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"Mm." Zoro burrowed his face into Sanji's neck from behind, pulling the cook's body back against his. "You smell good."
"And you smell like a sweaty barbarian," Sanji retorted with absolutely no heat in his voice, leaning back into Zoro's hold and tilting his head to allow his mate better access. Zoro had always been scent-driven, right from the start, and he'd only ever gotten more so — when they'd started sleeping together, when he'd bonded Sanji, and now with the little mishap with the heat contraceptives and the inevitable aftereffects thereof. As Sanji's scent richened and deepened with pregnancy, the swordsman seemed to have grown practically addicted to him.
Sure, some of it was probably simple biology, alpha instinct pulling him close to his mate. Sanji was already feeling the effects — his center of balance wasn't quite right, his body didn't want to bend quite so nimbly as it used to, and he had occasional surges of dizziness that left him fighting to conceal a wobble in his steps. It was only going to get worse the further along he got, and instinct far older than civilization drove Zoro to be there, to defend his mate.
But there was more than that, too. If it was only instinct, Zoro would overcome it. He wouldn't let something so stupid as a little biological imperative tell him Sanji wasn't a strong, capable badass.
No, it was love. Stoic and unromantic as the big green brute was, he'd never given Sanji cause to doubt the genuine depth of his affection, and something about pregnancy unlocked new levels of it, loosened the tight rein of Zoro's reserve and let him show that love more freely.
Sanji wasn't complaining. Much, anyway. He bitched about the pregnancy, about being so unsteady and ungraceful, about how much worse it was going to get as the little life within him got bigger and more demanding. But he didn't complain about Zoro's affection. That, he intended to take shameless advantage of.
Zoro's hands slid around Sanji's body, one broad palm cupping protectively around the faint swell of his belly. Early stages yet — just enough that he'd had to pick up some looser clothing at their last island stop. If he stood just right, you couldn't even see it yet. But Zoro knew every inch of him.
"You're not doing anything important," the swordsman rumbled in Sanji's ear. "You could let one of the others take over dish duty."
"I could," Sanji agreed. "But this is my job, Marimo."
"I thought the rule was cooks don't have to clean up." A little nibble to his ear punctuated the words. "Make Usopp do it. Come with me."
It was tempting. Sanji wasn't going to have another heat for a long time, but that didn't mean his interest in his partner was gone. And Zoro…
Well, Zoro was making his position very clear with the way he was pressed against Sanji's backside. Such a randy alpha…
"Well, I suppose. Since my other duty is taking good care of our first mate…" Sanji chuckled low in his throat and pressed back into that perking bulge. "Meet me down in the cycle room? No one should be using it right now…"
Now that was motivation. With a final firm kiss to the back of his neck, Zoro hurried off; Sanji took a moment longer, rubbing his face until some of the inevitable flush subsided. Stupid tan mosshead didn't show a blush as badly as he did…
But. He had chores to hand out and a needy mate to take care of.
Not much later, he was down on the cycle room bed, letting Zoro undress him piece by piece and luxuriating under his mate's attentive hands. Today, Zoro seemed to be in a reverent, rather than a feral, mood — other times, he might pull at Sanji's clothing to the point of popping buttons or tearing seams, but for now, he handled each piece with reverence, stripping off each element of the outfit with the same attentive care he turned on his swords. The tie, the jacket Sanji couldn't quite button comfortably anymore, belt that was a few notches looser than before, the new shirt that gently flared outward instead of tapering at his waist, every stitch of clothing left his body in a slow progression of caressing touches and an exploring mouth. By the time he was nude, Sanji was squirming and whining softly in the back of his throat, feeling almost as needy as though he were in heat.
Zoro worked his way back up Sanji's body from where he'd divested him of socks and sock garters (with his teeth!), kissing and licking and dropping soft little nips as he went.
At Sanji's chest, he caught a nipple between his lips and sucked briefly — and Sanji felt a whole new sort of stir, a soft pull inside his chest that had never been there before. And Zoro made a soft sound of startlement, then looked up at Sanji with a grin that was caught somewhere between lascivious and purely delighted.
"Cook," he said, and sounded much the way he had when Sanji had made the decision to keep his pregnancy, goofy and joyful, "you're dripping."
"I'm-" Sanji's cheeks flamed hot, and he covered his face with his hands. "Already?" Sure, he'd known that sooner or later this would start happening, but he'd expected it to be much later! Like, when he was the size of the Sunny and the little one was almost ready to be born, that kind of later. Not when he was barely showing.
"Looks like it." And Zoro's lips closed around Sanji's nipple again. This time, the suck was long and slow and toe-curlingly good. There was no stopping the moan that slid out between Sanji's lips, nor the way his hips jerked up under Zoro's careful weight.
"Nngh — that's the baby's food, jerkass," he grumbled as soon as he felt coherent enough to be sure he wouldn't trip over his own tongue. "Leave off." He paired the words with a light, ineffective shove at his mate's head.
"Baby ain't here yet to eat it." Zoro laughed against Sanji's chest and nuzzled between his pecs — still lean for the moment, only just a little puffy with the changes of pregnancy. That would change, he was sure, along with so many other changes. "Besides. If you actually wanted me to stop, you'd kick my ass in, not… whatever the hell that is you're doing."
"Assho-ohhh." The insult broke off into a breathy groan as Zoro's mouth closed on the other nipple and repeated his performance. For a long moment, Zoro stayed there, the only sounds in the room the soft sounds of dedicated suckling and swallowing, and of Sanji's hard breathing.
Finally, "You like it," Zoro murmured, letting the swollen little nub free. The swordsman laughed breathlessly against Sanji's skin and looked up at him, eye dark with pleasure and a little hint of beaded white liquid at the corner of his mouth. "You're a worse liar than Usopp, telling me to stop."
Sanji only huffed in feigned indignation; he paired the scoff with a hand running through Zoro's hair in a blatant caress. "You're still a pervert," he grumbled.
"You're one to talk," Zoro immediately shot back — and then grinned as though he'd just had the best (worst) idea. "Why don't I show you, huh?"
Before Sanji could ask what exactly Zoro meant by that, the green head dipped down again and Zoro's mouth sealed down for another long, hungry pull — but this time, Sanji didn't hear him swallow. A long moment later — a moment in which Sanji proceeded to lose just a little bit more of his composure and self-control, falling victim to that hungry, wonderful mouth — Zoro raised his head again, lips sealed shut and eye glittering with amusement.
He leaned up to kiss Sanji, coaxing the cook's mouth carefully open — and shared a mouthful of warm, sweet liquid with him, letting the milk roll onto Sanji's tongue and following it with his own. For a moment, Sanji almost choked, hands scrabbling against Zoro's shoulders in silent protest, until he coordinated himself enough to swallow around Zoro's invading tongue and the hungry press of his lips.
Only after that did Zoro draw back, smirking, and licked away leaked spills of milk from around Sanji's mouth.
"I told you," he purred. "It's good."
It took Sanji a long moment to catch his breath and coordinate both his thoughts and his mouth. Shit, fuck, what right did the stupid swordsman have to make feeding him his own damn milk so fucking hot? "I thought," he said, trying not to sound as breathy and thoroughly aroused as he was, "you didn't like sweet things."
"You're an exception."
And there he was, back to flushing and flustering again. Damn it, how did the fucking brute get to him like this? He flailed for words for a moment, then growled. "You brought me down here to fuck me," he said, raising his hips impatiently beneath Zoro and grinding his narrow omega cock against his mate's abs. "Get on with it, why don't you?" That was easy. That was normal. That wasn't him falling to pieces over getting called sweet.
"Bossy." Zoro laughed, but shifted over Sanji obediently, guiding himself to the cook's slick-smeared folds and starting a slow, deliberate press in. There really was nothing better than this, the two of them moving together, Zoro's heavy cock spreading Sanji open and filling him like he needed to be filled.
(And like he didn't need to be filled, too, but that was Sanji's own fault with the contraceptives, and the whole crew was rising to the responsibility as a united front.)
It was easy to move with Zoro, always easy; he was gentler with Sanji now, just little, and Sanji didn't entirely mind. It felt good to be treated like something precious. Sanji wrapped his arms around Zoro's shoulders, dragged his hands over that muscled, unscarred back, arched and moved with his mate in a wonderful pleasure that only ever got better and better with time.
He bit his lip to stifle his cries when Zoro knotted him, his body locking around the thick intrusion and shattering him into a thousand shards of sparkling pleasure. Nothing was as good as this — as good as the two of them together, bonded and mated and dedicated to each other.
Tied together, Zoro settled carefully on Sanji — didn't just slump down with his whole weight, not anymore, but supported himself carefully on his elbows, resting just enough on Sanji to be satisfying, to make him feel secure and safe and loved in the aftermath.
And bent his head to mouth at a nipple again.
"Glutton!" Sanji laughed as he smacked lightly at Zoro's head — his laugh going breathy as even that slight vibration trembled down to where they were tied together, aftershocks of pleasure dancing along the edge of overstimulation. "Are you going to do this every time, marimo?"
Zoro looked up at him with a grin of absolutely zero regret. "Maybe."
"Hmph." A pause, and Sanji conceded. "... You'd better."
"Ha. Knew you liked it."
"Shut up and drink your milk, mossy."