Work Text:
The Repeat Offender
The sensation of falling into the deep sea was unfamiliar to Law—mysterious, terrifying. It was like sinking into a soft, damp cloud. Above him, the water was light and flowing, shimmering with faint, colorful refractions of light. Below, it was heavy and silent, an invisible hand like the wind wrapping around his body, gently yet irresistibly pulling him deeper.
A mild chill seeped into his veins through the slowly undulating seawater, spreading through his body, encasing him from the inside out. Law tried to speak, but no sound came out. In the blurred, dappled light, he saw someone swimming toward him with the ease of a fish, reaching out a hand.
"Law..."
The faint, distant call bubbled into his ears, followed by a soft laugh. It felt familiar, but he couldn’t quite place it. His heavy legs began to warm, and as he sank deeper, the water grew warmer too. A searing sensation flooded his thighs, intensifying until the water seemed to boil and tremble around him. Law shuddered, and then the sea turned white. The feeling of suffocation gripped his throat—
He woke with a sharp, shallow gasp, his breath forming a small cloud in the cold night air before dissipating. It took him a few seconds to realize the sound had come from him. His vision cleared, revealing a pale ceiling bathed in dim yellow light.
The lingering sensation of drowning clung to his limbs, his lower body still caught between a cold, wet numbness and a sticky, burning heat. Reluctantly, Law propped himself up on his trembling arms and looked down to find Zoro lying on top of him.
Zoro was straddling his legs, his face close to Law’s dick, licking his lips. When he noticed Law was awake, he glanced up, a sly grin playing in his eyes.
"Thick. Salty."
A glistening trail of saliva lingered on Zoro's slightly swollen lips, catching the dim light in a way that seemed almost surreal. It was illogical, his mind—always sharp, always analyzing—noted. Was this still a dream? Law's thoughts were hazy, fragmented, as if struggling to piece together the reality of the moment.
But the coolness creeping up his body was undeniably real. Zoro's green hair brushed against his skin, sending a tantalizing itch through him. The swordsman moved with deliberate slowness, climbing up Law's torso, his teeth grazing the taut muscles of his abdomen. A sharp, involuntary gasp escaped Law's lips, but Zoro didn't stop. He continued his ascent, pressing his body against Law's, their chests now flush against each other.
The hands that had endured years of grueling sword training were rough, calloused, yet as they brushed against Law's chest, they felt unnaturally smooth, almost like the texture of medical gloves. The dissonance struck Law, and it was only then that he noticed the thin black leather gloves covering Zoro's hands.
But that wasn't all. The tight leather clung to Zoro's powerful thighs, accentuating the curve of his hips and the firmness of his waist. The material hugged every muscle, every line of his body, leaving little to the imagination. The neckline of the outfit revealed a glimpse of Zoro's chest, the arc of his muscles bold and defined.
This wasn't Zoro's style. The thought nagged at Law, stirring an inexplicable irritation within him.
A phantom image of Zoro flashed in his mind—the Zoro he knew. The one who wore a simple white tank top, that peculiar green haramaki around his waist, and loose, comfortable pants. The Zoro who stood tall amidst chaos, his swords gleaming, his presence unshakable. But then, the memory shifted. Smoke and dust filled the air, the roar of cannons echoed, and a blinding beam of light pierced through Zoro's chest. His body crumpled to the ground like a ragdoll, lifeless and broken.
The blood pooling beneath Zoro seeped into the corner, staining the lens of the hidden camera Law had secretly installed. The image transmitted to Law's computer was blurred, bathed in a horrifying crimson hue. Another violent explosion shook the air, and the heart-wrenching roar of Luffy coming through the radio abruptly cut off. At the same moment, the screen turned black, reflecting Law's face, now slick with cold sweat.
Luffy would do something. He’s your captain. The thought flashed through Law’s mind instantly. And soon enough, the rising leader of the underground world, the man Zoro would willingly give everything for, lay in Law's operating room—broken, battered, and on the verge of collapse.
None of the Straw Hat crew were by Luffy’s side. And Luffy wasn’t by theirs. A deep, far-reaching plan began to unfold wildly in Law’s mind. One critical decision solidified in that moment.
He couldn’t repeat the same mistakes.
His fingers, stiff and icy after dozens of hours of surgery, trembled uncontrollably.
What about Zoro? Law couldn’t help but ask himself. An answer suddenly leapt from some corner of his mind, startling him. No, there’s still no news. He told himself, feeling a hollow sense of comfort before forcefully suppressing the flood of thoughts threatening to overwhelm him.
A reckless bunch, arrogant and overconfident, thinking they could roam the lawless lands without a proper plan. A wrong decision, the collapse of a team—this was the best-case scenario in the brutal New World, a place he was destined to venture into someday.
There would be no more intersections. That’s what Law thought.
They weren’t even friends with benefits to begin with.
Law avoided the obvious, all-too-familiar word. And then, Zoro suddenly appeared in his house, in his bed.
Two whole years. He had tried everything, but the man had vanished without a trace. And now, here he was, acting as if nothing had happened.
No, not nothing.
A cool, leather-gloved hand reached out to touch his face. Law grabbed Zoro’s wrist, stopping it mid-air, just above his chest. Then Zoro leaned in, trying to kiss him. An unfamiliar scent wafted from Zoro’s body, invading Law’s senses.
It wasn’t the familiar mix of iron and alcohol. This scent was more mature, deeper, more intoxicating—more... erotic.
It wasn’t Zoro’s scent.
Law turned his head, avoiding the kiss.
This wasn’t his Zoro. Wait—*his* Zoro?
“Uninvited guest,” Law muttered, his words aimless and cryptic, like a petulant child. He immediately decided to hate himself for it.
"Law?" Zoro murmured, his voice tinged with confusion. He stopped his movements and leaned back slightly, putting some distance between them. Moonlight spilled over Zoro's face, and Law could no longer ignore the dissonance he had been deliberately resisting—the most glaring anomaly. A massive, jagged scar ran through Zoro's left eye, like a treacherous chasm splitting a once-unbroken river. Even his fine eyelashes had been severed by the brutal mark. Now, only a single crimson eye remained, fixed on Law with a sharp, beast-like intensity. That gaze softened slightly, as if Zoro had come to some understanding, and a look of realization crossed his face.
"I've been with Mihawk," Zoro said suddenly.
Mihawk. Law repeated the name silently in his mind, recalling the elegant, powerful, and dangerous man—Zoro's lifelong goal.
Zoro spoke calmly, but his gaze was firm and resolute. "Two years. Soon, we'll meet again in the New World. You're going there too, aren't you, Law?"
Zoro turned, the sharp edges of his expression relaxing into a faint smile. He reached out, his hand gently brushing the dark circles under Law's eyes. "That polar bear of yours, and your crew... are they doing okay?"
Law didn’t pull away this time. Something inside him cracked, a small, sharp pain blooming in his chest. "Zoro-ya," he said quietly, his voice low, "I hate the perfume you're wearing."
End.