Archive of Our Own

“You know, I’ve been watching you for a while now, annnd…” Wanze pauses for dramatic effect, “you only fight with kicks, huh?! If you can’t kick, you’re useless!”

Sanji pants, sweat dripping from his brow as the ramen-suited madman prances around chanting, “Go, go, go! Useless, useless! No matter what you do, you’ll get buried in my suit!”

He looks around the room and sees the solution to his problem just as his opponent yells, “Go on, try to counter this–Ramen Kung Fu: Multi-Noodle Spank!”

Car Number Four fills with cackling laughter and the sound of wet noodles slapping.

SKASH!

Sanji lands in a crouch, his head bowed, two kitchen knives extending from his body like swords. As he stands up, he transfers the knives into one hand and grabs a serving platter off the counter.

“Your 1.4 millimeter pasta is served,” he states calmly, in his best Customer Service Voice, as the noodles land and coil onto his platter with a fwwwip.

The CP-7 agent’s eyes pop impossibly further out of his face. “Huh?! Acrobatics?!”

Flup! Noodles fall to the floor and he exclaims, “Agh! My Ramen Fist is falling to pieces!”

Sanji places the platter of noodles on the counter with a thunk.

He adjusts his stance, feeling the weight of the knives more carefully now that he’s not immediately cutting with them.

“In battle, it is my policy not to use either hands or cooking knives, both of which are sacred to cooks. However, since this is a kitchen, and I’m up against your ‘ingredients,’ then things are different…”

“THOUSAND NOODLE WHIP!”

Sanji backflips out of the way, careful to keep the blades away from his body.

The noodles slam into everything in the narrow train car, except Sanji, who, once again, lands neatly on his feet.

He tosses the knives into the air like a circus juggler, expertly catching the handles without issue as Wanze screams, “How cheeky! An amateur who can’t even cook shouldn’t be allowed to have kitchen knives! They’re not like the knives a common thug would use, you know!”

Sanji scoffs, twirling the knives around parallel to each other and the floor. “Oh, I’m sorry I was so cheeky. Let’s call this an apology.” He squares up, holding the knives like swords once more. “Why don’t I show you the techniques a first-class cook uses to handle a kitchen knife!”

With quick slashes, he cuts apart the arm-like appendages of the noodle man, directing platters beneath them to catch the noodles as they fall.

“What am I, an onion?!” Wanze shrieks when he realizes his noodle arms have been destroyed. “Darn you! You’re just a cheeky little criminal! But my Ramen Fists are gone!”

“What happened to all that Ramen Kung Fu fighting spirit you had a while ago? Just admit I beat you and let me through.”

“Admit that?! Me, admit that?! I’m the ace of CP-7, Wanze! Unfortunately, I know how important this mission is! Your companion–that Nico Robin woman–has been wanted by the government for years! You think I would just hand her over to you like that, you fool?!” He shifts his weight to kick with his noodle feet. “Ramen Kung Fu: Noodle Nail Knockout!”

Sanji spins his knives and charges forward as the giant noodles fly at him. In his calmest voice, he says between slashes, “With onions, first, you cut off the roots and the stems, taking care not to bruise the flesh.”

His slashes bring him right up into Wanze’s face, causing the man to scream, “Waugh! Stop! Stay away from me!”

“Each cut should expose a clear, lustrous surface.”

Wanze panics, shooting noodles from his nose, “Ramen Beaaaaaam!”

“Épluchage!” Sanji cries as he slices vertically through the ramen body. “If even the mere peeling of the onion is performed without love, the dish will be ruined.”

“GYAAA! I… I… I’ve been cut!” Wanze shrieks. Then he pauses, patting down his body. “I wasn’t cut?!”

With a clink, Sanji returns the knives to the knife block, their work complete. He turns to his opponent and says with a smirk, “Kitchen knives aren’t swords. They’re not for cutting people. However, now that you’ve lost your armor, you should assess the situation, and–”

“KNIFE THROW!” Wanze shouts, throwing four kitchen knives at Sanji’s face.

“Augh! Why you…” Sanji yells as he bends backward to dodge the blades and shifts his weight to bring up his foot in a kick aimed at Wanze’s face. “Kick L’Oeil!”

“My eyes will sink in!”

“Let ‘em.”

🔪🔪🔪

Zoro jerks awake from the nap he took after fighting that weird zombie-looking Marine swordsman and looks down at his lap. It can’t possibly be morning, so why do I have morning wood? Unfortunately, there’s no privacy in this train car and he really can’t be going into battle with a boner, especially not when there’s a child present. He stands up and heads to the back of the train car.

“Zoro! What the fuck are you doing?!” Nami shouts as he opens the back door.

“Nothing! Leave me alone!”

He glares down at his crotch. What the fuck is happening? Somehow, some way, this is that idiot cook’s fault.

He angrily slashes at the storm with Sandai Kitetsu, though he is careful to aim away from the ropes lashing the Franky Family’s giant king bulls to the Sea Train and away from the tracks weaving through the water.

When he sees the cook again, he’s gonna have to do… something… he’ll figure out what that means when he gets there.

That idiot better not get himself killed.

🔪🔪🔪

They return to Water 7 victorious. Luffy was calling for a feast the moment they touched land, both to celebrate the return of Robin and to honor the sacrifice of the Going Merry. Luckily, Sanji and Nami were able to convince him to wait a day or two so Sanji could actually have time to shop and cook. This worked out well, since they were all exhausted, Luffy more than anyone. After twelve hours of sleep, however, Zoro is wide awake, as are the rest of the Straw Hats, minus Luffy.

Zoro stumbles into the common area of the apartment Iceburg had set up for them, directed by the aroma of coffee and bacon.

“After that, Franky, Sniper King, and I entered the fourth train car, which happened to be the kitchen,” Sanji says as he places a cup of black coffee and a bowl of rice with two raw eggs on top in front of Zoro without a glance. Zoro hums in appreciation as he pops the yolks and stirs everything together. “In the kitchen was a lunatic on roller skates who dared to call himself a cook as he chewed flour and extruded ramen noodles out of his nose. It was truly one of the most disgusting things I’ve ever seen.”

“Eurgh! Sanji!” Nami cringes. “Did you kick his ass? That sounds like an enormous waste of food.”

“How sweet of you to care, Nami-swan! Of course I kicked his ass! Our beloved Robin’s fate was on the line!” Sanji’s simpering heart-eyes fall into a grimace. “Unfortunately, he armored himself in a suit made out of his nose noodles, so my kicks kept getting stuck.”

“Ha. Sucks to suck, shit-cook,” Zoro sleepily chuckles as he stuffs eggy rice in his mouth.

Sanji’s glare is hot enough that Zoro feels like his chopsticks might ignite.

“Anyway,” Sanji continues, “since I was in a kitchen and he was using ‘ingredients’ to fight me, I decided to improvise by making an exception to one of my rules and fought him with a pair of kitchen knives.” He pauses to dramatically spin the knife he had been using to chop vegetables and poses like he’s parrying a strike. He chuckles and resumes chopping with a cocky grin. “Bastard didn’t know what hit him.”

Sanji continues regaling the table with the story of his fight on the Sea Train, but Zoro can’t hear him over the buzzing in his ears. His imagination runs wild.

He eats his breakfast in a daze. He isn’t too proud to admit that the shit-cook is a good-looking guy. That was the first thing he’d noticed about him back at the Baratie when he was holding that pink-haired marine up by the throat, after all.

The image of Sanji holding that kitchen knife in a perfect parry morphs into a two-handed stance and then starts twirling the knives before working through a series of slashes and other sword-fighting moves. He can feel his blood rushing south the longer he thinks about this but he can’t bring himself to care about the fact that he is still sitting at the breakfast table.

The vision of Sanji in his mind has unbuttoned more buttons than the real Sanji ever does and drags his tongue along the flat of one of his knives.

“Oi, marimo, you done eating?” Sanji asks. Zoro blinks. His bowl and mug are empty, as is the common room of the apartment, save for him and Sanji.

Zoro nods slowly, now painfully aware of where he is and what is happening.

“Great, bring me your dishes and get out of my hair,” Sanji gestures expectantly.

Zoro swallows a lump in his throat and tries to subtly tuck his erection under the waistband of his sweats and his haramaki.

Sanji raises an eyebrow but doesn’t comment on the movement or the delay beyond an insistent tapping of his foot and an impatient waving of his hand.

Zoro deposits his dishes in the sink, avoiding eye contact with the cook, and shuffles out of the room quickly.

The place Iceburg is loaning them is one of the nicest places Zoro has ever stayed. They all have their own private bedrooms with attached bathrooms. Zoro hurries to lock himself into his, thanking his lucky stars that the hallways didn’t move on him, before stripping and jumping into the shower.

His cock is throbbing as he stands under the stream and soaps up his hands. He hisses as he takes himself in hand. He’s more pent up than he thought.

As he moves his hand along his shaft, he tries to remember when he last had a chance to do this. It’s been go-go-go since Usopp and Luffy’s fight a few days ago. And he got that random boner after his nap on Rocketman. Now that he thinks about it, that could have been around the same time Sanji was fighting through the cars of the Puffing Tom.

I knew that was his fault somehow…

He quickens his strokes, thinking about the long lines of the cook’s body kicking enemies across the battlefield.

The image shifts to his earlier vision of the cook squared up with his knives like swords, shirt unbuttoned even further as his tongue ran up the flat of the blade, his blue eyes lidded seductively.

Zoro tries to imagine what it would feel like to have that clever tongue on him. He’d only in the last couple months even been entertaining these types of thoughts and hadn’t really had much opportunity to gain experience. And, normally, he is fine with that. But with this revelatory image of Sanji not only fighting, a known quantity of attractiveness, but with blades, Zoro is losing his composure and wishing he knew more about what to do with these feelings of arousal.

He slows his pace, not wanting to finish yet. He thinks again of Sanji’s hands, the elegant fingers curling around the handles of the knives. Of those fingers curling around the shaft of his cock. He tries to imagine how Sanji’s longer, thinner fingers would feel on the sensitive skin.

He trails his other hand past his cock and cups at his balls, gently massaging them. That seems like something the cook would do.

He gasps when his finger brushes his taint. He had only recently discovered how sensitive that area is, especially when he is aroused. Sanji would probably laugh at his inexperience, but something tells him that it wouldn’t actually bother the cook. He doubts that the cook has that much more experience than him with sex.

It’s not enough. The pressure on his cock and his taint is good but he feels like he’s dancing on the edge of something better. He feels like there’s something inside him that wants attention, and he can’t tell if it’s an actual physical need or just in his mind. What would the cook do to help with that?

Then he remembers. He’s only done it a couple of times but he was able to do something once that made him cum faster than ever before. He soaps up his hands some more and then carefully reaches behind himself to find his entrance.

A finger slips over the puckered area and he bites his lip, holding back another gasp. It doesn’t feel good enough to warrant a gasp but the sensation is foreign enough to be surprising. Gingerly, he pushes past the rim, feeling his smooth walls and trying to relax around the intrusion. He wiggles his finger around in time with the stroking of his cock, humming as he feels himself loosen up.

He adds a second finger and tries reaching farther in with each thrust. He knows there’s a spot inside him that will feel good, if he can just reach it. The cook’s fingers would reach it easily. He knows this and it just spurs him to pick up the pace.

He refocuses on the vision of Sanji holding up his knives in a fighting stance, though this time he tries to imagine him holding his chin up by the tip of the blade, while he continues to work himself open. Fuck… he can just imagine the smug, sneering grin on the bastard’s face. Would Sanji call me a slut for being so willing to debase myself like this? He moans as the thought sends a pleasant shock to his gut, where embers of arousal have been growing, but refusing to fully ignite.

He adjusts his hand and, with a hiss, forces a third finger in before he’s probably truly ready for it. The burn of the stretch feels good though, like the burn in his muscles when he lifts a new personal best weight. His hips twitch as he fucks into his fist and it’s enough to guide his fingers to that sweet spot.

With a gasp, he suddenly tumbles over the edge into orgasm as cum shoots against the wall of the shower. His forehead thunks onto the tile and he tries to keep himself upright and balanced as he shakes through waves of pleasure.

When his breathing steadies, he carefully removes his fingers from inside him, shivering slightly at the feeling of being empty.

There. That should have taken care of all that. No more thoughts of the damn cook today.

🔪🔪🔪

Zoro redresses and heads back to the common area to clean his swords. The meditative repetition should be good to keep his mind clear. He also needs to figure out a plan for replacing Yubashiri.

He enters the room and inhales sharply at the sight of the cook deboning a water-water bird. The sharp, precise movements remind him of what he imagines the cook looked like fighting on the Sea Train.

He’s hard again.

Goddammit.

“Whaddya want, marimo?” Sanji asks without looking up from his task. “I’m a little busy.”

Zoro shuffles awkwardly over to the counter and sits at a barstool.

The only sound is the cracking of cartilage and the thunk of the knife as it hits the chopping board.

Zoro aches. It’s as if he hadn’t literally just jacked off less than twenty minutes ago.

All he can do is stare as Sanji’s deft fingers separate the meat and bone, the knife slicing through the flesh with ease.

A whimper escapes from his throat before he can think to stop it. His skin heats and his face flushes tomato red.

Sanji looks up, blue eyes wide in shock. “Did you… say something, mosshead?”

Zoro shakes his head, not trusting his voice, left hand gripping tightly on his thigh.

Sanji raises a curly eyebrow, but shrugs and returns to his work, pulling a second bird over to restart the deboning process.

Pull yourself together, Zoro. You’ve watched him cook a hundred times, stop making it weird. Just because he’s suddenly gotten hotter to you, doesn’t mean you can’t have a normal conversation with him.

Zoro clears his throat slightly, in an attempt to clear his head. Sanji flicks his eyes over to him, but when Zoro makes no indication of needing anything, he goes back to unwittingly torturing his crewmate.

“Sooooo… knives…” Zoro begins, trying to find the words for all the things he wants to say.

Sanji looks at him, the slightest grin dancing across his lips around his cigarette. “Yeah? What about ‘em?”

Shit… where was I going with that?!

“You… um… use ‘em good.”

The fuck are you saying, Roronoa?! Of course he fucking uses them good, he’s the fucking cook!

Sanji snorts with laughter. “Uh, yeah, I guess so? Thanks?”

“I mean, uh, sounds like you can even use ‘em good for not-cooking. That’s cool.”

Smooth recovery. Nailed it.

“What are you talking about?”

“From your story earlier, at breakfast. When you fought the ramen guy on the Sea Train.” A horrible thought crosses Zoro’s mind. “Unless you were just making that up to impress the witches?”

“One, don’t call them that. Two, no, I was not making that up, I really did fight that guy with knives. Three, it was gross and I didn’t particularly enjoy the experience.”

Zoro processes Sanji’s last statement. “Why not?” he blurts. “‘Cuz you don’t fight with your hands?”

Sanji raises an eyebrow. “Why do you care?”

Zoro tries to look nonchalant. “I don’t care, shit-cook, I’m just… curious…”

“Mhmm,” Sanji says, a far-too-knowledgeable smirk on his face. “Well, since you’re ‘curious,’ yes, it’s because I don’t fight with my hands. But, since my kicks were getting stuck in the fucker’s noodles, I had limited options and even less time. I’m sure Zeff would forgive me for bending his rules since a lady’s freedom was on the line.”

Zoro nods, he understands the struggle of balancing your principles with battle conditions. “You probably looked cool as fuck fighting though.” He blushes, realizing he had just complimented the shitty cook. “I mean, as cool as you’re capable of looking with those stupid eyebrows. Which isn’t cool at all.”

Sanji laughs brightly. “Whatever helps you sleep at night, shithead.”

The cook returns to butchering the water-water birds, but Zoro’s not done with him yet.

“Would you ever… fight with them again?”

“Only if I got stuck in another kitchen where I was fighting a guy who, like… turned into mochi or something.”

“Damn. Not even with me?”

“Sword-fighting doesn’t particularly agree with me, so, no,” Sanji says with a dark chuckle.

Zoro tries not to let his disappointment show on his face. Then a thought strikes him. “Wait, you said that like you actually know how to use swords. What the hell?!”

A panicked look flies across Sanji’s face, but it’s so brief Zoro can’t be sure that’s what he saw.

“I mean… I know it doesn’t agree with me because I don’t fight with my hands and I’m constantly fighting you!”

“Too bad. That could have been fun.”

The cook laughs again. “Why? Do you want me to cut you that badly?”

Zoro gulps, his mouth suddenly dry. He hadn’t thought of that, but now it’s the only thing he can think about.

Sanji’s hands running over his skin… cool fingers tracing patterns into overheated flesh… relief when colder blades slice deep enough to bleed, but not deep enough to damage…

He whimpers involuntarily again.

He has never been harder in his life.

“Mosshead?”

“Could you?” he asks quietly.

“Could I what?”

“Cut me.”

Sanji’s eyebrows jump to his hairline. After a moment’s consideration, he wipes his hands, cleans off his knife, and walks around the counter to look appraisingly at Zoro.

He shifts uncomfortably, doing everything in his power to resist adjusting himself in his sweats as the cook looks him up and down.

He feels like a piece of meat.

He hates it.

He loves it.

“So, is that what this is about?” Sanji whispers from behind Zoro, trailing a finger through his earrings, making them tinkle softly. “The idea of my knives turns you on?”

Zoro’s tongue feels huge in his mouth. He nods.

“Use your words, moss-for-brains.”

“Y-yes…”

“Good.” He blows gently on Zoro’s ear, sending a shiver down his spine.

“Now, what is it about my knives?” Sanji taps a finger on a bone in Zoro’s neck. “The length of the blade?” He taps another one, moving upward. “The idea of being penetrated by them?” A third tap. “That they’re mine?” The fourth tap is right at the base of his skull.

His brain is feeling fuzzy.

“Answer me, Zoro.”

Something is telling Zoro that there’s a right answer here and that he really wants to give Sanji the right answer. He just… doesn’t know what the answer is.

“All of it… I think…”

“You think?”

Sanji’s voice sounds dangerous in a way that Zoro has never really heard before.

“I know.”

“Good boy.”

Zoro whimpers for the third time since he’d come into this room.

“I need to finish up in here. Give me half an hour and I’ll meet you in your room.”

🔪🔪🔪

It feels like Zoro has been on edge for hours as he tries to relax on his bed. Surely, it’s been half an hour, right? Is the cook just fucking with him? He probably looked like an idiot in the kitchen, blurting out nonsense about wanting Sanji to cut him… something about Sanji’s voice though… it made his brain feel like it was leaking out of his ears.

Just as he is about to give up on the cook and try to train away the weird storm of emotions gathering in his chest, the door opens. A cloud of cigarette smoke announces Sanji’s presence before he even steps into the room. He doesn’t even look at Zoro to confirm he’s there.

“Strip, mosshead,” he says as he closes the door with his hip. He has a towel under one arm and is checking the contents of the small bag he’s carrying.

He approaches the bed, setting the bag on the nightstand, and toes off his shoes. Only then does he look at Zoro.

“Well?” he asks, hands on his hips. “Do you still want to do this?”

His shoulders are tense, even though his posture appears nonchalant.

Zoro looks at the long fingers bracketing the narrow hips of the man in front of him. He wants those fingers on him, in him, everywhere.

He absolutely still wants to do this.

He lifts his hips and shoves his sweats and haramaki down his legs, working them off with his feet as he lifts his Galley-La t-shirt over his head one-handed. His half-hard cock twitches with the exposure to air.

Sanji sniffs for some reason. Gesturing with the towel, he says, “Very good, but get off the bed for a second. I want to put a towel down since we’re gonna be playing with knives and I don’t want to ruin Iceburg’s sheets.”

Zoro stands up, willing his cock not to react yet to the idea of Sanji using knives on him.

Sanji spreads out the towel over the bed and adjusts the pillows, then guides Zoro to lay down. He then starts emptying his bag and arranging things on the nightstand. He places a small ashtray, lighter, and a pack of cigarettes on one side, next to a box of what Zoro thinks might be condoms. Next to that, he places a bottle of something, maybe lube? He also puts another small box that might be a first aid kit on the table. And finally, he lays down his leather knife roll.

Zoro inhales sharply as Sanji unties the leather cord and carefully unrolls his knives. Zoro has seen his knife roll, of course, he’d even say he was familiar with its contents, having spent time in the kitchen of the Merry, pretending to nap. But there was a new addition to the roll, a chef’s knife that didn’t match the others.

“When did you get that one?” Zoro points at the new knife.

Sanji hums and looks at where Zoro is pointing. “Ah, well, I’m not going to use my cooking knives for this type of thing. Every knife has a purpose, and, if this goes well, this particular knife will have a special purpose of its own.”

A shiver goes through Zoro’s body at the thought of any of Sanji’s knives, even this new interloper, parting his skin, marking him as the cook’s. And wasn’t that something? The idea of being marked? Belonging to someone?

He drags a hand up the length of the scar bisecting his torso. The scar that marks him as a worthy opponent of Mihawk’s but also reminds him of his vow to his captain that same day.

Sanji’s long fingers intertwine with his, tracing along the scar. Zoro hisses at the cool touch and feels his cock jump. Sanji smiles and ashes his cigarette in the ashtray, leaving it there, like a stick of incense.

“Before we get started, do you have a safeword?” At Zoro’s perplexed expression, he huffs and leans away, removing his hand from Zoro’s. “A safeword, mosshead. You know, a word that you wouldn’t normally say during sex, so that I can know if I need to stop doing something.”

“I’ll just say ‘stop,’” Zoro shrugs.

Sanji scoffs. “No, that’s not good enough. Pick something different. Lots of people use food words.”

“Fine. I dunno. How about ‘onigiri?’”

“That’ll do. And if you don’t want to fully stop but need me to pause, how about… ‘rice?’”

“Sure, whatever.”

“Hey, man, I’m doing this for you. I want to make sure you’re having a good time.” Sanji taps his chin thoughtfully. “You know what? If you don’t think you can actually say your safewords, tap my thigh twice for ‘pause’ and three times for ‘stop.’”

Zoro resists the urge to roll his eyes at Sanji’s rules. He doesn’t want to piss the cook off and cause him to leave, not when they’re so close to giving Zoro what he wants.

“Okay, now repeat back to me what we just established.”

“If I need you to stop, I’ll tap your thigh three times or say ‘onigiri’ and if I need you to pause, I’ll tap your thigh twice or say ‘rice.’”

Sanji smiles and drags two fingers down Zoro’s scar. “Good boy.”

There it is. That voice again. Just two words and static starts washing over Zoro’s brain.

Sanji reaches over to the knife roll and pulls the new knife from its sheath. He holds it up to inspect the blade and feels the weight and balance in his hand.

Zoro is transfixed.

He has never seen anything more beautiful than the man in front of him, wearing a simple t-shirt and slacks, admiring a knife. A knife that he intends to use on Zoro.

Zoro whimpers. He feels his cock twitch and precum drip onto his stomach.

“Oh, you sweet thing,” Sanji coos. “I haven’t even done anything yet. You must really want this, huh?”

“Yes,” Zoro breathes, “so fucking do something already.”

Sanji shakes his head and tuts. “Now, now, is that really how you want to be talking to someone who is holding a knife over you, while you’re naked?” He lowers the flat of the blade to hover just over Zoro’s abs, still not making contact as he moves the knife closer and closer to Zoro’s groin. “I’m sure you know how to ask politely.”

Zoro’s brain is sparking with stimulation. It is so frustrating to want to obey Sanji, of all people, so badly, but he so desperately wants the cook to touch him, run the knife over his skin, cut him, take him apart, and put him back together again.

Pride be damned. He’s been suffering all morning because of this. Through gritted teeth, he bites out a single word: “Please.”

The smug fucking bastard just smiles. Zoro can feel his hand hovering next to his aching dick. “Now, c’mon, I know you can do better than that. ‘Please’ what?”

Zoro groans. “Please, touch me.”

“Was that so hard?” Sanji lets his hand and the knife drop the remaining centimeter to rest on Zoro’s torso.

It’s almost overwhelming, the sensation of the cold metal just lying across him.

Sanji lets the knife sit for just a moment before picking it up again and carefully dragging the point of the blade along the length of Zoro’s scar. Hard enough to feel, but not enough to cut. Goosebumps prickle along his arm.

A heavy silence blankets the room, the only sound the faint scraping of Sanji’s knife on Zoro’s skin as he slowly traces the contours of Zoro’s collarbone, his pecs, his abs, his arms.

It’s like he’s sizing Zoro up for butchering again.

Zoro’s mind is floating in a haze of nothingness that he’s never been able to achieve through meditation. All he can focus on is the drag of the blade across his skin. He doesn’t want to be surprised if Sanji finally cuts him. When Sanji finally cuts him. Because isn’t that the whole point of this?

“It’s amazing, seeing a brute like you like this,” Sanji whispers, almost reverently, tracing along Zoro’s shin. “Giving yourself over to someone, even just for a little bit? That takes incredible strength.” He holds the knife steady, the edge resting on Zoro’s ankle scar, as he leans over as far as his long, lithe body will let him. “Thank you for trusting me with this.” He presses a kiss to Zoro’s sternum.

Zoro feels like he’s coasting on a wave on a little raft, the only things keeping him grounded are Sanji's touch and the blade.

He wants to move, to touch, but something holds him back from indulging.

A whimper sneaks past his lips.

“Something wrong, mossy?”

Words are hard to form.

“Are you touch you?”

Sanji pauses and looks at him with confusion.

Zoro frowns and tries again, “Can I cut me?”

A grin spreads over Sanji’s face. “Are you asking to touch me or if I’m going to cut you?”

Zoro nods. Sanji laughs.

“Yes, you can touch me. As for cutting you… I’m still working that out, mon bijou.”

Zoro groans at what sounds like an endearment, at the further delay, but reaches out to carefully thread his fingers through Sanji’s hair. The strands are silky, softer than he could have imagined. Sanji’s eyelids flutter as he leans into the touch, momentarily distracted from his mission.

Zoro flexes his toes against Sanji’s thigh, which snaps Sanji from his daze. Sanji flushes red and a look of panic flies across his face as he moves the knife away.

Sanji takes a couple deep breaths and Zoro lets him deal with whatever freaked him out, but his eyes are on the knife the whole time. He wants to feel it on him again.

“Curly, please,” Zoro pleads, “touch me again. Cut me. Mark me.”

Sanji’s visible eye is all pupil, hardly any of his blue iris to be seen. He’s breathing hard, trying to regain control. A trickle of blood is beginning to drip from his nose.

Zoro can’t stand it any longer and brings his hand to his cock. The movement is enough to snap Sanji’s attention to him and he grabs Zoro’s hand with the one not holding the knife.

He smiles, a sharp edge to his grin. “Ah, ah, ah, no, no, sweetheart.” That voice is back. “You’ll cum when I decide you’re ready, got it? You want me to mark you, yes?” Zoro nods fervently. “Well, then that means you’re mine. And if you’re mine, then I’m in charge of making you feel good. And you wouldn’t want to take that pleasure from me, would you?”

Zoro shakes his head and lets his hand drop back to his side, letting his consciousness drift back into the fuzziness it’s been floating in, smiling softly at the idea of being marked as Sanji’s. If his mind wasn’t so fuzzy, maybe he’d examine that thought more closely, since this is such a new idea. But, for now, he is content to simply be.

Sanji is dragging the knife along the inside of Zoro’s leg now, carefully avoiding his groin and never pressing hard enough to break the skin. Zoro wishes Sanji would pay attention to his weeping, swollen cock as it twitches against his stomach. Unfortunately, Sanji is evil and content to torture him with gentle caresses of the blade.

A pitchy moan sneaks past Zoro’s lips as the knife travels across his hip bone.

Sanji’s sharp grin returns. “Oh, my sweet, sweet marimo. If I had known you could sound like that, I would have been trying to play with you since Loguetown.”

Zoro whines again at the thought. He’d thought the cook was hot the moment they met but didn’t start feeling these extra feelings until much more recently. How would things have been different if he’d recognized and acted on these desires sooner?

Sanji’s knife traces along the contours of Zoro’s torso and says, “Now, if you were a steer, and you’re certainly bullheaded enough to be one, there are many places we could cut to make a meal out of you. That said, I’m glad you’re not a steer, as I wouldn’t be able to play with these.” Sanji fondles his balls for emphasis, causing Zoro to moan.

Sanji smiles meanly as he resumes his mapping of Zoro’s muscles. He draws the knife along his obliques. “This would be the flank. I use that cut when I want to make things like stir fry because it’s lean and cooks fast.” He moves the back of the knife laterally across Zoro’s abs. “This would be the plate. Best used in braises because of the tough tendons and fattiness. Otherwise, it’s good for grinding up for burgers.” He drags the knife up to Zoro’s chest. “But this is my favorite cut: the brisket. Smoked, braised, roasted, or boiled, the long, slow cooking methods really make the resulting dish something special.”

The knife hovers over the meat of Zoro’s left pec, somewhere between his scar and his nipple. Sanji leans in, his bangs moving enough that Zoro can see both eyes for once. Before he fully registers the location of the knife on his body through the haze of Sanji’s words and the sensations of the knife’s progress along his skin, a sharp pleasure-pain sparkles from the spot on his chest and Zoro feels blood welling up.

He is dangling from the precipice of orgasm. A feather would be enough to tip him over. Sanji looks at him, far too knowingly, that dangerous grin spreading across his face. He lays the knife flat over the cut and presses down as his other hand barely traces up the vein on the underside of Zoro’s cock.

His vision whites out and he cums with a hoarse cry.

When his ears stop ringing, he can hear Sanji whispering and crooning sweet nothings as he kisses up and down his scar. “That was so good, Zoro. So, so good. You’re so good for me. All for me.”

The clarity of orgasm brings with it a rush of feelings. He is satiated but he wants more. He wants anything and everything Sanji can give him.

“Cook, please, fuck me. I need you.”

Sanji melts. He gets up and carefully returns the knife to the nightstand, wiping the blade with a clean cloth. Then he grabs the bottle of lube and a wrapped condom, placing them on the bed, next to Zoro’s legs.

Zoro looks at him with a sort of dazed wonderment. How did I get here? Is this really happening?

He’s brought back to reality with a hiss and a sting as Sanji carefully cleans and disinfects the cut on his chest.

“Sorry, moss, even if you want a scar, we don’t want this getting infected so close to your heart.”

Zoro hums in agreement. He can always pick at the eventual scab to make sure it scars.

Sanji applies a bandage over the cleaned cut and places a kiss on top of that. Zoro grabs the hem of Sanji’s t-shirt and starts pulling upward, trying to get it off him. Sanji breaks into a shit-eating grin and pulls his t-shirt off over his head, tossing it away as Zoro runs his hands greedily up his sides. A shiver runs through Sanji at the gentle motion, his grin softening into something tender.

This was just supposed to be an outlet for unexpected horny feelings, but as they lean toward each other and their lips connect, Zoro can feel something shift inside him. These feelings are new. But are they? Have they just been building up to this since the Sea Train? Since the Davy Back Fight? Since Little Garden? Since The Baratie? He threads his hand through Sanji’s hair and pulls him in closer, bringing their lips together, not wanting to think, just wanting to feel.

Zoro never understood the appeal of kissing. It always looked awkward and… weird. But kissing Sanji is nothing like that. Yeah, their noses and teeth are bumping together a little, but Sanji kisses like he fights and Zoro can’t get enough. He nibbles on Sanji’s lower lip and feels heat pooling in his gut again at the moan Sanji makes. He understands now why Sanji reacted the way he did to his sounds earlier.

It’s Sanji who finally breaks the kiss, pupils blown wide against ocean blue irises, lips red and swollen as he smiles broadly.

“We really should have done this sooner,” Sanji says, his thumb stroking Zoro’s jaw gently.

Zoro doesn’t want to think about why they’ve ignored their, now obvious, mutual attraction until now. Instead he rolls his hips, trying to get Sanji to focus on the action, instead of thinking about what could have been.

“Impatient, are we?” Sanji chuckles as he settles between Zoro’s legs and pours some lube onto his hand. Sanji pauses and looks at Zoro thoughtfully. “Have you done this before?”

“What? Had sex? Yeah,” Zoro lies.

Sanji smiles and seems to believe him. Zoro’s not sure why he lied, it’s not like he’s embarrassed about being a virgin.

All thoughts about lies and reasons fly out of his head though at the slick feeling of Sanji’s finger brushing over his asshole. He gasps at the new sensation and Sanji looks apologetic.

“Sorry, should have given the lube more time to warm up, I guess,” Sanji murmurs. He circles his entrance gently, allowing Zoro time to adjust to the sensation.

“Hmmm… did you prep beforehand?” Sanji asks with a smirk as he pushes a finger in. “You feel a little puffy. Were you thinking about this?”

Sanji sounds insufferably smug. Zoro wants to snap back at him and deny it, but he’s too distracted by the repeating thought “Sanji’s finger is inside me” to form the words.

One finger quickly becomes two as Sanji verifies that Zoro is still sort of loose from when he fingered himself in the shower earlier.

“You’re taking my fingers so easily, you must have been thinking about something exciting earlier,” Sanji says as he scissors his fingers apart, stretching Zoro’s hole and stroking his insides. His fingers barely brush near a spot that sends a spark of pleasure throughout Zoro’s body, his eyes flashing wide open. Sanji’s smile turns devious as he continues to tease around the spot. “C’mon, mosshead, tell me what you were thinking about.”

Zoro bites his lip. Shame is not an emotion he’s used to, and he’s not sure if that’s what he’s feeling, but there’s something annoyingly vulnerable about it. He resists as long as he can before blurting out, “You. I was thinking about you.”

Sanji’s grin broadens. “Oh, what about me?”

Zoro groans and throws an arm over his eyes to hide his face. “Your fingers and how they’re so much longer than mine. I can barely reach that spot, but I guessed you probably could.”

“Mmm, yeah, I definitely can reach it,” Sanji purrs, pressing on the spot for emphasis. Zoro moans as pleasure zaps through him and Sanji pulls his arm away from his face, threading their fingers together. “Anything else you were thinking about me doing to you?”

The image flashes through Zoro’s mind once more. He stutters through the overwhelming pleasure, “Y-you were holding a kitchen knife to my throat while fingering me and calling me a slut.”

A shudder runs through him as he remembers.

Sanji’s eyes widen and he sniffs hard as a trickle of blood starts to drip from his nose. “W-would you want that?” Sanji stutters in surprise, letting go of Zoro’s hand to wipe his face. The shock in his eyes is fleeting, as he quickly plasters his confident grin back onto his face and drops back into that damn voice, “What am I saying? Of course you would, you slut. No wonder you always pick fights with me: you just want me to call you names and put you in your place.”

Holy fuck… is he right? Zoro thinks as he rolls his hips to chase Sanji’s fingers. Sanji laughs meanly and removes his fingers, eliciting a whine from Zoro. “Look at you, you’re a mess after just two fingers. Gonna need at least one more though.” He pushes the tips of three fingers past Zoro’s rim, the muscle stretching deliciously as Zoro gasps with pleasure. This feels so different than when he fingered himself in the shower, even though he’d gotten to three with his own thicker fingers earlier, he feels more full somehow.

Again, he rolls his hips to encourage Sanji to speed up and this time Sanji obliges, pumping his fingers in and out, twisting on the downstroke so he hits Zoro’s sweet spot each time. Even though it hasn’t been long since his last orgasm, Zoro can start to feel the next one building in his gut. Sanji’s gaze runs greedily over his skin as he continues working Zoro open.

“Oooh, marimo, you’re taking three fingers so well. Wanna try for four?”

Zoro moans affirmatively.

“Yeah? Maybe one day we can really push your limits and see how much of my hand you can take in.”

Is that even possible? Zoro thinks, groaning in pleasure at the idea of Sanji stretching him so far.

“Okay, marimo-slut, let’s add the last finger and then you’ll be ready for my dick,” Sanji said as his pinky joined the rest of his fingers thrusting in and out of Zoro’s ass.

Zoro groans more deeply. He thought three fingers was good, but four? Four is heaven. He reaches for his cock, but Sanji stops him.

“Ngh, shit-cook, please, I’m gonna cum.”

Sanji bats his hand away from his leaking cock and grabs the base, squeezing just shy of painfully to stop him from cumming. “Nuh uh, marimo-slut, you’ve already cum at least once and I have been on edge since the kitchen. You don’t get to cum again until I’m inside you.”

It takes all of Zoro’s self-control to pull himself back from the edge, but he manages to do it. He focuses on breathing and starts to drift back to that meditative space he’d found earlier while Sanji stretches him open. For as much as he wants the violence of the knives and Sanji calling him names, he finds that he is really enjoying the care Sanji is putting into prepping him, even if Sanji thinks Zoro’s more sexually experienced than he actually is.

With a final twist, Sanji pulls his fingers out once again and Zoro can feel his hole twitching as it seeks anything to fill it back up. A whimper falls from his lips unbidden and Sanji smirks as he opens the condom wrapper and rolls it down over his shaft.

Sanji hefts Zoro’s right leg up over his left shoulder, chuckling as Zoro groans at the stretch. He really ought to work on his flexibility, especially if this is going to be a regular activity.

“Alright, marimo-slut, I think you’re ready.”

Blunt pressure, thicker than anything previously, pushes past his rim. Zoro’s mouth drops open in a silent gasp as Sanji carefully enters him with shallow thrusts. It doesn’t hurt but it feels different than either of their fingers did. As Zoro adjusts around the girth, his focus drifts to the length of Sanji’s dick. He didn’t think Sanji’s dick looked that long, maybe longer than his, but not overly so. However, the damn thing feels endless as it slowly brushes over that sensitive spot, deeper and deeper inside him.

Zoro tries so hard to hold back the noises his throat is desperately trying to make. He knows he’s long past saving his dignity at this point but he has to try.

“Ahhhhh,” Sanji moans, more desperately than any noise Zoro has ever made, “shit, marimo, you feel so good. I thought I prepped you enough, but fuck how are you still so tight? Tighter than any pussy I’ve ever fucked. Holy shit.”

Zoro doesn’t know what he’s supposed to say. It’s not like he knows what it’s supposed to feel like. Besides, he can barely form a coherent thought around the onslaught of pleasure as Sanji splits him apart and gropes at his chest. He feels Sanji’s hairy thighs flush against his ass and groans at the feeling of being so full. He bites his lip as Sanji pulls almost all the way out before snapping back in.

“Fuck, marimo, I dunno how long I’m gonna last. We’re gonna have to do this more often. Would you like that? Wanna be my slut?”

A shiver of pleasure runs through Zoro at that. Apparently, he does want to be Sanji’s slut. “Fuck, yeah, cook. I’ll be your slut if it’s like this every time.”

“Yeah?” Sanji’s eyes look almost soft, even as they burn with lust. He slams into Zoro’s hole and leans forward to take his mouth in a messy kiss. Zoro closes his eyes and moans into the kiss. Barely a moment later, Zoro’s eyes pop open at the feeling of cold steel against his throat.

“You wanted this too, right?” Sanji sounds confident but there’s a glint of insecurity in his eyes as he looks for confirmation.

Zoro swallows, relishing the feeling of his Adam's apple bobbing against the blade. “Yeah.”

Sanji smirks, confidence fully returned, “That’s what I thought. And you call me the kinky one. Overcompensating much?”

“You’re still a pervert,” Zoro grumbles, but there’s no venom in the barb when it fades into a moan with the slide of Sanji’s dick moving inside him.

“Be that as it may, clearly it doesn’t bother you as much as you want everyone to think.”

He doesn’t care anymore. The feeling of Sanji’s dick splitting him apart as Sanji pounds into him, combined with the danger of the knife against his throat has him slipping down… down… down… back into the hazy cloud of pleasure.

He fades in and out of being able to hear Sanji as he babbles praise, his focus drifting between the words and the onslaught of pleasure building… building… building in his gut.

The coiling pressure and heat is becoming too much to bear.

“Cook… Sanji… please, I’m gonna cum,” Zoro pleads. He hates how much he’s been begging but the way Sanji’s eyes light up each time almost makes up for it.

As before, Sanji’s eyes spark with heat. He groans and begins pistoning his hips even faster and harder than before, the steady rhythm he’d been maintaining becoming erratic, but the knife never wavers. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, marimo, say my name again.”

“Sanji, Sanji, Sanji,” Zoro chants like a mantra with each thrust.

“Touch your cock, Zoro, cum for me.”

And who is Zoro to disobey such a command? Even for Sanji, his rival, he’ll do what he’s told, especially when it’s what he wants anyway. He barely wraps his hand around his cock before he feels himself toppling over the precipice from which he’s been balancing. He grunts as the force of his orgasm knocks the air from his lungs and a hot rope of cum shoots out at his face.

Sanji groans, blood trickling from his nose.

“Fuck, I hope that didn’t get in your cut, but holy fuck, that’s so fucking hot,” Sanji babbles as he slams into Zoro, once, twice, three more times. He stills and Zoro can feel his dick pulsing hard in contrast to his heartbeat. He removes the knife from Zoro’s throat and sets it aside. “I can’t believe this is happening. Fuck, you’re so fucking hot like this.”

Sanji’s dick twitches and Zoro moves his hips experimentally. He groans at the sensation of near-overstimulation. He feels something wet and his eyes fly open, locking onto Sanji’s, which are wide with concern. A spike of anxiety jumps through the waves of pleasure still coursing through his veins. A condom means I shouldn’t feel his cum, right? So, am I bleeding? Did I shit on his dick?

A blush starts creeping up both their faces as their breathing regulates. Zoro doesn’t want to be the first one to speak. Sanji presses a kiss to Zoro’s knee before gently lowering it to the bed and rubs gentle circles into his hips.

“I’m gonna pull out now.”

Zoro hums as the pressure in his ass changes, Sanji’s softening dick slowly brushing over that tender spot inside one last time. He feels strangely empty without the cook’s cock inside him but he’s quickly distracted by the wetness he feels dripping from him and the weird sound Sanji’s making.

“Oh my god,” Sanji wheezes.

“What? What happened? Am I bleeding or something?”

“Oh, no, no, everything is fine.” Zoro realizes the weird sound is Sanji trying not to laugh. “I’ve just never had this happen before. Hell, I’ve never even heard of this happening.”

“What?”

Sanji takes a calming breath and runs a hand through his sweat-damp hair, a crazed smile on his lips. “I have no fucking clue how, but the fucking brand-new condom broke.”

Zoro stares. “Well, at least I can’t get pregnant? You’re clean right?”

“Yeah, I’m clean. You?” Zoro nods. “We probably should have established that earlier but whatever.”

Sanji scoots out of Zoro’s legs and eases the condom off, trying not to drip cum on the floor, snickering the whole time as he looks in disbelief at the blown-off end. He then reaches over to the nightstand to grab a washcloth. Gently, so gently, he wipes cum and lube off of Zoro’s ass and chest.

Zoro stares in awe at the soft expression on the cook’s face as he cleans him off. There’s a tenderness there that he’s never seen before–at least, not directed at him. It’s making his heart flutter in a way he’s never felt before.

Seemingly satisfied, Sanji puts the dirty washcloth into the shopping bag with the remains of the destroyed condom and grabs his boxers off the floor. He pulls them on and lights a fresh cigarette and settles next to Zoro on the bed.

“Want one?” he offers Zoro a cigarette.

“Nah,” Zoro declines.

They sit in comfortable silence, enjoying the peace after the insanity of the past few days. Zoro feels himself getting sleepy as Sanji mindlessly cards his fingers through Zoro’s hair.

“We’re gonna do this again sometime, right? Like you said earlier?” Zoro asks drowsily, a small smile on his face. The fingers on his scalp pause.

“Would you like that? That wasn’t just dirty talk for you either?”

“You know I don’t say things I don’t mean.”

Sanji resumes stroking Zoro’s hair, a smile on his face. “You don’t, do you?” He presses a kiss to the crown of Zoro’s head. “I’d be happy to do something like this again. Maybe next time, I could tie you up or something.”

Zoro’s exhausted cock twitches valiantly at the idea. “Sounds like a plan.”

Sanji chuckles and drops a kiss on Zoro’s forehead. “I’ll keep that in mind. Now, you look wiped out. Why don’t you take a nap and I’ll whip up a snack for when you wake up?”

Zoro hums and snuggles down on the pillows, wrapping his arms around Sanji’s skinny waist. “Sounds good, cook.”

They sit like that for a little while longer while Sanji finishes his cigarette. Zoro feels himself drifting into sleep when Sanji carefully extracts himself from his arms, gathers his knives, and bends down to brush a final soft kiss to his brow. He whispers, “I’ll take care of you, mossy.”

Zoro smiles and snuggles further into the pillows. As he slips off into a peaceful slumber, he thinks, You always do.