Chapter Text
All of Sanji's hopeless romanticism stems from the chivalry that Zeff drilled into him over the years. According to Zeff, ladies are to be wined, dined, and their wishes never to be declined. Sanji was a star pupil in that regard.
Even when he experiences rejection after rejection, Sanji isn't bothered — women don't owe him that. His respect is a gift, not a conditional exchange for romantic or sexual favors. But. Well. That doesn't change the fact that Sanji has never been kissed.
Not that he minds! Or is embarrassed in the slightest. He spent his youth on the Baratie and in recent months he’s been sailing all over the Grand Line with the world’s most rambunctious pirate captain. There’s no time for romance, even with the beautiful babes aboard the Going Merry.
So it doesn't bother him, really — the topic doesn't surface much with his crew anyway.
Luffy and Chopper are children, basically. Too young to care about kissing beyond the cooties it spreads. Usopp is utterly infatuated with a girl back home, and it prevents a wandering heart (and talks that often stem from those desires).
Even when Sanji is the one to initiate innocent flirtations with Robin and Nami, the fair maidens are so kind to him when they turn him down that it's painless.
So Sanji really didn't think much of it. Wouldn't have thought much of it, truthfully.
Except.
Fucking Roronoa Zoro.
***
It came out during post-dinner drinks. Maybe truth or dare, or never have I ever? Sanji doesn't remember, just knows that his status as a kiss virgin is revealed, and that green-haired gremlin laughs to high heaven about it.
“No wonder you’re so desperate, curly,” Zoro teases, mean and wicked grin ducking behind his tankard for the evening.
“It's called chivalry, mosshead," Sanji retorts, regretfully more defensive than he’s prefer to sound. "You should try it sometime, it’d do wonders for your attitude.”
“My attitude is just fine, seeing as I don’t have trouble getting kissed.”
And isn't that just the thing? Zoro, who berates Nami by calling her a witch, who belches in Robin's face, who never bothers to look twice at island women who fawn over him during their temporary stays, who could not be further from gentlemanly if he tried, has more experience than Sanji in this.
Sanji retreats to the galley to clean up earlier than usual that evening.
As the merriment from on deck dies down, and the crew makes their way back to their bunks, Sanji smokes and drags a wet cloth across the countertop, absently cleaning an already spotless galley. His meditative state is broken by the gentle thunk-thunk at the doorway. Out of his periphery, he sees Zoro stepping over the threshold, his sheathed swords knocking against the wooden frame.
"Kitchen's closed, marimo," Sanji grunts.
"Cool it, cook. Just grabbing a drink."
Sanji kicks out a deadly leg — but rests his foot firmly on Zoro's chest, no more force exerted than needed to keep the swordsman near the door, weight stabilized by his hand on the countertop. "I said, kitchen's closed."
Zoro's eyes flicker down to the black leather shoe, and Sanji warms as Zoro's eyes follows the line of Sanji's leg back up his torso. They stop beneath Sanji's eyes, just long enough of a pause for Sanji to notice, before their gazes meet. Zoro grins.
"C'mon, curly," and there's only the smallest hint of laughter in that dangerous glint of his eyes. "You're not still butthurt from earlier, right?"
Sanji leans forward, adding a tad more force to where his shoe meets Zoro’s chest. "Can't recall what you mean," he lies, teeth grinding into his smoldering cigarette.
"That so?" It's not the speed of Zoro’s next move that catches Sanji off guard; Sanji tends to match him in that when they fight. Zoro's predictability lies in his swordsmanship after all. So when Zoro doesn't reach for one of his three blades, and instead grips the bones of Sanji's ankle, the chef is stunned.
His immobility gives Zoro the opening he needs to twist to the side, letting the applied pressure of Sanji's leg push past Zoro's torso all on its own. Which, Sanji realizes far too late, leaves Roronoa fucking Zoro slotted right between Sanji's legs.
Though Sanji is used to pressing his forehead to the swordsman's in a fit of rage, it's never been like this, meeting at the hips first and curling inward toward the other. The hand that guided Sanji's ankle beyond Zoro now skates up Sanji's calf, settling into the crook of his knee. To Sanji's chagrin, Zoro tugs then and the motion presses their hips even more solidly together, dragging a grunt out of Sanji in the process. Zoro's grin twists roguishly, and his free hand plucks the cigarette from Sanji's lips, the filter still wet from Sanji's tongue.
He settles it in his own mouth, soaks the smoke into his lungs before releasing it carelessly into Sanji's face right as the cook opens his mouth to protest.
"Dick," Sanji coughs.
"Congrats," Zoro ignores him, and Sanji's curled brow raises. "That's called an indirect kiss."
"Oh fuck off," Sanji flushes. He yanks at his leg, but Zoro's got his knee pinned, the tips of his fingers effectively trapping the joint tight to his hip.
"That's not polite, curly. What, not special enough for you to end your kiss drought?" Zoro leans impossibly closer, until Sanji is pinned to the counter, both arms now bracing himself on the surface.
The bulge at his hips is finally undeniable, and the drag of the movement, the inability to move any further away is enough to draw an embarrassingly breathy whine from Sanji's throat.
"There's a good cook," Zoro murmurs, and Sanji can't focus on both eyes at once because he's so close.
There's a heady fog in the air they're sharing. Sanji's eyes flit down to Zoro's lips just in time to see them curl before they connect with his. Teeth and tongue join the fray, and Sanji feels like he must be the main course the way Zoro is devouring him. Their teeth click gently, then get caressed by Zoro's tongue as he licks around Sanji's mouth.
Sanji's hips stutter with each bite and drag of his lips between Zoro's teeth. It's electrifying, and Sanji leans into it with gusto, immediately replicating Zoro's movements. Sanji groans into his mouth when he feels Zoro slowly grind against him, the friction of his slacks amplifying the tease of Zoro’s dick through his pants.
It ends far too soon. When Zoro pulls back, Sanji lingers in the space between them, huffing and working to regain his bearings in the aftermath of... of that .
Zoro tucks Sanji's cigarette between his teeth, fingers brushing his lips soft enough to draw out a final strangled moan, and drops his leg all at once, none too kindly or gently. The chasm widens dramatically when he steps back, eyes drifting over Sanji half-collapsed against the kitchen counter before he pivots to pluck a bottle of booze from the pantry and turn heel with a casual wave. "Thanks for the drink, curly."
Sanji sinks to the floor, no more than a puddle from the whole ordeal — his first kiss a bounty claimed by the swordsman.
***
Sanji is a ball of nerves the next morning, waiting for Zoro to bring it up and tease him in front of the crew about how Sanji was a whining, panting mess due to a first kiss from Zoro of all people. He doesn’t expect the hollow pang in his gut when Zoro meets him with the same kind of look and snarky greeting he does every morning, carries on with his conversation with Chopper, and very decidedly does not bring up the topic of kissing Sanji stupid.
It’s unnerving. Was the kiss truly so bad it wasn’t even worth mocking Sanji about? His lack of experience so apparent, so painfully obvious that even Zoro pitied him enough to not rub salt in the wound?
When the next few days pass without mention of The Incident, Sanji tucks the memory away deep in the back of his mind alongside his broken, fanciful daydreams about a romantic first kiss.
***
“Hey Zoro, what did that marine mean when he told me to ‘suck his dick?’”
Luffy’s tactless question, asked through a mouth full of half-chewed meat, breaks through the low buzz of morning breakfast conversation. Sanji needs to shut this shit down immediately .
“Nope, we’re not having this conversation at the breakfast table,” he loudly proclaims, setting the freshest plate of scrambled eggs on the table among the rest of the buffet. “There are ladies and Chopper present, and I will have some decorum in my galley even if you refuse to have any table manners.”
Robin titters behind her hand anyway, while Nami immediately turns to assure a distressed Chopper that Sanji doesn’t mean any harm by lumping him in with the girls.
“But Sanjiiiiii,” Luffy whines. “I don’t get it! He didn’t really seem interested so why would he be hitting on me during a fight? Tell me! Captain’s orders!”
“Not in the galley,” Sanji repeats firmly.
Zoro is strangely quiet throughout the ordeal, even with Luffy’s question originally being asked of him. Sanji glances over later when the subject has changed and it feels safe to, when he can pretend he’s checking on whether the mossbrain needs another helping of food instead. He doesn’t look any different, but his silence is. Normally he’d be goading Sanji about his kitchen rules, huffing and grunting around his meal by way of contributing to the conversation at the table, but he’s not making a sound as he chews each measured bite; even the scraping of his cutlery against his plate is lost in the din of shouted conversation and dishes clattering together.
Sanji elects to let it lie; Zoro might just be itching for a fight after all.
An island is spotted nearby shortly after breakfast, and the excitement of preparing to dock and gather supplies busies the bulk of the crew: Zoro opts to watch the Merry (read: stay back to nap), while Nami, Robin, and Chopper draw straws for shopping duty, equipped with a list of groceries that Sanji crafts as soon as land peeked over the horizon. Meanwhile, Usopp has been assigned babysitting duty for their dear captain.
Which leaves Sanji with kitchen cleanup and preparation for new pantry supplies, making the scene eerily familiar then, when Zoro enters the galley after the rest of the crew has departed for their island adventures.
“You can’t possibly need more booze or food so soon after breakfast,” Sanji drawls as Zoro posts up against the galley door frame. “Your appetite is as horrendous as Luffy’s.”
“And you’re as clueless as him,” Zoro retorts, a hint of amusement coloring his tone.
Sanji whirls on him, indignation spiking in his chest, and chucks the cleaning rag at Zoro’s face. He dodges effortlessly and it plaps into the wall before landing in a sad, wet pile on the floor. “The fuck are you on about, mosshead? You’re the one with algae for brains and no sense of direction.”
“You’re scared for dicks to even be mentioned in the galley.” Zoro’s smile is wide, and Sanji catches his eyes scanning down, down, down , and fuck is he gonna need another cigarette.
“That’s a pretty big leap in logic, marimo. You really should get Chopper to check that head of yours. The roots must be infecting your brain,” he shoots off coolly, tapping a new cigarette out of his pack as he leans back against the dry side of the sink.
“Let me give you head instead.”
Sanji jolts, dropping his fresh cigarette to the floor before he could even light it. He curses under his breath, pinches the bridge of his nose, before leveling a blank look at the man responsible.
“Why the fuck would I do that?”
Zoro shrugs, as if he hadn’t thought that far ahead, but pushes off the door frame to make for a spot near Sanji. “You’ve never been blown, and the ship’s empty. Good a reason as any, right?”
Sanji wishes his responding scoff sounded more believable. He makes up for it by kicking at Zoro’s shin as soon as he’s in range. Zoro lets the blow land but uses the resulting contact and momentum to hook Sanji’s ankle around his own, knock his stance wide, and smoothly step into the space he created. They aren’t touching each other — Zoro’s got a hand on his own hip, thumb tucked into his haramaki, and Sanji’s fist is crushing his pack of smokes. Sanji wonders whether Zoro plans to kiss him again, but makes no move to initiate.
“Well, shit-cook?” Zoro asks, challenge apparent in his tone. Sanji warily searches his face a moment longer. Whatever Zoro is hoping to get out of it doesn’t appear to be malicious; there’s a difference between the barbs they throw to get under each’s skin, catty and just on the wrong side of mean, and the genuine interest in provoking each other to rise to the occasion. Sanji senses more of the latter in Zoro’s eyes, a heated attentiveness that he might have caught in their last encounter had it not been such a swift and unexpected experience.
“Okay,” Sanji mutters, fighting back the blush that’s crept up his neck these last few moments, determined to be aloof and definitely not eager.
Zoro’s grin tilts into something roguish and he’s skating his fingers over the front of Sanji’s pants already, thumbing open the button and tracing the line of the zipper. It’s the only point of contact between them, and it’s electric. Blood pulses in his dick, and he can feel the narrow pressure of the path Zoro’s finger is following.
“Try not to blow your load as soon as I get my mouth on ya.” Zoro drags down the zipper at last, then hooks his fingers into Sanji’s waistband. He settles on his knees, bringing Sanji’s pants down with him to pool around Sanji’s ankles. “I’d be flattered if you did though.”
“F-fuck off, shitty swordsman.” His dick is hard and sticking straight at Zoro’s face. Sanji bites his cheek to keep his hips in place; his nails are digging into the counter ledge, the pack of cigarettes abandoned somewhere behind him.
Fingers snap at the sock garters that mark stark black lines up each side of Sanji’s calves. “Cute. Lose your socks a lot?” Before Sanji can think of a retort, those calloused hands continue higher, petting the hair on his legs and pressing deep into his muscle tissue like a massage. When he reaches the shirt stays strapped around his corded thighs that keep his button-up tucked into his slacks, he gives them a similar teasing pluck. “Or is it really so easy to get all your clothes off that you need help keeping ‘em on?”
Indignant, Sanji cuffs Zoro on the side of his head with a disgruntled complaint, “Are you always this lousy at giving head? I thought you had better things to be doing with that mouth of yours.”
Those hands finally settle near Sanji’s hips, fingers gripping into his ass, thumbs just inside his hipbones. Then there’s warmth near the base of his dick as Zoro leans in and fucking breathes in and out around those curls, presses his cheek against his length, and gazes up at Sanji through his lashes.
He knows his size is nothing to sneeze at, but to see Zoro’s lips near the base, to know before even experiencing it yet that Zoro would have to deepthroat him to fit all of Sanji in his mouth — Sanji’s dick jumps against Zoro’s cheek at the sight. Zoro groans and turns to kiss and mouth at it, working backwards until he’s a breath away from the tip.
“Yeah, yeah. Take notes, curly,” and then everything is hot and wet and Sanji’s knees immediately buckle, the air punched out of his lungs in a wheeze. Firm hands on his thighs are the only thing keeping him upright, even though Zoro is thumbing infuriatingly at the edge of the shirt stays and scarcely dipping into the thatch of hair coating Sanji’s thighs. Sanji curls around Zoro’s head with a hand on his shoulder and another weaving fingers through his cropped moss-green hair.
It’s lightning, and Sanji’s never wanted to chase a storm so desperately. He wants to follow after the heat every time Zoro pulls back, but the fear of Zoro calling him eager —or worse, easy , and actually coming so quickly that it’s shameful— pins his hips against the counter behind him. Only the momentum of Zoro’s pacing has Sanji drifting away from his self-assigned station.
At least until a light brush beneath his dick against the fuzzy skin of his ballsack sends his hips jerking forward where his dick is submerged impossibly hotter, wetter, and only briefly tighter before he’s pulling Zoro’s hair to get him off of his dick. Even though Zoro is the one clearly choking from Sanji’s sudden deep thrust, he resists most of the way before letting the dick loudly pop out from between his lips.
“The fuck was that?” Sanji nearly shrieks.
Zoro grins, devious despite the tears that are pooling in his eyes. “Can’t I appreciate some pretty balls when I see ‘em?”
“Absolutely not.” Not that it wasn’t nice, but couldn’t Zoro have warned him at least? He’s not trying to suffocate the goddamn local plant life after all.
He’s already being coaxed back to Zoro’s mouth, but when Sanji tries to jerk back, Zoro presses his lips against the head, like he’s trying to hide the smirk that’s spreading over his stupid face.
“C’mon, cook, I can take it. You know you won’t break me.”
And fuck if he isn’t right. Sanji’s thrown all kinds of kicks and random heavy objects at the swordsman and he emerges largely unscathed every time. If he really wants to pull of Sanji’s dick due to lack of oxygen, he would.
Sanji relaxes his stance then, lets Zoro envelop him once more in that sweet heat, pushes past the initial resistance until his first swallow nearly sends Sanji straight to that edge. He rides that tight space, eyes screwed shut while he chases after his orgasm. Wet, messy sounds from below draw his attention in between his own heavy breaths.
Tears are no longer welling along Zoro’s waterline — they’re pouring over it, streaming down his cheeks and mixing into the saliva that’s damn near dripping from his lips. The sight sends Sanji careening into pleasure, white-hot and mind-numbing.
He’s leaning fully on Zoro’s shoulder by the end of it, twitching from oversensitivity when he swallows around him once more like he actually intends to suck more spend from Sanji. It only takes a firm pull of his hair for Zoro to let it plop out of his mouth, and even that sends aftershocks of pleasure spasming through Sanji’s frame.
Zoro’s expression is smug as he scans over the cook from his thighs to his eyes. He stands, and with him goes Sanji’s balance as the one thing holding him upright is suddenly directly in front of him instead of supporting his weight from below. Zoro deftly takes advantage of Sanji’s momentum and pulls him in for a kiss. It’s wet, with a salty and tangy taste from the combination of tears and semen; Sanji’s dick offers a half-hearted, painful throb as arousal shoots through his nerves once more when Zoro slides his tongue into Sanji’s mouth just to lick the length of his tongue.
The kiss ends admittedly far sooner than Sanji would have liked, and he’s still a bit dazed when Zoro pats at his cheek twice and comments about seeing him at lunch before disappearing from the galley. Once again, Sanji’s left alone in the kitchen, weak-kneed and stunned; this time with his dick out.