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Thousand Sunny, After Wano — A random normal lovely night.
The sea is gentle tonight, humming low beneath the ship’s wooden belly. The stars look lazy, stretched wide and flickering gold above, a few clouds hanging like forgotten brushstrokes in a navy sky. A warm breeze slides across the deck, rustling the sails with the soft sound of linen sighing. Sanji’s dress shirt is undone at the top, sleeves rolled up, his blond hair curling faintly from humidity. A linen napkin is slung over one arm like a five-star waiter’s, and in his hands he balances a lacquered tray, neatly arranged with chilled soba noodles, sliced fruit, and a flask of barley tea. All light, refreshing things, suited for sweaty post-training idiots who can’t be bothered to eat right.
The sea hums a gentle lullaby beneath, and somewhere lower deck, Usopp’s snoring mingles with Luffy’s sleep-mumbling about meat.
Sanji grins, a cigarette loose at the corner of his mouth, the orange ember flaring as he exhales. He pauses near the top rung, savoring the air, eyes half-lidded.
“Perfect weather. Waste of a moon if you're not neck-deep in wine and women. Mm… this night is horny.”
He means “heavy,” maybe. Maybe not.
With a small hop, he lands softly on the wooden floor of the crow’s nest and freezes, it smells of steel and sweat. — for a moment, quietly appreciating the rare sight before him.
Zoro.
Sitting cross-legged on the floor, shirtless, his body glistening in a sheen of sweat from some punishing training session. His chest rises and falls in a slow, steady rhythm. Muscles relaxed but coiled, like a sword still humming after a strike. His hands rest open on his knees, two calloused weights. His eyes are closed. Hair damp. A thin red scratch arcs down his left shoulder, fresh. Probably his own doing.
But what Sanji notices most is that Zoro is not here. His presence is hollowed out — like his soul is pacing somewhere distant, wrapped around a memory, or a mantra, or nothing at all.
“Oi. Moss-for-brains,” Sanji calls, striding over and placing the tray near Zoro’s knee with a quiet clink. “Don’t tell me you sat here sweating your ass off just to ignore my food. I didn’t climb all the way up with this ‘fitness picnic’ for it to rot next to your fugly body.”
No response. Not a twitch. Sanji squints.
“I will toss it overboard. And not just the weighs this time. You too, you muscle-headed sea cabbage.”
Still nothing. Sanji stares. Frowns. Then leans in, flicks Zoro’s nose —pinch! — with two fingers. Zoro’s head doesn’t move an inch.
“Okay, now I know you’re broken,” Sanji mutters, standing straighter and planting his foot down with a huff. “You better be dying. Or asleep with your eyes closed and your brain turned off. Oh wait, that’s just how you normally function.”
He crouches and pinches Zoro’s nose between his fingers again like a beak. “C’mon, Ro-rona-zombie,” he growls, exaggerating the syllables, “wake up or I’m slapping some personality into you.”
Still. No. Response. So Sanji slaps him. Not hard. Just a light but snappy pat on the cheek. Followed by another on the other side.
“Wake the hell up,” he singsongs. “The food is here, the chef is hot, the weather is perfect, and I’m bored.”
No reaction. The next assault comes in the form of tickling. Under the arms. At the ribs. Even the soles of Zoro’s feet after Sanji peels his sock halfway off with a devil’s grin. Nothing.
“Oh you bastard.” Sanji steps back and kicks Zoro lightly in the stomach with the tip of his shoe. “Come on! Not even a grunt? Who are you and what have you done with my dumb, loud gorilla?!”
Then a light tap — well, more of a slap — to the head. Still. Nothing. Zoro remains a mountain. Sanji exhales through his nose, lips curving into a slow grin. The kind that always means trouble. One eyebrow arches like a golden hook.
“Ohhh… so that’s what this is.”
He walks a circle around Zoro, deliberately slow, arms crossed, eyes glinting. His steps quiet as a panther’s. There’s a silence between them, a breathless one now. Not empty — loaded. Like a storm cloud. Like tension wrapped in silk. It’s been too long since they played with each other.
Sanji crouches beside him again, gaze lingering on the curve of Zoro’s jaw, the slight twitch of a throat swallowing nothing. Maybe Zoro isn’t so far away. Leaning close — very close — Sanji lets his lips brush just beside Zoro’s ear. His voice drops, velvet and sin.
“Fine. Let’s play a game.” A pause. Breath hot on Zoro’s skin. “If you react, even once… I’ll stop. Whatever I’m doing to you.” He smiles against the shell of Zoro’s ear. “But if you don’t… I’ll just keep going. Until you break.”
The wind outside shifts, and the lantern light sways softly. Zoro doesn’t move. Sanji’s smile deepens, teeth showing now. Mischievous. Wicked.
“Game on, mosshead.”
The words still hang in the air, half-daring, half-promising, as Sanji lingers beside him, breath ghosting over Zoro’s cheek. Zoro doesn’t twitch. Doesn’t blink. Doesn’t even breathe differently. That’s fine. Sanji hums in mock appreciation, dragging his fingers lazily through his own hair as he rises to his feet again, stretching his back with a soft pop.
“Meditating like a monk now, huh?” he mutters, circling around Zoro’s back like a cat watching its prey choose to remain still. “Let’s see how sacred your vows stay when I start breaking the rules.”
He crouches behind Zoro again, a hand sliding over one broad shoulder, fingertips skimming lightly over damp skin. His palm rests against the nape of Zoro’s neck, then slips forward, tracing the strong line of the trapezius. That familiar heat under skin, that tension always coiled even at rest — it’s maddening.
“You really like torturing me, don’t you?” Sanji whispers against the side of his head. “Sitting there all sweaty, shirtless, smug as a damn statue.”
His other hand reaches forward, hovering a breath’s distance from Zoro’s chest. Sanji smirks. Then presses his palm lightly against one thick, warm pec. Zoro doesn’t flinch. But Sanji feels the heartbeat under his hand. Strong. Steady. In control.
“Still not reacting?” he muses, voice playful. “Tch. Fine.”
He leans in closer, lips brushing against the shell of Zoro’s ear again, this time lingering.
“You know I like your earrings,” he murmurs, just as his lips lightly tug on the lower ring of Zoro’s left ear. “You always act like they’re not for style… but they dangle so damn nicely when you breathe hard.” Still nothing. “Guess I’ll go lower.”
His lips move from the ear down to the line of Zoro’s jaw — tracing the angle with a lazy reverence, nose brushing the corner where stubble just starts to form. Sanji loves that part of him: sharp, defiant, clean-cut like the bastard’s willpower. And then… down. A slow, open-mouthed kiss on the side of Zoro’s throat. Then another, trailing toward the hollow at the front of his neck.
“Let’s talk about this,” Sanji whispers, lips ghosting over the Adam’s apple. “This part of you? Yeah, this is a favorite.”
His tongue flicks out, slow, teasing. He presses the tip just beneath the rise of that sensitive spot, breath hot and wet. Still Zoro sits, not even a twitch in his fingers.
“You’re gonna die before you move, huh?” Sanji chuckles softly. “Stupid. Gorgeous. Idiot.”
Now kneeling directly in front of him, Sanji places both palms on Zoro’s chest, thumbs brushing over both nipples, firm and slow. Then he leans forward again, laying a single, deliberate kiss over Zoro’s sternum, right between the pecs. Then he opens his mouth wider, tongue dragging up the line of muscle until he reaches the collarbone.
One hand slides up to gently cup Zoro’s throat — not squeezing, just resting. His thumb brushes under Zoro’s chin, tilting it up slightly. Zoro complies. But he doesn’t break. Sanji stares into his closed eyes.
“Oh, come on.”
He leans in and licks slowly up the side of Zoro’s neck, right up to the earlobe, letting his breath trail behind like smoke.
“You’re such a bastard,” he breathes. “And I’m gonna wreck you.”
Still. Still. Still. Sanji’s eyes narrow with a glint of devilish delight. His hand returns to Zoro’s chest, this time stroking gently along the lower edges of his ribs.
“Want me to use teeth next?” he taunts. “Because I will. I know you like it when I—”
He bites. Not hard, but pointed. Right over Zoro’s left pec. Nothing. Sanji pulls back slowly, licking his lips. Then he exhales and begins unbuttoning the top of his shirt, loosening it further with a practiced ease. Just enough to cool himself off.
“Alright, sword-boy,” he says, voice lower now, silk over steel, “I’m officially impressed. And very turned on.”
He lets the statement hang. Then drops another kiss. And another. And another. Along the collarbone. Down the middle of the chest. He even flicks the edge of one nipple with his tongue before suckling it, slow and deliberate.
Still.
Not.
One.
Fucking.
Reaction.
Sanji pulls back at last, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, breath shallow now. His grin is devilish, jaw tight.
“Okay,” he murmurs, “now I’m making it personal.”
Sanji’s voice trails off into the warm air like a promise with teeth. He kneels again, both hands splayed across Zoro’s broad chest. His thumbs return to circling the dark curves of Zoro’s pecs, while his lips resume their dedicated worship. He alternates between soft kisses and warm licks, taking his time, dragging his tongue across one nipple and then the other — slow, languid, focused. Occasionally he gives a gentle suck, just enough to draw heat into the skin, enough to tempt a reaction.
Still nothing. But Sanji is patient. Sanji is hungry now.
“Alright, you absolute boulder,” he murmurs against the skin, lips brushing every word. “Let’s see if you can stay quiet when I do this.”
He slides his hands slowly down Zoro’s sides, over the sharp cut of his obliques, but then curls them inward — wrapping his arms halfway around that hard torso to stroke along Zoro’s back. And this is where things get interesting. Sanji knows Zoro’s back like the map of his favorite bottle of wine. Strong ridges and smooth muscles, the way the spine runs like a blade down the center, how the lower back dips just enough for Sanji’s fingers to naturally settle there. It's beautiful. It’s irresistible. He caresses lightly at first. Fingertips dancing over the skin, teasing between the shoulder blades, drawing idle patterns just under the nape. His palms glide downward, each pass lower than the last.
Still, Zoro doesn’t move. But Sanji feels it — a tiny change in muscle tension. Barely there. Like a ripple in water after a single drop.
“Oh?” Sanji breathes. “Is that your limit starting to crack?”
He presses kisses across Zoro’s chest again, but his hands stay behind, palms pressing firmly now, gliding with intent. He massages the base of the spine, the curve of the lower back, circling his thumbs outward. And then — simultaneously — Sanji dips his mouth lower. From the center of the chest, down the sternum, following the ladder of hard abs that look carved from ship timber. His tongue flicks along the ridges of Zoro’s stomach, breath ghosting heat over each muscle, savoring the taste of salt and strength.
He lets his nose brush against Zoro’s navel before trailing kisses back upward — then down again, slower. His hands squeeze at Zoro’s waist, then roam inward toward the front. Still. Zoro doesn’t move.
“Okay,” Sanji murmurs. “Either you’re meditating, or you’re playing the longest bluff of your life.”
His hands drop lower. Unhurried. Fingers trace the waistband of Zoro’s pants. He tugs the sash, watching it unravel slightly, loose enough now to give him access. His hands slip over Zoro’s hips. The fabric is soft but worn, clinging just slightly from sweat and heat. Sanji hooks two fingers beneath the front.
Sanji slides the waistband open.
Sanji kneels between Zoro’s spread thighs, the swordsman’s broad body loose and still, his chest rising and falling with the steady rhythm of someone lost somewhere far inside himself. Even his cock lies flat against his thigh, soft, unbothered.
Sanji smirks. So detached, mosshead… let’s see how long that lasts.
He starts slow, careful. One fingertip trails along the line of Zoro’s hipbone, light as smoke. Then his hand cups him through the fabric — not pressing, just resting, testing the weight of him. Still soft, still slack.
Sanji hums low in his throat, the sound vibrating against Zoro’s skin as he leans closer. He presses his lips to the base of Zoro’s shaft, just above the balls, a kiss that lingers like he’s planting a secret. Then another, and another, a trail up the length that’s not hard yet. The smell of him, the heat radiating even from stillness, makes Sanji’s mouth water.
He uses his tongue next. One slow lick, flat and lazy, from root to tip. Nothing urgent. He teases the head with a flick, then pulls away, blowing a warm breath against the damp skin. His hand strokes the base, slow, deliberate, coaxing blood upward, and finally — finally — Zoro twitches.
Sanji grins against him.
Another kiss. Another lick. His tongue circles the head, then dips lower, dragging down the underside — that one spot he knows always gets Zoro eventually. The softness under his lips shifts, swells. He keeps stroking with his hand, timing the rhythm so the blood has no choice but to flow. He alternates lips and tongue, wet heat and teasing breath, giving him everything but the full thing.
Until hardness builds. Heavy now in Sanji’s palm, twitching, stiffening.
There it is.
Sanji opens his mouth.
He sinks down slow, letting the head slide past his lips, his tongue flattening along the underside as he takes him in. The sensation makes his throat tighten, his jaw stretch. Zoro is thick, even half-hard, and Sanji groans around him, the vibration echoing in his mouth. He pulls back, then sinks deeper, swirling his tongue in slow spirals. His mouth learns the weight, the taste, the way the skin drags against his tongue. Pre-cum beads salty against his palate. Sanji swallows him further, sucking firm and slow, letting his lips glide down until his nose brushes dark hair, then pulling back with a slick sound.
Still, Zoro doesn’t move.
But his breathing changes. His chest rises sharper. A faint crease forms between his brows, though his eyes stay shut. Inside that meditation fog, his body is stirring, confused. The heat at his groin is pulling him out, sensation tugging him back to the present before his mind can catch up. Sanji deepens the rhythm — slower, stronger. He hums again, the vibration traveling up Zoro’s length, making his thigh muscles twitch.
And then— Fingers.
Zoro’s hands, callused and warm, slide into Sanji’s hair. Not commanding yet — just resting, curling into the blond strands like anchors. His thumb brushes Sanji’s scalp, then the back of his neck. His lips part.
Sanji smirks around him, ready to pull back and claim victory — got you, shithead — but the grip suddenly tightens.
Zoro’s voice breaks out, rough, husky, pulled from somewhere deep in his chest:
“No—” his breath stutters, his hips twitch. “No, no, no—don’t stop.”
Sanji freezes, eyes wide, cock still heavy on his tongue. Zoro’s hand strokes the back of his head now, desperate, needy. His voice drops to a wrecked growl:
“I promise…” His words are clumsy, uneven, but sincere. “…I’ll do good to you.”
The confession hits Sanji harder than the tug in his hair. His cock throbs in his trousers, his lungs burn. And instead of pulling away, instead of claiming his victory—Sanji sinks down deeper.
Now it’s not just technique — it’s memory. Intimacy. Every flick of Sanji’s tongue, every pull of his mouth has Zoro’s tastes in mind. He knows what rhythm makes Zoro’s hips jerk. He knows the exact spot on the underside that makes his thighs twitch. He knows how long to tease before giving that slow, all-consuming slide that makes Zoro’s breath catch in his throat.
And this time, Zoro reacts.
A low moan escapes his lips — the kind that vibrates from somewhere deep, primal. One hand stays buried in Sanji’s hair, the other slides down, tracing the shell of his ear, the side of his neck, fingers curving around to stroke the sensitive skin behind Sanji’s jaw.
“Shit…” Zoro breathes, eyes still closed but his lips parted. “You’re so fucking good at this…”
Sanji smiles around him and continues. Zoro lets out another groan, more ragged this time. His hands are softer now, kneading Sanji’s scalp, fingers massaging behind his ears, sometimes curling around the back of his neck. Gentle. Worshipful.
“Damn, curly,” Zoro mutters, voice tight, “you’re gonna kill me…”
Sanji pulls back just enough to speak, licking his lips slowly, teasing.
“Promise?”
Zoro’s head lolls back for a second, a faint laugh escaping. “Bastard…”
But Sanji is already climbing up. Smooth, controlled — gliding up over Zoro’s body like silk. He straddles Zoro’s lap, hands braced on his shoulders, chest flush to chest, still warm and sweat-slick from training. Their foreheads almost touch.
Zoro’s eyes are open now — heavy-lidded, gray and dark and entirely his.
Sanji smirks, but there’s heat in his gaze. And something more.
“So,” he says, voice low, lips just a breath from Zoro’s. “You said you’d do good to me.” Zoro nods. “You meant it?”
Another nod. Slower. His hands settle around Sanji’s waist, pulling him in until there’s no space left between them. “I’ll do real good,” Zoro murmurs, and then he leans in.
The kiss crashes into Sanji’s mouth like a wave — hot, wet, open, needy. Zoro kisses with his whole damn soul, like he’s claiming territory. His mouth moves with slow desperation, tongue tangling with Sanji’s, teeth grazing just enough to spark a moan. Sanji melts into it — gasping softly when Zoro bites his bottom lip, then soothes it with his tongue. Their hands roam freely now: Sanji’s fingers digging into Zoro’s back, Zoro’s sliding down to cup Sanji’s ass and pull him closer, deeper into the kiss.
They’re breathing each other now.
Kissing like they’ve got all night to lose — and nothing else matters.
Sanji’s lips part from Zoro’s just long enough to gasp out a thought, his breath still mingled with Zoro’s. His fingers toy lazily with the green strands at the back of Zoro’s head, while the other hand presses flat against his hot chest.
“You—” kiss, wet and hungry, “—were really that deep?” another kiss, tongue slipping in, “Or were you just… tch—too stubborn to lose to me, mosshead?”
Zoro groans against his mouth, teeth scraping his lip before answering in a ragged whisper. “Tch—idiot… I was meditating—” he cuts himself off with another kiss, swallowing Sanji’s tongue before pulling back just enough to speak again, “…really meditating. Training my mind to stay still… no matter what.”
Sanji hums, not convinced. His palm strokes down Zoro’s chest, fingers teasing the side of his ribs. “You expect me to believe you didn’t notice me doing that to you?”
He presses their mouths back together, deeper, their tongues meeting again, messy and hot. Sanji pulls at Zoro’s lower lip, grinning through the kiss.
Zoro’s hands move lower — stroking down Sanji’s sides, gripping his hips. His voice rumbles between kisses. “But… tch… guess my body—” another kiss, deeper this time, “—was still… feeling you. Every touch. Every kiss. Even when I didn’t react.”
Sanji gasps, nails digging gently into Zoro’s back. “So—” his words muffled as Zoro drags his mouth back into another wet kiss, “—all that time, you knew I was… pampering you?” His tone drips mockery, sweet and sharp, like wine over a blade. “Cooking you up nice and slow down there?”
Zoro exhales into his mouth, nodding faintly. “Hnn… yeah. At first I thought… I was still in my head. Then—” kiss, tongue sliding in, “—when I came back, I realized… fuck… you were really down there. And it was so damn good.”
Sanji shivers at the honesty, pressing his forehead to Zoro’s, nose brushing his. His lips hover, barely touching, teasing. “Good, huh? Finally got you to admit it…”
“Shut up, curly,” Zoro growls, but it’s softened by another heated kiss. His hands are sliding up and down Sanji’s back now, kneading, memorizing. “Doesn’t change the fact—” kiss, bite, kiss, “—that I’m gonna do good to you. Real good.”
Sanji smirks, sucking Zoro’s tongue before pulling away just enough to murmur, “Promises, promises, mosshead… you better not disappoint me.”
“Idiot,” Zoro mutters, and the insult comes out as a groan when Sanji grinds against him deliberately.
Clothes begin to peel away between them — slow, distracted. Sanji’s shirt falling from his shoulders as Zoro drags it off impatiently between kisses, Sanji’s fingers tugging open the rest of Zoro’s waistband, finally pulling it down. Every movement is punctuated by another kiss, another brush of hands on bare skin, another moan swallowed between their mouths. Now, chest to chest, skin on skin, the heat radiates between them, nothing left but the clinging and the kiss. Sanji runs his fingers over Zoro’s scars, tenderly tracing them, while Zoro grips his ass with both hands, pulling him flush.
“Gonna… make you feel… incredible,” Zoro whispers between their mouths, his voice rough but certain.
Sanji’s smile curves wicked against his lips before he kisses him again, slow and wet, letting their tongues slide lazily together.
“Good,” he whispers back, voice husky. “I like my moss-heads obedient.”
Their mouths break apart only when breathing becomes impossible. A strand of spit stretches between them before Sanji licks it away with a grin. Zoro doesn’t give him time to taunt — he surges forward again, kissing like a starving man, one hand tangled in Sanji’s blond hair, the other roaming across his bare back. Sanji moans into it, soft but sharp, his body arching into Zoro’s like it always does — craving, welcoming, taunting. The swordsman devours him, teeth grazing his lower lip, tongue claiming his mouth, and Sanji lets it happen.
Zoro’s chest presses more to Sanji’s softer torso, the contrast delicious. Zoro is heat and hard planes, a furnace wrapped in scars. Sanji is sleek strength, powerful but smooth, skin soft as silk under Zoro’s rough hands.
“Mmnh… mosshead,” Sanji breathes between kisses, fingers curling into Zoro’s short damp hair. “You’re burning.”
Zoro growls — the sound deep and guttural — he tilts his head back to sink his mouth against that sensitive place just under his ear. Teeth scrape, tongue soothes, and Sanji gasps, clutching at Zoro’s shoulders.
“Nggh—bastard…” Sanji pants, already trembling. “You know that spot—”
“‘Course I do,” Zoro mutters against his skin, then bites again, harder this time, before kissing over the sting. His hand roams Sanji’s side, palm dragging over soft, powerful curves of muscle, so different from his own rigid build. “You’re soft… smooth. Tickles the fuck out of me.”
He licks, then kisses the base of Sanji’s neck — right where the blond hair begins. Sanji cries out, loud and unashamed, hips jerking against Zoro’s.
Zoro smirks into the kiss, sucking harder, leaving a mark. “You smell good,” he mutters roughly, pulling back only to breathe into Sanji’s damp skin. “Like smoke. And spice. And… fuckin’ you.”
Sanji groans, eyes rolling as his nails drag down Zoro’s shoulders. His voice comes out broken, needy. “Shit… say more—”
Zoro grins faintly — a dangerous, hungry grin. He suddenly fists a handful of Sanji’s golden hair and tugs his head back, exposing his throat. Then he crashes their mouths together again, kissing him hard, messy, biting at his lower lip before sliding down to nibble just under Sanji’s ear.
Sanji gasps, half a laugh, half a moan. “B-bestial bastard—”
“You like it,” Zoro cuts him off, growling into his skin before soothing the bite with his tongue.
Sanji whimpers — actually whimpers — and it makes Zoro’s cock twitch against him. The swordsman pushes him down, gently but firmly, until Sanji’s chest meets the wooden floor of the crow’s nest. His cheek presses sideways, lips still parted and panting. Zoro follows, lying fully over his body, weight heavy, solid, immovable. Sanji sighs — a long, shaky sound of relief.
“Mmnn…” he hums, almost purring. “Stay… just like that.”
Zoro blinks down at him, surprised, before his lips curve in the faintest smirk. “You like me crushin’ you, huh?”
“Not crushin’…” Sanji mutters, nails trailing down Zoro’s back, leaving faint red lines. “Covering. Big dumb gorilla blanket…” He buries his face in Zoro’s neck, kissing the base where the green hair starts.
Zoro shivers. Then he lowers his own mouth to Sanji’s nape, kissing just at the hairline again. Slow, tender kisses. Sanji arches under him, a moan spilling free — loud, needy, real. Zoro grinds down, his cock pressing hard against Sanji’s ass, and Sanji whimpers into the wood, pressing back. Zoro’s lips find the nape of his neck again, pressing slow, wet kisses, lingering until Sanji’s whole body arches like a bow.
“More,” Sanji begs, breathless, voice raw. “Don’t stop—don’t you dare stop.”
Zoro smirks, nipping at his hairline. “Who’s begging now, curly?”
“Shut up,” Sanji snaps, but the words break apart with another moan as Zoro’s fingers trail down his sides, slow and teasing, mapping him.
Zoro knows what Sanji craves. Slow hands, reverent touches, the contrast of tenderness against the threat of teeth. He drags his calloused fingertips lightly over Sanji’s ribs, his hips, the slope of his thighs, watching the cook squirm beneath him. Sanji is vocal — gasps, moans, curses — every sound spilling freely into the humid night air. Zoro swallows each one, greedy, pressing his mouth over Sanji’s ear, his shoulder, his spine.
“I’ll do good to you,” Zoro murmurs, low and steady, punctuating it with another kiss on the neck. His hips grind harder. “I’ll take care of you.”
Sanji lets out a broken laugh, shivering. “You better, marimo… fuck— you better—”
Zoro sprawls heavier across Sanji’s back, chest to spine, his heat seeping into the cook’s skin. The weight makes Sanji gasp — not from discomfort, but from the way it pins him down, secures him.
“Z-Zoro…” Sanji hisses into the floor, fingers curling against the boards, hips rocking helplessly against the swordsman’s.
Zoro slides one thick arm under him, threading between Sanji’s body and the floor. His palm finds Sanji’s chest first — the sharp rise and fall, the racing heart beneath soft skin. His hand drags lazily downward, over the tight curve of ribs, across the smooth belly, circling slow until his thumb brushes just above Sanji’s navel.
Sanji shivers.
Zoro’s mouth presses kisses between his shoulder blades, wet and unhurried, his lips dragging across sweaty skin. Between kisses, his voice rumbles low and clumsy but honest. “You smell good… taste good… better than anything.” Another kiss, lower. “You’re… soft. Damn soft. Don’t know how I got so lucky with you, curly-brow.”
Sanji lets out a strangled moan, his pride dissolving under every unpolished compliment. His hips jerk when Zoro’s hand dips lower, fingers playing with the faint trail of blond hair leading downward — maddeningly slow, always stopping just before the point of no return.
“Mosshead—! Fuck—” Sanji’s voice breaks as he arches his back. “You’re doing this on purpose…”
Zoro grinds down harder, his cock sliding against the swell of Sanji’s ass, both of them slick with sweat. He bites gently at the top of Sanji’s spine, speaking into his skin. “Of course I am. You’re a mess like this. I like it.”
His hand slides lower, brushing over the edge of Sanji’s hip, then dips between his thighs. He strokes the inside slowly, mercilessly patient, fingertips grazing sensitive skin but avoiding what Sanji aches for.
Sanji squirms, gasping. “D-damn bastard… stop teasing me—”
Zoro’s teeth graze his shoulder. “What, this?” His hand glides higher, closer, pressing right against Sanji’s groin — not grabbing, not yet, just pressing the heel of his palm there through the twitching length. He smirks into Sanji’s neck. “You’re hard as a sword already.”
Sanji growls into the floorboards, half-moan, half-curse. “You’re… you’re killing me…”
Zoro’s hand withdraws, sliding back to Sanji’s thigh, making him whimper in frustration. Zoro kisses his neck again, right at the base of his hairline — sucking, wet and slow. “Tell me,” he mutters against the spot, his voice rough, “tell me you want me to touch you.”
Sanji groans, defiant even as his body trembles. “I don’t beg, mosshead—”
Zoro chuckles into his skin, the vibration making Sanji shiver. “Liar. You’re already begging with your body.”
Then, finally, Zoro wraps his hand around Sanji’s length. Sanji shouts, the sound raw and high, his hips jerking helplessly into Zoro’s palm.
“F-fuck—!” His head falls to the side, blond hair plastered to his sweaty cheek, his mouth open as he gasps. “Yes—god, yes—”
Zoro strokes him slow at first, deliberate, his other arm tightening around Sanji’s chest to hold him still. He nibbles at Sanji’s ear, muttering, “You feel so damn good in my hand. Always knew you’d be this perfect.”
Sanji cries out again, grinding back against Zoro, completely undone. Sanji’s cry still echoes against the crow’s nest beams when Zoro’s hand tightens around him, stroking with unhurried purpose. Not fast. Not sloppy. Just perfect. Zoro already knows exactly how to handle him — how much pressure to give at the base, when to twist his palm at the tip, when to slow to the point of torture.
Sanji’s whole body trembles under the weight of him, pinned to the floor, his voice raw. “Hhh—ahhh—Z-Zoro—! F-fuck, don’t—don’t slow down—”
Zoro’s mouth curls against the back of his neck. He presses a wet kiss there, then another, suckling at the base of the blond hairline until Sanji shudders violently beneath him. “You’re loud tonight, curly,” he murmurs, his breath damp and hot. “Louder than usual. You want the whole damn crew to hear you?”
Sanji gasps, fingers digging into the floor. “S-shut up—fuck, don’t—ahh—don’t talk—”
“Why not?” Zoro smirks against his ear, stroking him harder once, then easing back to slow again. “You sound good. Like you’re already coming apart just from my hand.”
Sanji groans, body trembling. “B-bastard—”
“Yup, that’s me,” Zoro murmurs, kissing his nape again.
His hand leaves Sanji’s cock abruptly, and the cook whines at the loss. But Zoro is already trailing that hand somewhere else, slipping between Sanji’s cheeks. He presses slow, teasing circles, his fingertips brushing at the rim without pushing in yet.
Sanji jerks forward, panting. “D-damn tease—!”
“Mm.” Zoro kisses his nape again, licking the sweat from his skin. “Better than rushing. You deserve it slow.”
Two fingers push gently against him — not inside yet, just firm pressure, coaxing, preparing. Sanji claws at the floorboards, his body clenching instinctively.
“Relax,” Zoro mutters, kissing the back of his shoulder as if to soothe him. “C’mon, curly-brow… let me in.”
Sanji moans, low and desperate, head tilted to the side as his breath stutters. “Y-you’re gonna kill me… fuck…”
Zoro pushes one finger inside at last, slow, steady. He watches Sanji arch and gasp, muscles clenching around him. He kisses Sanji’s ear again, whispering with a smirk, “You’re so damn tight. Every time. Makes me wonder…”
Sanji gasps sharply as Zoro curls his finger just right, brushing his prostate. “—ahhh! Shit—”
“So I was saying… Makes me wonder how the hell a womanizer like you,” Zoro continues, voice rough but teasing, “ended up falling for me.”
Sanji groans, shoving his head back against Zoro’s shoulder, words broken. “Y-you—fuck—you think too much—while your hand’s up my ass, idiot—”
Zoro chuckles against his skin, adding a second finger, scissoring slowly, stretching him open. “Answer me. Or is it just the prostate making you stay?”
Sanji gasps again, his words cut into moans as Zoro strokes his cock with his free hand while thrusting fingers deep inside. “Nnhh—! You’re—you’re such a bastard—! You know—fuck—you know it’s not just that—”
“Mm. Could’ve fooled me.” Zoro presses kisses down Sanji’s spine, licking sweat from each vertebra, while his fingers curl inside to rub his sweet spot mercilessly. “The way you’re shaking… the way you’re clenching… maybe you do just love this too much.”
Sanji lets out a strangled laugh between gasps. “Y-you—you’re not—hnngh—funny—” His voice breaks again into a loud moan as Zoro strokes him faster. “Oh god, Zoro—!”
Zoro smirks, sucking a red mark into his shoulder. “I’m not trying to be funny. I’m trying to ruin you.”
He thrusts his fingers deeper, curling them with precision while jerking Sanji in rhythm. His mouth keeps busy along Sanji’s neck, kissing, biting, whispering.
“You smell so good… you taste victory. You always sound so damn perfect like this… crying for me.”
Sanji’s whole body writhes beneath him, utterly undone. “Z-Zoro—I can’t—fuck—I’m gonna—”
Zoro growls low in his ear, thrusting his fingers deeper, thumb brushing Sanji’s rim while his palm works his cock. “Not yet, cook. Hold it. I told you—I’ll do good to you. I’m not done.”
Sanji whimpers, trembling, every word broken by moans. “Y-you… f-fuck—you’re… intoxicating—ahhh—!”
Zoro smirks against his damp skin, biting gently at his nape. “Yeah. And you love it.”
Zoro pulls his fingers out of him at last, and Sanji whimpers at the emptiness, grinding back against him in desperate need. His body’s slick with sweat, trembling from the merciless teasing, cock dripping against the boards.
Zoro shifts his weight, lining himself up against Sanji’s entrance. He doesn’t rush. He presses his lips to the side of Sanji’s neck, murmuring, “Relax, curly. You know I’ve got you.”
Sanji’s voice breaks into a shaky laugh. “D-damn mosshead… if you—don’t move soon—I’ll…”
“You’ll what?” Zoro grins, but his eyes burn with restraint, jaw tight as he pushes in just a little. The head sinks past the tight ring of muscle, stretching him.
Sanji gasps, the sound torn from his throat, loud, needy. “Ahhh—f-fuck—Z-Zoro—! Ohh… god, so big—”
Zoro closes his eyes, teeth gritted, savoring the clutch of Sanji’s body around him. His brows knit, sweat sliding down his temple. “Shit… you’re squeezing like you’re trying to kill me.”
He kisses Sanji’s hairline, waiting, stroking his cock gently to ease the tension. Then he pushes in more, slow, deep, angling carefully until he feels Sanji’s body melt, opening for him.
Sanji cries out again, half-moan, half-curse, his fingers clawing at the wood beneath them. His whole body trembles, his hips instinctively pushing back to take more. “Z-Zoro—! Right there—! Ohhh god—”
Zoro’s face contorts, somewhere between agony and ecstasy. His lips part with a groan, eyes fluttering shut as he sinks in to the hilt, Sanji tight and hot around him. His hand grips Sanji’s hip hard, fighting the urge to slam. “Fffuck… Cook… you feel insane…”
Sanji’s cheek presses against his forearm, his breath ragged, voice high with need. “I-it’s… too good—so full—ahhh!” His whole body shakes, the angle hitting deep inside, sparking fire with every inch.
Zoro presses a wet kiss to the nape of his neck, still barely moving, holding him full and still. His voice comes low, rough. “Tell me, cook… why’d you fall for me? Huh? You’ve never said it.”
Sanji pants, trembling under him, his words broken by moans. “Y-you… pick… now—to ask… shit—ahhh—mnnnhhh—”
Zoro pulls out halfway, then slides back in slow, making him gasp again. His own teeth grit as Sanji clenches hard around him, eyes narrowing in pleasure. “Yeah. Now. Answer me, curly. Or I’ll keep you like this all night.”
Sanji cries out, his body jerking helplessly as Zoro rocks slow and deep, grazing that spot with deliberate precision. “Nnnghh! F-fuck—fine! You—you’re… nnnhhh—you have stong values—you’re damn infuriating—” His voice breaks into a sob of pleasure as Zoro pushes in again, slow and merciless. “And—and you’re the only bastard who makes me—feel… strong and worth too…”
Zoro growls softly, biting the skin at Sanji’s shoulder, hips rocking in a steady rhythm now. His face twists with the effort to hold back, the raw heat of Sanji’s body almost too much. “Shit, Hey Sanji… “ He feels the man under him shaking violently, maybe because he is calling him by his name, “you’re tighter tonight… you’re so hot… handsome…”
Sanji moans louder, almost screaming, his body arching under Zoro’s weight. “Z-Zoro—ahhh—I c-can’t—don’t stop—please—”
Zoro’s eyes snap open, pupils blown wide, gaze locked on the trembling cook beneath him. His hand snakes around, stroking Sanji’s cock in time with his thrusts, lips pressed to his damp hair. “You wanted to play with me in my meditation, huh? Wanted to see how far you could go?”
Sanji lets out a broken laugh between cries. “Y-you—you should’ve seen your face—so damn calm—while I was… licking your—nnnhhh—pecs—”
Zoro snarls softly, hips snapping a little harder despite himself, driving Sanji into the floor. “You little shit… you nearly broke me. And now look at you—crying under me, begging for more.”
Sanji’s words dissolve into helpless moans, his body twitching with each deep thrust, every nerve alight. “Y-you’re… ahhh… d-devouring me—ahhh fffuckk—”
Zoro’s face twists in raw need, his jaw set, brows furrowed as he loses himself in Sanji’s voice, Sanji’s body. He can’t stop kissing him—his neck, his shoulder, the sweat-soaked blond hair. Every moan drives him harder, but still controlled, always angled to hit Sanji just right. Their lovemaking burns with intensity, but every thrust is careful, every touch deliberate. Zoro’s beast is caged, not gone—his restraint a gift, his respect written in every movement.
Zoro’s weight presses heavy against him, chest to back, their sweat-slick skin sticking in the heat. His gaze drifts down — to the pale stretch of Sanji’s spine, to the jagged mark crossing it. The scar. Drum Island. Broken spine. A wound that nearly cost him. Zoro’s hand slides down gently, calloused fingers tracing the scar with a reverence he doesn’t speak. His palm spreads over it, caressing softly, before he pats Sanji’s back — a wordless I see you, you’re still here.
Sanji gasps at the touch, surprised by its tenderness, and his voice cracks. “…idiot.”
Zoro smirks faintly, lips at his ear. “Shut up.”
But then his eyes travel lower, past the scar, to Sanji’s ass rising to meet him. Firm, round, perfect — his. The sight nearly rips the beast out of him. His jaw locks, muscles trembling with the effort to stay gentle.
Sanji moans when Zoro shifts his hips, thrusting in deeper — harder. “Z-Zoro—ohhh fuck—!”
The sound tears through Zoro’s restraint. His rhythm sharpens, his hips snapping faster, each stroke slamming into Sanji with devastating precision. The cook cries out, his voice breaking into ragged sobs of pleasure.
Sanji claws at the boards, body shaking under the assault, but he still manages to chuckle breathlessly between moans. “Nnghh—y-you should’ve seen yourself, mosshead—sitting there… all zen… while I—ahhh!—while I pinched your nose—”
Zoro snarls low in his throat, pounding deeper, sweat dripping from his brow onto Sanji’s back. “And you are proud of yourself… teasing me while I was meditating…”
Sanji’s voice climbs high, broken by Zoro’s thrusts. “And when I licked your pecs—fuck—your earrings too—I knew you were feeling it—ahhh!”
Zoro groans, his thrusts slamming hard enough to make the wood beneath them creak. His hand snakes up, gripping Sanji’s jaw, forcing his head to the side so he can kiss him, rough and wet, swallowing his cries. When he pulls back, his voice is guttural. “Bold bastard. You wanted to see how far you could push me, huh?”
Sanji laughs breathlessly, his eyes half-lidded, tears of pleasure clinging to his lashes. “And I did—hhnnghh—look at you now—fucking me like an animal—”
Zoro’s face twists, sweat dripping from his chin onto Sanji’s shoulder, his teeth grit so hard it aches. He slams in, deeper, harder, growling against his ear, “You think this is punishment? I’ll show you punishment.”
He angles his hips, nailing that spot again and again, relentless, every thrust wringing a cry from Sanji’s throat.
Sanji’s voice rises, broken and raw, torn between laughter and moans. “Ohhh god—Zoro—ahhh! Y-you’re—fuck—”
Zoro buries his face in Sanji’s neck, biting, groaning, his body straining with the effort to hold himself back from losing control entirely. His voice is ragged, desperate. “You drive me insane, curly. You… fucking… ruin me.”
Sanji sobs out a moan, his body shaking violently with pleasure. “Y-you’re the one… who’s ruined… ahhh f-fuck—!”
Zoro’s hips piston, raw power flooding through every movement, but still careful not to hurt him. Every thrust is both punishment and devotion.
Zoro pulls out slowly, his cock glistening with Sanji’s heat, and retreats just enough to grab the blond by the hips. Sanji groans in frustration, his face flushed, hair sticking to his sweaty forehead. “The hell are you—doing—mosshead—don’t you dare stop now—”
Instead of answering, Zoro grips him firmly, rolling him onto his back with one brutal tug. Sanji yelps, his legs tangling awkwardly, but before he can spit another insult, Zoro grabs him under the knees and pushes them wide open.
Sanji’s eyes widen, his chest heaving. “Tch—bossy bastard—”
Zoro lines himself up again, sweat dripping down his temples, gaze molten as it rakes over Sanji’s flushed, trembling body. Then he pushes in — slowly, mercilessly slow, inch by inch, until Sanji is writhing beneath him, crying out with every stretch.
“Ahhh—f-fuck! Zoro! Y-you—ahhh!”
Zoro lowers himself fully onto him, crushing his body against Sanji’s, their chests pressed together, skin to skin, slick with sweat. His arms wrap tight around the cook’s back, big and firm, caging him in. Sanji stiffens, blinking in shock. He doesn’t say it, won’t say it — but the pressure of Zoro’s body, the safety of those arms… it’s exactly what he craves.
Zoro hides his smirk in Sanji’s neck, whispering rough against the damp skin, “Don’t squirm, curly. You’re mine.”
Sanji’s laugh comes out strangled, swallowed by a moan when Zoro starts moving again. “S-Stop—ahhh—”
Their mouths crash together — wet, sloppy, desperate kisses. Teeth click, tongues fight, but beneath it all is a heat that isn’t just lust. Each kiss lingers too long, too hungry, almost tender. Zoro thrusts deep, hard, groaning into Sanji’s mouth as his body trembles. His hips slam against Sanji’s, but his arms never let go, holding him close, never letting him drift away.
Sanji moans helplessly between kisses, his words broken, his voice raw. “Nnghh—ahhh—Zoro…”
Their mouths find each other again, hot and sloppy, tongues tangling. Zoro nips his bottom lip, then murmurs against it, his voice rough, unexpected. “That wedding.”
Sanji blinks through the haze of pleasure, dazed and confused. “Wh-what—ahhh—what the hell—does that have to do with—ahhh—now—”
Zoro’s thrusts slow just a little, deep, grinding inside him, his face buried in Sanji’s damp hair. His voice rumbles low, shaky, almost unwilling. “I’m glad… it didn’t happen.”
Sanji stills, blinking, wide-eyed beneath him. “…W-what?”
Zoro’s jaw tightens, his breath hot against Sanji’s neck. His hips drive forward again, harder, rougher, masking the weight of the words. “I’m glad you’re back here, curly. With me.”
Sanji’s breath hitches, his chest trembling, tears stinging the corner of his eyes though he refuses to let them fall. He laughs it off instead, masking the crack in his voice. “Tch… i-idiot swordsman… what kind of confession is that—ahhh f-fuck—”
Zoro growls against his throat, kissing him hard, shutting him up, thrusting deep as if to prove the words through his body instead.
Sanji’s legs wrap tight around his waist, his voice breaking into cries as he clings to the swordsman. “Z-Zoro—ohhh god—you—”
But the kiss swallows the rest, and for once, their bickering melts into nothing but the sound of their breath and the creak of the wood beneath them, their bodies locked tight, their hearts bare despite themselves. Zoro buries himself deep inside Sanji, hips rolling with merciless precision. His pace is steady, relentless, every thrust dragging a strangled cry from the cook’s throat. Their chests grind together, slick with sweat, their mouths never far from each other. Zoro growls, sliding a hand down between their bodies, wrapping it around Sanji’s dripping length. He strokes him in time with his thrusts — slow at first, then stronger, mercilessly exact, just how he knows Sanji craves it.
Sanji jerks under him, cries spilling free. “H-hhnn—Zoro—fuck—ahhh—y-you’re—”
“Mine,” Zoro cuts in, his voice low and rough, his lips grazing Sanji’s ear. “Always mine. I’ll do good to you, curly. I keep my promises.”
Sanji whimpers, his pride shredding under the weight of Zoro’s words, his body trembling like it’s about to break. Zoro lifts his other hand, sliding it into Sanji’s damp blond hair, forcing his head to tilt back. For the first time tonight, both of Sanji’s mismatched eyes lock with his — glassy, burning, desperate. Zoro stares, unwavering, and then crashes their mouths together in a kiss that’s hot, wet, devouring.
Sanji clings tighter, arms wrapping around Zoro’s neck, his legs squeezing his waist as though to fuse their bodies together. His moans rise, strangled and sharp, his body tensing. “Z-Zoro—I—ahhh—I can’t—”
“Then don’t hold back,” Zoro growls against his lips, thrusting deep, stroking him faster. “Come for me.”
Sanji’s back arches off the floor, his cry breaking into the night air as he shatters. His release spills hot between them, covering Zoro’s hand, smearing against both their stomachs. His body convulses, clutching Zoro tight, milking him inside with every wave. Zoro bites down on a curse, his face contorting, eyes squeezed shut as the heat and squeeze of Sanji’s orgasm consume him. The feel of Sanji’s nails digging into his back, his breathless sobs in his ear, the sticky heat covering his hand— It’s too much.
Zoro groans low and guttural, thrusting deep, hips snapping erratically as he finally spills inside him, buried to the hilt. His body shakes with the force of it, his mouth pressed hard against Sanji’s, swallowing every last broken cry.
Sanji whimpers against his lips, still trembling, still clinging, tears at the corner of his eyes he’ll deny later. “Y-you… bastard… always… too rough…”
Zoro pants, kissing him harder, his voice ragged as he presses their foreheads together. “Shut up, curly. You loved every second.”
Sanji laughs breathlessly, too weak to argue, still shivering from the aftershocks as Zoro holds him tight. And for a rare, quiet moment, the bickering fades into nothing but their ragged breaths and the warmth of two stubborn idiots clinging to each other as though letting go isn’t an option. The night air slips in through the open slats of the crow’s nest, cooling their overheated skin. Zoro is still sprawled on top of Sanji, heavy, sweaty, their limbs tangled. Neither of them moves for a long moment, save for the rhythm of their uneven breathing.
Sanji, of course, breaks the silence first.
“Oi, mosshead. You’re crushing me, you fat gorilla.”
Zoro grunts but doesn’t move. “Tch. You like it. You’re always whining when I get off you.”
Sanji scoffs, reaching for the crumpled pack of cigarettes on the floor beside him. With a flick and a spark, the smoke curls upward, the glowing tip briefly lighting his flushed face. He exhales slowly, resting the cigarette between his lips, his head nestled against Zoro’s shoulder like it’s the most natural place in the world. Zoro pretends not to notice the way his own hand drifts up, idly combing through Sanji’s damp hair.
Sanji smirks sideways. “Don’t think I don’t feel you petting me, idiot.”
Zoro scowls, pulling his hand away too fast. “Shut up. Was just making sure your stupid hair didn’t stick to your sweaty face.”
“Sure you were,” Sanji teases, a thin trail of smoke escaping his lips. “God, you’re pathetic when you try to hide being tender.”
“Like you’re any better.” Zoro smirks, nipping at Sanji’s earlobe just to make him flinch. “You cry like a baby every time.”
Sanji elbows him weakly. “M’not crying! Stupid seaweed.”
Silence falls again, lazy and warm. Their legs are still tangled, Zoro still too heavy, Sanji still not pushing him away. Then, softly:
“…Oi. That marriage thing. At Whole Cake. It didn’t… worry you, did it?”
Zoro snorts immediately. “Of course not.”
Sanji eyes him through the smoke. “Liar.”
“Tch. You’re one to talk. At Wano… you didn’t really think you’d lose your mind, right?”
Sanji turns his face away, exhaling toward the ceiling. “’Course not.”
Zoro smirks, satisfied. “Liar.”
They both chuckle — the kind of chuckle that sounds like they’re both twelve and refusing to admit their feelings, even while lying naked in each other’s arms. The cigarette burns low. Sanji stubs it out against a little dish near the bedroll, then turns back, expression oddly thoughtful.
“…Oi, Zoro.”
“Hm?”
“Why the hell can’t I fuck you?”
Zoro blinks, then shrugs casually, as though Sanji had just asked about the weather. “Didn’t say you couldn’t. Either way is fine by me.”
Sanji jerks upright, gaping. “Wh—what?! Either way is fine?! You’ve never bottomed!”
Zoro smirks lazily, eyes half-lidded. “You never asked.”
Sanji splutters, fists clenching in the sheets. “That’s the lamest, most pathetic excuse I’ve ever heard, you damn moss-brained caveman!”
“Still true.”
“You—ugh! You infuriating, stupid, impossible—” Sanji cuts himself off with a growl, falling back onto the bedroll beside him. “Tch. Whatever. Don’t act all cool about it, bastard.”
Zoro just chuckles low in his throat, tugging Sanji back against his chest with one arm. He presses a slow kiss against the blond hair at his temple, so soft and unguarded Sanji almost misses it.
“Shut up and sleep, curly-brow. You talk too much.”
Sanji mutters something under his breath about damn moss-meathead romantic bastard, but he doesn’t pull away. He pouts against Zoro’s chest, his voice a low murmur.
“…Next time you go into one of your monk swordsman trances, you better watch yourself.” He smirks faintly, fingers tracing lazy shapes on Zoro’s ribs. “I’ll do worse than tickling your neck. Hell, maybe I’ll finally make you take mine like a good boy.”
Zoro snorts, head tilting back on the bedroll. “Tch. Try it, curly. Next time you’re focused on cooking, I’ll drag you over the counter and bend you in half.”
Sanji turns his face up with mock outrage. “You wouldn’t dare touch me in my kitchen!”
“Watch me,” Zoro says, grin feral.
“You absolute beast.”
“You love it.”
Sanji narrows his eyes, then leans up, crashing their mouths together in a kiss that’s more laughter than fire. They nip and push, both refusing to yield, until the kiss slows — softer, slower, their foreheads pressed together, breaths mingling.
“Shit-swordsman,” Sanji mutters, but it’s tender.
“Shit-cook,” Zoro answers, equally soft.
They tangle again, finally letting the night take them. The bickering dies into lazy murmurs, a last kiss brushed against lips, then they slip under together — falling asleep in each other’s arms, still pretending not to be as tender as they are.