chest, speckled with thin threads of dark blond hair, until resting his grip around Sanji's erection. Crocodile jerks at Sanji's shaft, looking at him with that cool blue frostbite gaze, impatiently pleading with narrowed eyes for Sanji to cum. First, silently. Then, he commands:
“Cum for me. Come on, be good for me. I can tell you're close. You were sloppy again, letting your impotent little precum get on my stomach. Come on now, cum for daddy.”
Sanji hates the pithy moan, the ramping proximity of his orgasm when Crocodile utters that last word. That term- daddy- he hated how that made him shiver. It made him feel broken, psychologically. Daddy issues. And of course, the seasoned man before Sanji clocks it immediately:
“Ah, I see. You do like that. I figured as much. All this venturing out in the seas with your clueless friends, just to try and find what you're missing in the lap of a man like me. So, can I be your new daddy, baby?”
Sanji can feel the overwhelming momentum of Crocodile's hips moving faster now, relentlessly and gleefully toying with Sanji's weaknesses. Giving in, Sanji bleats:
“Y- Yes, yes daddy…”
Moments later, Sanji's body reveals another humiliating defect, his right nostril starting to leak crimson blood. Sir Crocodile puts his hand up to Sanji's face, wiping away a droplet and lapping it off of his hand before returning to pleasure Sanji:
“How peculiar. Bleed for me as well then, why don't you. I don't mind the smell nor taste.”
Sanji whimpers as Crocodile leans in, friction sparking more heat through Sanji's body as that oversized pale tongue met Sanji's delicate face once more, lapping up the blood leaking from his nose. Sanji sighs, strangely enchanted. This appreciation, this fetishization of his embarrassing knee-jerk arousal response was something he'd never experienced. He'd never anticipated the sight of the blood pouring from his face eliciting anything other than disgust or fear. Sanji's moans build, legs quivering from Crocodile's touch, from the way the other man had been spreading him across the desk with every thrust of his wide hips. Continuing to taunt Sanji, Sir Crocodile growls:
“That's my good boy. Now cum. I want to see you cum all over this pale, pretty stomach of yours. Once you do, I'll be sure to cum deep inside of you.”
Pressing the side of his face against Sanji's smaller cheekbone, Crocodile taunts him:
“I'm so close, after all. I'm happy this hole is all mine now. I can't wait to keep breaking you in, my assistant.”
A long, droning moan pitches from the depths of Sanji's throat, one of overdue release. A moan punctuated by a rope of cum drawing across his torso, as Crocodile keeps happily coaxing his new toy to orgasm:
“What a good boy to have under my thumb… So, so eager to please… Daddy loves that, don't you know…”
Still in the haze of his own pleasure, Sanji feels the sensation of Crocodile hitting his prostate, semen starting to pool on the edge of the desk and over onto the floor as the larger man pulls away with a guttural climax. Still feeling wobbly in his legs, Sanji starts to sit up on the desk, leaning over to look at the sheer volume of Crocodile's release spilling onto the rug.
Sanji smiles at Crocodile, but receives only a gruff stone-faced dismissal as Sir examines the carpet. Kneeling down, he remarks:
“Disgusting. I should make you clean this, you know.”
The image of being forced to somehow lick the carpet clean of this man's semen rattled Sanji's tired brain. Thankfully, Crocodile seemed to soften up shortly thereafter, rising to stand before Sanji and scold him:
“I'll let you off easy this time, but next time will be different. Just because you are new. Still in training, so to speak.”
“Crocodile.”
A firm index finger presses against Sanji's lips to shush him.
“Sir. You will only address me as Sir or Daddy from now on, yes?”
Sanji nods, and protests against Sir's hands.
“Sir.”
“Yes, my sweet?”
“What does breaking in look like, anyways?”
Sanji surmised that despite the pleasure he felt, the sheer intensity of today's encounter meant that he had his work cut out for him. This man was a tempest of unreleased lust and desire, a storm that had been brewing in the desert; lying in wait for a lost and lonely man like Sanji to tear into and change. Much like the way a dust storm could shape the rocks and canyons of the desert atmosphere, Sanji knew that whatever came of this encounter- brief or long-enduring- it would change him.
With a cloying smile and the tip of his index finger tracing the scabbed-over surface of Sanji's chin, Crocodile addresses the man's question:
“It's all a matter of what I think you can handle. You, I think you will be my masterpiece.”
His thumb meets to rub at Sanji's lips, their eyes meeting each other with a newfound mutual electricity between them. Crocodile smiles, and slyly remarks:
“My diamond in the rough. My little prince.”