Work Text:
Sanji is the kind of bone tired that he thinks must only come from working in a restaurant.
From being on your feet all day, a fifteen minute break sitting atop an overturned bucket in the walk-in fridge inhaling the day’s leftover staff lunch. From maneuvering around a cramped kitchen full of fire and tripping hazards and machismo dickhead energy.
Yelling for hands.
Eighty-sixing coq au vin several hours too early.
Raging why no one under the age of thirty seems to know how to properly shuck an oyster these days, then standing silently in the walk-in fridge staring at tubs of marinating chicken wondering if he’s turning into the old man, Sanji is too young to be turning into the old man so soon.
It’s the kind of bone tired that only comes from doing a job you love, but doing too much of it.
>>FkingMarimo [8:12 PM] hows it going
>Sanji [11:58 PM] dumpsterfire.gif
>Sanji [12:12 AM] Are you asleep?
>>FkingMarimo [12:18 AM] i dont have to be
>Sanji [12:18 AM] ♥️
Tomorrow, Sanji will teach les incompétents how to shuck oysters. And he will love every aggravating second of it, from briny Bluepoint to creamy Wellfleet, just so long as Sanji can still the quiver in his hand and hold an oyster knife in his palm the proper way.
The apartment is quiet and dark, save for the single light above the kitchen sink. Sanji closes the door as quietly as he can out of habit, toeing off his shoes as he locks the deadbolt with a soft click. He hangs up his jacket, puts his knife roll on the shelf, and thinks, not for the first time, that they should get a cat if for no other reason than there’d be a creature to greet him at the door in the awful hours of the morning.
“So what if I’m allergic,” Sanji mumbles, shuffling to the kitchen, desperate for a cigarette to still the shake in his hand. He opens the window above the sink and lights up, mumbling around the filter. “There’s medicine.”
The cat’s food and water bowl could go to the left of the island, and maybe he could be one of those crazy people who cooks every ounce of food it would ever eat.
Behind him, the hallway light flicks on, and Sanji decides that they could name the cat Sushi or Sashimi or something equally ridiculous. “Katsudon would be a funny name for a cat,” he decides, leaning over the sink so the cigarette smoke mostly blows outside. “Kitty Katsu, hm.”
“Talkin’ to yourself out here?”
“Losing my mind, I think.” Sanji looks back over his shoulder in time to catch Zoro’s great big bear yawn, arms stretching up high, a pang of guilt that Sanji had asked him to wait up.
“Four double shifts could do that.” Zoro pads across the kitchen to stand behind Sanji, arms wrapping around his middle, bare chest against Sanji’s back. “Or is this your fifth double? I lost track.”
It’s his sixth, but Sanji doesn’t want to start an argument. It’s so easy to lean back into Zoro’s warmth instead. “Thanks for staying up, marimo.”
“Couldn’t sleep.” It’s so ridiculous—there’s nowhere, no time Zoro can’t fall into a peaceful snooze—that Sanji knows Zoro’s missed him too. “How was work?”
“Busy,” Sanji says flatly, blowing a line of smoke in an irritated huff.
Zoro squeezes Sanji closer, breath tickling his ear. “That bad?”
“That bad.”
After the last few weeks Sanji’s had, the cigarette is only going to help so much. The doubles he’s pulled at the Baratie have been stacking up after some influencer posted a glowing review to some social media app and their reservations quadrupled overnight. The influx of new customers and business would be more welcome if the patrons, Sanji’s decided, spent less time taking selfies with the food and more time actually eating it.
But Zoro’s heard that rant many times, once more this morning before they parted in the early light, Sanji with his knife roll and Zoro a gym bag slung over one shoulder. They’d both been running late and their shared kiss as the elevator doors slid open had been off center, Sanji catching Zoro’s cheek instead of his mouth, frustrating Sanji.
He’s going on days—weeks—with scant hours outside of the Baratie. Thank Christ he’d moved into Zoro’s apartment, otherwise Sanji probably wouldn’t have seen him at all.
Sanji’s free hand settles on Zoro’s arm, content to be held in their kitchen under the single light. There’s not much Sanji can make out in the window’s nighttime reflection, the picture of their bodies morphing together; green mossy hair, Zoro’s bare skin, the blue tee Sanji had put on after his shift that reads ‘Golden Bell University’ and he now realizes probably belongs to Zoro. Sanji exhales a line of smoke and the image grows cloudy.
Patty had warned him to never date anyone who worked in a restaurant—wasn’t worth the drama, that was that. Carne posited that the only way to find a mate was to date someone who also worked the late shift but never a nurse, Sanji, they’re crazy, and all Carne’s stories about his ex had killed any sexy nurse fantasies Sanji may have still harbored.
Zeff, forever single, had for once offered no opinion.
The quiver in his hand threatens a return the closer Sanji gets to the cigarette filter.
“Zoro? Can we…” Sanji swallows against the tightness in his throat.
“Hm?” He buries his nose deeper into Sanji’s hair. It must smell like sweat and whatever grease the hood above the restaurant’s stoves doesn’t suck away. But Zoro’s never been one to be repelled by something so inconsequential—Sanji suspects he might even like the way grease and sweat sticks to his skin—so Zoro grunts, and it sounds like half a sigh. “What do you want?”
There are a lot of things Sanji wants. He wants to walk into the Baratie tomorrow to a pristine kitchen that was closed properly; he wants a produce delivery that actually matches what he ordered; he wants a new set of knives.
“I need you to fuck me so hard I stop thinking,” Sanji admits.
Zoro goes slack, huffs a laugh into Sanji’s skin before pressing a kiss into his hairline. “Ah. ‘s that all?”
There’d been a tension to Zoro that Sanji realizes he had missed, all worked up in his own bullshit. He hadn’t noticed Zoro’s concern, the worry he carries in his body quite literally across his shoulders.
“That too much to ask?” Sanji inquires, genuine.
“‘Course not.”
Pleased, Sanji drops the cigarette into the sink and presses his hips back, swell of this ass finding Zoro’s dick in his sweatpants. Zoro sucks in a breath and slides his hands down to the front of Sanji’s slacks, palming his interested cock. Sanji gives a delighted hum and grinds back into Zoro, thankful he’d waited up.
Of course he had; Zoro was so good to Sanji like that.
“What happened tonight? Was Zeff being a jerk?”
Even if he sometimes said shit at the most inopportune moments.
“Please don’t evoke the old geezer’s name while your erection is poking me, seriously.”
“Alright, alright.” Zoro gives Sanji’s ear a nip as his hands find the belt buckle, tugging on the clasp. “Then take these off and let me blow you.”
Sanji starts to yank his belt free. “And where are you going..?”
“Supplies.” Zoro backs out of the kitchen, giving Sanji an appreciative once over as he shucks his slacks to the floor. “Be right back.”
“You’re killing me,” Sanji huffs, fond about it.
Sex with Zoro was, the first few times they’d done it, upsettingly mind blowing.
Then again everything between them had always run hot and explosive, so Sanji isn’t sure why he’d been so surprised they could wreck one another in this way too.
There’d been a lot of nuances about sex with men that Sanji had perhaps only possessed an academic knowledge of before he’d shoved his tongue down Zoro’s throat for the first time, ironically in this very kitchen. It had been Nami’s birthday and he’d cooked a giant spread, bullying Zoro into hosting since somehow he had the best kitchen of the friend group and it was wasted on someone who survived on protein powder and chicken breasts.
“Are you only fucking me for my kitchen?” Zoro had asked him seriously, months after that first kiss.
The answer was No, marimo, of course not, but Sanji had perhaps shown too much admiration for the gas range with seven—seven!—burners.
Fully disrobed from the waist down, Sanji decides to keep the shirt on, just in case anyone is taking a 1 AM stroll in the park across the street with a keen view into their kitchen. He grips the edge of the sink so his hands will steady, willing himself to keep it together while he waits for Zoro to take him apart.
Sanji gets like this sometimes. Gets so wound up and upset and frustrated. At the restaurant, at the old man, at the concern that the old man is moving slower these days, at the cost of produce and dying fisheries and how much rainforest disappears with every steak he plates and a whole lot more that is all so far out of Sanji’s control.
“You could go open up your own restaurant,” Zoro had suggested mildly after the first time Sanji had stared at the wall too hard mulling it all over. “Something, uh, vegan or table to farm or—”
With a finger put to Zoro’s lips, Sanji had hushed him. “I love you, but that’s enough for today, mosshead.” Zoro had looked relieved.
Yes, Sanji gets like this sometimes. And it can become a trap door, dropping him into unkind memories even deeper in the past, to a time when even the smallest, most basic things were outside of Sanji’s control.
What was it Zoro had said when they’d started this…?
“I know you need to take care of everyone, cook. Let me be the one who takes care of you.”
God as his witness, naked from the waist down in a well appointed apartment kitchen, Sanji is trying. He sucks in a breath, holds it deep in his lungs like it’s a cloud of nicotine. He thinks he’s gotten better about not being so crazy but the truth, Sanji knows, is it’s just gotten easier now that he has someone to share the crazy with.
Ever silent on his bare feet, Zoro pads back into the kitchen, triumphant smirk across his face.
“What took so long?”Sanji asks, twitchy with how badly he wants to get railed. “Were you doing pushups in there?”
“Just getting lube so I can shove a plug in your ass.” Zoro pats his pockets and grins. The one weapon that nukes any of Sanji’s barbs is brutal honesty. “Don’t get embarrassed, cook, I’ll put my dick in there soon eno—”
Sanji sends a kick to Zoro’s side that is perhaps less threatening and powerful by virtue of him being naked from the waist down and half erect. Either way Zoro blocks the move with a laugh that’s too gleeful, shoving Sanji’s leg back so he can sink down to his knees. Those sweatpants, Sanji notes, do little to hide the bulge between Zoro’s legs as he settles on the kitchen floor.
“Bastard.” Sanji hisses as Zoro presses kisses to his knee, his thigh, trailing upwards.
He’s hit with an intrusive memory then, junior year of university, too many vodka shots taken at one of Vivi’s pool parties. Drink in hand and more than unsteady, Sanji was whingeing at Zoro about how he just couldn’t understand how Zoro didn’t like women. Didn’t he see how beautiful they were, didn’t he find himself daydreaming about kissing a beautiful woman when she was speaking to him, wishing she would lean closer as she sipped on some fizzy drink? Zoro had just looked at Sanji like he was the biggest moron in the world before shoving him, fully clothed, backwards into the pool, ruining Sanji’s own fizzy drink in the sobering water.
Watching Zoro trail reverent palms up his legs, Sanji’s hairs standing on end, he wonders where to put his sense of astonishment that still prickles his brain when they do this. That Zoro looks at him and sees someone worth having is still a realization Sanji doesn’t know what to do with. He supposes a childhood spent being told they are a worthless waste of space could do that to a person.
Ah, well. Maybe someday Sanji can afford therapy.
Until then he’ll have to settle for getting his back blown out.
“You with me?” Zoro scratches his nails on the back of Sanji’s thigh, gentle but insistent.
“Yes, sorry,” Sanji breathes. He gives Zoro a smile, rubs a thumb across an arched eyebrow. “Just really happy you stayed up,” Sanji admits, and it feels like more of a confession than it should.
Something pleased passes over Zoro’s face before his gaze turns wolfish. He licks one slow stripe up Sanji’s cock and without any warning, Zoro takes him to the back of his throat in a fluidly practiced motion. It makes Sanji suck in a breath and remember Zoro’s been fucking men ages before Sanji had his bisexual panic slash awakening. Spit pools down at the base of his dick as Zoro works his mouth up and down, fingers bruising Sanji’s thighs. He’s glancing up at Sanji with every bob of his head, lips shiny, mean little gaze Zoro gets when they do this that says we could have been doing this for years if you’d only had your shit together.
Maybe Sanji is projecting there. Serves him right.
The tremor is back, so Sanji reaches out, fingers sinking into green tufts and pulling tight, Zoro groaning with it. Zoro sinks down to Sanji’s balls, throat working, and Sanji folds over with a gasp, hips jerking for more. Stubble brushes against his thighs and Sanji loves the burn of it, loves the way Zoro leaves marks and twinges Sanji will feel days later when he’s stuck on double shifts.
(After Sanji had dragged his sorry wet self from the pool and admitted maybe he’d deserved that, they’d shared a few more drinks. Sanji had asked questions, and olive branch that turned to drunken curiosity. It had, in hindsight, perhaps been damning for Sanji to ask what giving a blowjob felt like but Zoro had casually informed him that sucking cock was like chugging a beer: You just had to open your throat and relax.)
Sanji groans as Zoro releases him, feeling blessed for all the keg parties Zoro went to when they were in school.
“Turn,” Zoro commands, pressing at Sanji’s thighs until he spins to face the sink. Then Zoro slaps at an ankle to widen the stance, his other hand grabbing at Sanji’s ass to spread him wide. Sanji knows Zoro has a thing about Sanji’s ass—his asshole specifically, if Sanji wants to be accurate and embarrassed about it—but it still surprises him when Zoro takes a beat to stare.
“You get lost down there?” Sanji bites out when he’s a second away from feeling too exposed in their own damned kitchen. Sanji chances a panicky glance out the window just as a rotund, judgy raccoon waddles across the dimly lit park across the street.
“Quit whining.” Zoro lets go of his ass and Sanji hears the click of the lube cap, Zoro rustling around in his pocket. A few seconds later he’s expecting the pads of Zoro’s rough fingers, but something chilly and metal and slick rubs against his hole. The plug is on the smaller side but enough to get him ready for whatever Zoro has in mind to make Sanji stop thinking. Zoro works it in, bit by bit, kneeling on the floor, Sanji groaning at how the cool metal feels as it sinks into his overheated body until it’s swallowed up.
“Bedroom?” Zoro swats once at Sanji’s ass before standing to press a kiss to Sanji’s clothed shoulder. “Wait, is this my shirt?”
“Give me a damn minute,” Sanji breathes, noting his hand is almost steady. He turns, counter biting into his hips as he wraps his arms around Zoro’s neck and pulls. The kiss is messy, languid, standard for their 1 AM kitchen kisses, Zoro’s palms tight on Sanji’s hips. Sanji works his tongue into the soft heat of Zoro’s mouth, bites at his lip in the way he knows Zoro likes, and drinks in the scent of cheap bar soap and metal that never seems to scrub away from Zoro’s skin.
“I fucking love you,” he sighs against Zoro’s mouth, always surprised by how easy it is to say it.
Zoro’s response is deadpan: “I bet you tell that to all the guys you let into your ass.”
“I do.” Sanji could kick him, but that’s the joke—Zoro’s the only man Sanji’s ever been with. So Sanji scratches his nails into the short hairs at Zoro’s nape, kisses Zoro to shut him up instead.
When the kiss starts to turn too sweet, Zoro’s hands drift down to the backs of Sanji’s thighs and he pulls until Sanji gets the hint. He lets Zoro lift him clear off the floor and Sanji wraps his legs around Zoro’s middle, arms tight across broad shoulders. The plug shifts pleasantly inside of him, dick rubbing against Zoro’s warm abs.
Sanji pecks Zoro’s nose. “Don’t drop me, asshole.”
Offended, Zoro grunts, starts to make his way down the hall. “I’ve never dropped you.”
Sanji scoffs as Zoro turns into their bedroom. “Robin and Franky’s wedding.”
“…I have dropped you one time and,” Zoro growls, hands digging into Sanji’s ass, “it was your own fault.”
In his defense, Sanji had been very drunk at that Margaritaville themed wedding.
Zoro tosses Sanji onto the bed in a way Sanji will never admit makes him want to swoon. He tears off the old university tee, trying to get a foot into Zoro’s waistband to urge those gray sweatpants off.
“You kick me in the balls and this’ll be over real quick.” Zoro shoves Sanji’s foot to the mattress, straddling his legs to keep them mostly still.
“I haven’t been to a kick boxing class in weeks,” Sanji protests, and Zoro plants his knees on either side of his chest. “I’m practically a baby deer at this point.”
“Bullshit. Those legs could kill me and you know it.” Zoro looks too thrilled by the prospect, and it sends a spark of heat up Sanji’s spine. “Lay back.”
Zoro does not deign to take his sweatpants off, moving the elastic waistband under his erection and letting it catch on his balls. It’s uncouth and hasty and makes Sanji’s mouth water. Maybe this is how they would have done it in school, quick sessions between classes in the dorm rooms, no time to fully undress.
Maybe, maybe, maybe.
“Open,” Zoro murmurs, cock in his hand as he straddles Sanji’s chest.
Sanji obeys, taking the head into his mouth, salt on his tongue and Zoro on every inhale. He licks at the soft skin, Zoro sighing above him as he inches his dick in deeper, Sanji’s hands fisting into the covers.
Sanji knows he’s not as good at blow jobs as Zoro is, he hasn’t been doing it nearly as long, but he likes to think he’s improved greatly since their first hookup. It had been difficult at first, not necessarily due to the mechanics of the act—Sanji truly does love Zoro’s dick in his mouth—but the intimacy. The way Zoro never touches Sanji’s hair, knowing better than that, his hand instead cradling his face, thumb brushing under Sanji’s eye as Sanji takes and takes and tries not to look away like Zoro dared him to stare at the sun.
It’s not the physicality of it; it’s just Zoro always looks so wrecked by it, so gone and in love and that’s what made Sanji always choke.
Zoro keeps feeding Sanji his cock, in and out, rocking forward and back, one hand on the headboard above Sanji to keep steady. “You look so fucking pretty with a dick in your mouth.”
On the next pull and thrust, Sanji lets Zoro’s cock graze his cheek instead of sliding back across his tongue. He teases: “A dick?”
“My dick,” Zoro amends, shoving it back into Sanji’s mouth. “You look pretty choking on my dick, cook.”
Sanji nearly whines.
For all he appreciates and craves romance he loves Zoro’s filthy mouth. And to be fair Zoro has romanced Sanji, in his own way: Tea on their tiny balcony, impromptu aquarium trips on days they’re both off, actually remembering whatever date Sanji had declared their anniversary. But when Zoro whispers filth in Sanji’s ear, he feels like a nosebleed could come on at any second and kill him instantly.
He doesn’t know why it feels so good; maybe because Zoro sees Sanji for who he really is, mess and all, and still wants.
The gray fabric under Zoro’s balls is turning dark and damp with Sanji’s spit. Finally he rocks back once on his knees, cock sliding out of Sanji’s mouth, and Sanji misses the taste, the way his mouth felt full.
As he settles between Sanji’s legs, Zoro gives him a warning: “I’m not going to finger you.”
A shiver runs through Sanji. “Lazy marimo,” he murmurs, bringing a hand up to his own erection lying neglected on his belly.
“Not lazy.” Zoro pushes Sanji’s legs open, reaching under his balls. Calloused fingers trace his hole, nudging at the plug. “You’re already so wet for it. Greedy cook.”
A groan escapes Sanji’s lips as Zoro starts to tug at the little metal toy, lube trickling to the comforter. He times the pulls on his dick with the smooth slide in and out, something hot spreading from his core up his chest. Zoro’s eyes flick between where he’s working the plug in and out of Sanji and the way Sanji tugs at his erection, fist tight. Then Zoro spits, hot saliva landing on Sanji’s rim, working into his asshole as Zoro moves the plug in steady motions.
Sanji’s almost ready to beg when Zoro slips out the plug and gives Sanji’s thigh a squeeze. “Turn over.”
“You are not fucking me with sweatpants on,” Sanji says as he rolls to his belly. “Take those off, marimo, fuck’s sake.”
“What will the neighbors think,” Zoro mutters, but at Sanji’s quick glance back he shucks them off.
Satisfied, Sanji grabs for one of their pillows and settles it under his elbows. Before he can get too comfortable, Zoro has a rough grip on his hip, holding Sanji steady as he lines up his dick, head pressing against Sanji’s entrance.
“You still good…?”
“To get drilled into the mattress?” Sanji says for him, wry. He lets his head fall to rest on his forearms, feels his shoulders unwind a tension he hadn’t realized was there. “Yeah, I am.”
The hand on Sanji’s waist tightens as Zoro, true to his promise, skips fingering Sanji and slides into him in one slow, unforgiving motion. It burns less than it should, and Sanji keens into the pillow until Zoro stops, not even half way in. His dick always feels huge when Sanji’s blowing him, but when they’re fucking Sanji’s mind can’t wrap around how Zoro can possibly fit.
Behind him, Sanji hears the unmistakable click of the lube cap before Zoro’s hand leaves his hip. Then Zoro spreads Sanji open with one hand, a cool stream of lube pouring down Sanji’s cleft to the place they’re joined. Slowly Zoro fucks forward in one steady push, and Sanji moans, breathes deep so he can take every inch until he hears the lube snap shut.
Zoro is fully sheathed in Sanji. “Good?” His voice is steady but Sanji can tell—he’s wrecked with it.
“So fucking good,” Sanji sighs. He can feel his brain start to turn to mush, a sweet promise of nothing. “Let me ride you for a bit?”
“Do it.”
Groaning, Sanji lifts back up to his hands and starts to move, first in small, jerky movements until the lube is spread and it’s worked him loose. He rocks forward, then pushes back onto Zoro’s length, the burn turning into something sweeter the deeper he takes Zoro into his body. It feels incredible, the way Zoro’s so big every thrust brushes at a place that makes Sanji shiver, the way there’s nothing else Sanji can think about other than the way they’re connected. It’s heady and addictive like the best cigarette Sanji’s ever had and when it’s over he can never believe how lucky he got to have Zoro in his life.
Sanji throws his hips back, blush spreading down to his chest as he feels Zoro’s hands on his ass, thumbs spreading Sanji apart so he can stare at the place they’re joined. Sanji chances a glance over his shoulder; Zoro watches Sanji move back and forth, his rim catching on Zoro’s cockhead before sinking back down to the base. Zoro looks like a dog staring at a steak hanging off a table, fangs clacking in wait, being so good until he’s told to get.
At that, Sanji decides he’s ready. He sinks back once more before rising to his knees, shaky, so he’s seated in Zoro’s lap. He reaches back to grab a fistful of green hair to share an awkward, slanted pant of a kiss over Sanji’s shoulder.
“Fuck me, marimo,” Sanji says somewhere in the vicinity of Zoro’s mouth. “Make me stop thinking.”
Groaning into the meat of Sanji’s shoulder, Zoro wraps his arms around Sanji’s middle. One calloused hand finds Sanji’s dick and begins to stroke it, Zoro’s voice rough and pressed into Sanji’s skin: “Want me to fuck your pussy so hard you’ll feel it for a week?”
“Fuck,” Sanji chokes. Sometimes Zoro does that when he talks, throws in something Sanji can’t quite call feminine because it’s so filthy. An ex had always wanted Sanji to talk to her that way and he couldn’t ever bring himself to do it, but with Zoro it just feels right.
He lets Zoro bend him forward onto hands and knees. Zoro’s hand smoothes up his back, stops short of Sanji’s hair like always, instead gliding around the back of Sanji’s neck. Calloused fingers wrap around to brush at the knot in Sanji’s throat, Zoro‘s weight pressed into the mattress through his knuckles, thumb soft under Sanji’s ear. Then Zoro starts to fuck him.
What Sanji might lack in the department of blowing dudes, he knows—because Zoro has told him, breathless, wrung out, many times—that he is an absolute champ at taking it in the ass. Admittedly besides a few pegging experiences with yet another ex girlfriend, Sanji’s only ever done this act with Zoro, but Zoro’s never been one to give out frivolous compliments for as long as Sanji’s known him.
Fisting his own erection, Sanji groans into the mattress, stretches his neck in Zoro’s grip and lets Zoro rail him with sure, powerful strokes.
“Fuck your pussy’s tight,” Zoro sighs, hand coming down rough on one of Sanji’s thighs.
“Shit,” Sanji breathes out, choking back a wild, delirious laugh.
One of their bigger fights in university had been an all out brawl that lasted until Usopp threw a bucket of ice water on them out on the soccer pitch. It had happened like this: Irritated after a day of Sanji, admittedly, pushing his buttons, Zoro had asked if Sanji was so obsessed with women because he wanted to be fucked like one. And of course Sanji had been too stupid back then to examine the way his words caught in his throat so he’d just kicked Zoro in the head. Luckily he’d taken off his cleats first.
These days Sanji knows what projecting is, and that Zoro does this because it gets him off, and now Sanji can give it back just as good. He meets Zoro’s thrusts, ignores the crick in his neck and chances a glance back at Zoro: “You make my pussy feel so fucking good, marimo.”
Zoro’s grin turns absolutely feral as he groans, and Sanji works his own dick in quick, brutal strokes to match Zoro’s pace.
If someone had told him freshman year of school that this is where Sanji would find himself in his thirties, he probably would have jumped off the campus bell tower. Thankfully Sanji is not immune to personal growth and trying new things, like fucking handsome men who drive him insane.
When Zoro starts to call him sweet names like baby and sweetheart Sanji knows he’s just as close. The bruises around his hips will last for days and Sanji can press into them to remember.
Then Zoro bends forward, hand on Sanji’s neck going tight before he shoves his fingers into Sanji’s panting mouth. Groaning, Sanji sucks down hard, feels the orgasm roll through his body and get brighter and brighter as he strips his cock. Sanji comes on the covers, tremor no longer confined to his hands as he shakes and moans in release.
“Fuck,” Zoro snarls, slamming back into Sanji once, twice more before he comes, heat spilling into Sanji. The hand around Sanji’s throat finally works its way into Sanji’s hair, gentle through sweaty strands. Zoro kisses up Sanji’s neck into the crown of his hair, fresh orgasm making his breathing winded and hot.
Sanji sighs, blissfully unthinking as Zoro catches his breath.
“You still awake?” Zoro pants into Sanji’s skin after what’s felt like hours, but has probably only been minutes.
Do you want more? is the real question.
“Wide awake.” Strung out and in love, Sanji says, “Do your fucking worst.”
Zoro laughs.
No sooner than Zoro’s pulled out, his thumb is back at Sanji’s hole, rubbing over the rim in a soothing motion that Sanji shivers into. “Lie on your stomach,” Zoro insists, coaxing Sanji’s legs back, not caring that Sanji’s now directly in the wet spot. Sanji’s too blissed out to clock the rusting behind him, sure Zoro’s going to finger him senseless. But then there’s a triumphant little click, followed by a sharp, low buzz.
Sanji tries to jerk around, but Zoro’s forearm is across his lower back, pinning him. “Wha—”
The long vibrator circles Sanji’s hole, too intense. “Just relax,” Zoro says before he slips it in easily past the ring of muscle.
“Holy sh—” Sanji’s unsure if making his entire body vibrate from the inside out will get rid of the tremor in his hand and the thoughts rattling around his brain, but he’s keen to try.
Zoro works the wand into Sanji with long, sure strokes. It’s nowhere near as big as Zoro’s cock and it doesn’t fill Sanji up, but when it vibrates over his prostate Sanji cries out with a very undignified sound.
“Want me to stop?” Zoro asks, only to be polite because he knows the answer, Sanji’s sure of it.
“Don’t you fucking dare..!”
“Good,” Zoro says, and Sanji feels him turn up the speed to make his toes curl for purchase on the mattress.
The orgasm overtakes him, too quick, sharp and almost painful as Sanji sobs into the pillow. He tries to wiggle away but Zoro’s arm across his back holds Sanji fast, vibe pulsing and buzzing at Sanji’s prostate.
No matter how many times Zoro does this to him Sanji can’t figure out how to stop the tears that spill over his eyes. Maybe that’s just how he comes like this, because nothing ever comes out of his dick that’s for fucking sure.
“Zoro, fuck, stop—”Sanji gasps, just as Zoro turns the toy off, slipping it out of his hole as soon as Sanji says it.
His brain is cooked. Sanji might actually forget the names of some common vegetables at this rate.
“You okay?” Zoro’s warm body above him anchors Sanji, brings him back. He drops kisses across Sanji’s shoulders, down the knobs of his spine. “Blink twice if you’re dead.”
Sanji makes a pathetic noise but steadfastly keeps his eyes open.
“Good.”
Zoro’s erection rubs up and down his taint, over Sanji’s too-sensitive hole, spreading the mess of cum and lube. This happens sometimes; Zoro calls it a ‘bonus boner’ and Sanji finds that more funny than he’ll ever admit out loud. It’s rarely ever a true sign of a second round; Sanji thinks Zoro’s body just hasn’t caught up with basic human limitations yet, as is true for so many of the things Zoro does in life. Loose and sated, Sanji will ride Zoro lazily whenever this happens, trading sloppy kisses until Zoro’s dick has gotten the message and they can retire to sleep or fight over who needs to change the sheets this time.
“Lemme up,” Sanji mumbles, slapping blindly behind him at Zoro. Shaky, he manages to haul himself up from the bed and shove at Zoro until he’s seated against the headboard, and Sanji can settle in his lap.
He must look like a wreck for Zoro to ask: “You sure you’re okay?” It’s gruff in a way that’s too put on to be anything than a cover for the genuine concern Zoro can’t ever seem to shake no matter how many times Sanji’s told him—
“I loved it,” Sanji breathes against Zoro’s mouth. Sanji finds Zoro’s erection and lines them up, sinking down with a shudder. Zoro bites back a hiss as Sanji assures; “I asked for it, marimo.”
It probably is jarring how much Sanji’s changed in the time Zoro’s known him. When they’d started hooking up, Sanji had been determined to turn sex into a competition just like everything else in their relationship, but Zoro had put the brakes on that quickly. “Just because you had one girlfriend who’d let you do anal doesn’t mean you know what the fuck you’re doing,” Zoro had said, throwing his hands up in irritation.
Of course, Zoro had been right, and going slow had been worth it.
The kisses Zoro presses to his jaw as Sanji settles in his lap are unhurried and delightful. Sanji starts to ride Zoro’s dick with slow movements, hands tight on the headboard behind Zoro. He can already tell that he’s going to ache with it tomorrow when he’s at work, every time he bends down to check the oven or when he leans forward to call for hands. He grinds down in Zoro’s lap, relishing the feel of—
Zoro moans, a choked-out sound.
“Wait.” Sanji blinks. “Is this a real..?” He refuses to say ‘boner’ out loud.
Zoro has the decency to look slightly embarrassed at being caught with a real round two boner. “You said you were wide awake,” he grumbles, hands petting up Sanji’s sides in a way that’s coaxing, almost apologetic. “We can stop.”
“This—” Sanji clenches, making Zoro gasp, “doesn’t feel like a ‘we can stop’ thing.”
“Well, we could try… the thing you can do.”
Sanji feels his brain short circuit.
For all the filth that spills out of Zoro’s mouth, he somehow knows better than to say ‘the thing’ out loud. Sanji figures it’s because Zoro doesn’t want to spook Sanji out of it. Because for all his recent experience having sex with the same sex, the tricks and pleasures Sanji’s learned about his body, this one thing still feels like it’s something he shouldn’t even be able to do, let alone enjoy.
“You…” Sanji swallows, tries again: “You want that?”
Zoro nods, too eager.
The blush Sanji shouldn’t have after years of fucking Zoro just gets hotter. He can say no—has said no, not tonight, dear before—but he’s feeling so good, so loose and buttered up. And Zoro has been incredible, even though Sanji’s been pretty much absent for weeks, drowning in work. Surely Zoro has earned it.
Also: As per his earlier request, Sanji thinks his brain might be broken anyway.
“Really want it,” Zoro supplies, grumbling like he’s asking for extra dessert he was promised, trying to tip the scales that have already fallen down.
Sanji catches sight of the alarm clock on the dresser; 2 AM still feels early as his dick perks up. “Shower.” He shoves at Zoro’s shoulder in a way that says no arguing. The last time they’d done this it had been a fucking mess.
“Shower, sure.” Zoro nods, then hisses as Sanji pulls off his dick.
Sanji stretches his arms above his head, feels the come and lube running down his thighs as he leads them to the bathroom. “I’m guessing our shit landlord still hasn’t fixed the water heater.”
“Nope.” Zoro’s hot on his trail. “Said he’s waiting on a part or something.”
“Dickhead,” Sanji mumbles. He turns on the spray as soon as he gets to the bathroom and, sure as shit, it shoots out ice cold. “It’ll take a few minutes.”
“I can waste a few minutes.” Zoro comes up behind him, grabs Sanji by the waist and turns him to the sink. “Put your thighs together.”
“Wow, what are we, in college?” Sanji bends forward just the same, elbows digging into the countertop.
He catches Zoro’s smirk in the mirror as he lines up. “You never would have let me do this in college.”
“Probably would have won a lot more soccer matches if I did,” Sanji mutters.
They’d fucked this way a lot more in the early days. Back when they weren’t exclusive, when Sanji was still sleeping with women and trying to figure his shit out. It had been a head rush knowing Zoro could come just from fucking Sanji’s thighs; the man didn’t have a foot fetish, he had a Sanji’s legs fetish. That realization had explained a lot of the glances and staring Sanji had caught Zoro in while they were both on the soccer team, though back then Sanji had thought Zoro had a problem and wanted to fight—not fuck him six ways from Sunday.
The steam from the shower starts to fog up the mirror, Sanji watching Zoro’s reflection as he fucks the neat seam behind his balls, spreading the mess down there. It feels lazy and almost decadent; Sanji doesn’t get as much out of it as Zoro does, but by the time the water’s hot he’s hard again.
“C’mon.” Flushed, Zoro gives his flank a squeeze before pulling away. “Wanna wake the neighbors?” he jokes.
“Christ, not another noise complaint.” That’s probably why the landlord hasn’t fixed their shower. “Try to keep your shit together, marimo.”
Zoro gives Sanji the flattest look known to mankind: “I am not the reason we got a noise complaint.”
“You are not not the reason we got a noise com—”
Zoro shoves him into the shower.
The water is now blessedly hot and it makes Sanji’s overworked muscles sing in relief. He tips his head back in the spray, trying to rinse away some of the sweat before Zoro steps in and nudges at Sanji to make room.
“You still good to try—”
“Yes.” Sanji plants a kiss to the side of Zoro’s jaw. “If I start weeping maybe let up a bit.”
Zoro rolls his eyes. “As if you’d let me.”
The first month after Sanji had moved in, there’d been a rare shared day off between their respective jobs. They’d taken advantage of the day, Zoro putting on his favorite kung fu movies interspersed with episodes of Great British Bake-off, followed by repeat rounds of sex across the couch, bed, and kitchen floor because Sanji wouldn’t let Zoro do it on the counter. It had been quite by accident they discovered Sanji could squirt, but only after repeat sessions. Sanji had been mortified and wrung out, and only decided not to jump out the window because Zoro was lying in their bed staring into space while panting, “Holy shit… Holy shit that was awes—”
Under the steady stream of the shower, Zoro lays more kisses across Sanji’s shoulders, positioning them so his back is blocking the brunt of the spray and Sanji can step one leg up onto the shower’s edge. Screwing in the shower is one of Sanji’s favorites; pressed up against the glass he finds his mind wandering, imagining he’s on display, somewhere that everyone can see and know that even though it may have taken some years, he is Zoro’s and Zoro is his.
Yes, he thinks out of nowhere, on display just like a lobster in a French restaurant.
The steam gives him a jolt of clarity about the state of his mental health; Sanji has done many back-to-back double shifts. He might actually die if he doesn’t get a day off soon.
“Ready?” Zoro asks, somewhere behind him.
“Fucking please.” Sanji sighs, delirious, leaning so he can bury his face into the crook of his arm against the glass. “Fuck me up, marimo.”
Zoro’s dick slips in so easy, spent come and lube removing any resistance Sanji may have left in his body. He sighs with it, so full, as the jittery sensation thrumming through his body the past week is finally stilled. He’s so soft for it, the way Zoro knows his body, his heart, and steadies the tremors there. Sanji keens and lets his body sink back onto Zoro’s dick, content to be used and filled and taken care of.
“There?” Zoro’s hips start to move, exploratory, trying to find the exact spot that will ruin Sanji. “Or here..?”
“Higher.” Sanji moans into the crook of his arm. “No, to the left—there, ah, fuck!” Something burns bright deep in Sanji’s core. “Right th—”
Zoro doesn’t waste any time, shoving his hips forward into a brutal pace, perfectly aligned with the spot that’s already abused from the vibrator. Every thrust hits it dead on, and Sanji’s breath starts to come in shallow hiccups as his body tingles like skin too close to a lighter’s flame.
They’ve figured out the secret isn’t too complicated at all: Zoro just needs to keep hitting that tender spot on every thrust, so long as Sanji is loose and fucked out already.
“Good?” Zoro sounds wrecked.
“So fucking good,” Sanji doesn’t sob. He manages to get a hand around his erection and starts to jerk off at a frantic pace.
Zoro’s teeth click on the word: “Now?”
“Ah, shit—not yet.” Sanji knows he’s getting there. “Soon.”
What if they did this in a hotel, up against a window? What if they’d done this in the locker room showers after a game? What if they did it in Sanji’s old bedroom over the holidays, his awful family waiting to start dinner downstairs?
What if everyone knew how desperate Sanji Vinsmoke was for Roronoa Zoro to pull him apart in every way imaginable?
Sanji groans so loud he thinks might shatter the glass. “Zoro—now.”
“Fuck,” Zoro hisses.
Zoro keeps one hand punishingly tight on Sanji’s hip, the other hand snaking around under his balls. Then he starts to roll them in his calloused palm, fucking Sanji into the glass, muttering just above the sound of the spray to undo Sanji with, “C’mon sweetheart, you can do it, wanna feel you come on my dick—fuck you’re so fucking gorgeous, Sanji—”
Sanji dated a girl, briefly, who could squirt and he knows from experience the high Zoro gets off of making Sanji come so hard he can’t control it. But holy shit is it even better being the one actually losing control.
A stream of liquid shoots onto the glass and it doesn’t stop, Sanji’s shouts echoing off the shower walls. Sanji comes so hard he can feel it rush up his spine and nearly knock his teeth out. His whole body trembles and it’s only sheer stubbornness and calf strength that keeps him standing as Zoro fucks him through it. His hole clenches and flutters with each spasm, Zoro letting go of Sanji’s balls to shoot a hand onto the glass to stay upright as he groans, “Shit, keep going baby, keep going,” and Sanji’s shaking with each burst of liquid, asshole clenching around Zoro’s dick in a way he can’t control.
Once he’d confided in Zoro that it felt like he was, maybe, possibly pissing when this happened but Zoro had given him a serious look, hands on Sanji’s cheeks and said, “Whatever it is, it’s fucking awesome.”
“Fuck, Sanji, fuck fuck fuck—” and Sanji feels Zoro come again, mixing with mess already inside him.
Sanji‘s brain starts to float away to some other space. The point of the world is fine, just Zoro against his back, teeth in Sanji’s shoulder as he pants heavy breath into his skin, the sound of the shower and their upstairs neighbor banging on her floor.
“You didn’t have to wake up with me, marimo; it’s your day off.”
“S’ok, Johnny and Yosaku are usually at the gym by now.” Zoro adjusts the duffle over his shoulder as the elevator doors slide open and they step into the lobby.
“Pretty impressive for two guys who slept in until 3 PM when we were in school.”
“I’m actually not sure they graduated.”
Humming in a very unsurprised way, Sanji holds open the front door for Zoro as they step out into the blue morning.
“D’you have time for a coffee? I can walk past the cafe with you.”
Sanji finds, for the first time in days, he doesn’t even need to think twice. “That actually sounds wonderful.”
“Yeah?”
He shifts the knife roll under his arm and stops on the sidewalk, pulling Zoro in by his windbreaker to slot their mouths together in an unhurried kiss.
“Or we can go back inside,” Zoro suggests, breath warm, hand brushing against Sanji’s side.
“Don’t push it, marimo,” Sanji says before kissing him again, though he is sorely tempted.