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I.
Theoretically, a swordsman should be able to fight with any blade that’s put in his hands. It’s all about how skilled he is, his ability to adapt to the weapon and bring out its potential.
In practice, that’s bullshit. Yes, you have to be able to use any weapon, but not every weapon is good for every fight. If Zoro’s going to beat Mihawk, he needs swords that can resist Yoru’s might. He needs the sort of sword that gets cataloged and talked about, the sort that someone pays good money for before leaving it to rot as a decorative piece. Something well-made and battle-tested.
He finds what he’s looking for in Sandai Kitetsu and Yubashiri.
The latter is a good sword. Reliable, loyal, familiar as soon as he put his hand on her hilt. She feels a bit like Wado—she knows her place in the world and gives herself over to her master’s destiny.
Kitetsu, on the other hand, is out for blood. The Marine girl said that she was cursed, that she would bring Zoro a horrible death, just as she had done for all her previous masters. Looking back, Zoro’s decision to test his luck against her curse had been stupid: she was never going to do anything to keep him from buying her. If she’d cut his arm when he dared her to, she’d have been left in the barrel where he’d found her until the end of time. Now that Zoro has her, she’s free to slash, cut and stab. She’s free to quench her thirst with the blood of Zoro’s enemies.
That’s fine by him, except for when she shifts just slightly in his grip, pulling or pushing in an attempt to inflict more harm.
Forget it, Zoro thinks each time. You can drink as much as you want, but you don’t get to be cruel.
Begrudgingly, Kitetsu submits. Zoro lives to fight another day, and later he sits down and meditates, finds himself and the control he needs to ensure he’s never overpowered by one of his swords.
II.
Sparring with the Cook is a dance as much as it is a fight. Depending on how angry and vicious they feel, it’ll lean more into one or the other. There’s rarely a defined winner, because they tend to get interrupted.
This isn’t one of those times, though. The Cook is on his back on the floor and Zoro has Kitetsu pointing at his heart.
“Dead,” Zoro says, smirking. Kitetsu hums at the word.
The Cook presses his lips into a line and glares at Zoro.
“Get this away before you damage my jacket,” he says, pushing at Kitetsu’s blade with a fingertip.
It happens so quickly that Zoro almost doesn’t react fast enough. The moment skin touches metal, Kitetsu pulls forward, eager to bury herself in the Cook’s chest. Zoro tightens his grip on her in time, so her pressing against the Cook seems more like an asshole move than a loss of control on Zoro’s part.
The jacket doesn’t survive unscathed, but the shirt does. More importantly, so do the Cook’s vital organs.
“Hey! What are you doing, Shitty Swordsman?” There’s outrage in the Cook’s voice, but no fear. Good. That’s what Zoro wanted. Nobody can know what almost happened.
“You care about stupid things,” Zoro says, sheathing his swords. Kitetsu first.
The Cook spits out some insults and gets to his feet. Zoro refuses his demands for a rematch.
He spends hours sitting on the deck with Kitetsu lying across his thighs. His hands rest on her sheath.
She begs to be drawn when the smell of cigarette smoke reaches Zoro. A moment later, he hears the Cook’s steps.
“You skipped dinner, Moss-head.” As if on cue, Zoro gets to smell something else: meat, carrots, oil, some herbs. A stew of some sort. Something fitting for a cold night.
Zoro keeps his eyes closed.
“Leave it on the floor.”
“You have to eat it while it’s hot,” the Cook says. Zoro hears the plate being put down on the deck, and Kitetsu sings for the Cook’s blood.
The Cook starts walking again, but in the direction of the railing. Zoro opens his eyes and tightens his fingers around Kitetsu’s sheath.
Kitetsu sings about pain, sorrow, and loneliness. The Cook is leaning against the railing, his profile to Zoro, a cigarette between his lips, and Zoro sees what Kitetsu’s talking about.
It only lasts a second: the Cook turns his head to Zoro, catches him looking and hides away those emotions that Kitetsu wants to worsen.
“Are you going to eat?” he asks, smirking. The wind tousles his hair, forcing him to keep pushing his ridiculous fringe away from the eye it’s not supposed to be covering. There’s something heavy on his shoulders, and Kitetsu begs to be part of his burden.
Zoro picks up the plate and eats. The stew is warm and filling, and even Kitetsu can’t fight the siren call of comfort and protection.
III.
Every moment Zoro is conscious, he hears Kitetsu singing for the Cook. He pays attention to what she’s asking for, because willful ignorance can only bring problems in the long run. He doesn’t know what to think of the way she speaks of him. She calls him broken, unnatural and impossible, a worthy prey. She calls him beautiful and tainted. She calls him sweet and terrible. There’s downright yearning in her voice, and it’s worse the closer the Cook comes.
Kitetsu’s song flows through Zoro’s veins and thrums through his body—an unbearable power pushing him towards the Cook, who is nothing but smiles. Mocking or condescending smiles if he’s talking to Zoro, but smiles nonetheless. There’s a glint in his eye that makes Zoro stare at him for longer than he should, and a deliberate precision to his movements in the kitchen that makes Zoro wonder what he could do if he put Kitetsu in his hands.
The shiver that goes down his spine at the idea has nothing to do with Kitetsu.
IV.
No matter how well-behaved, a weapon is a weapon and, just like Zoro, it wants to take down challenging enemies. He should have known that Kitetsu singing the Cook’s praises would eventually get to the others.
It’s Yubashiri who succumbs first.
After a few weeks of this, Zoro has gotten used to paying extra attention to Kitetsu when he spars with the Cook. It’s done wonders for his focus, so all in all it’s been a positive thing. He’s not expecting Yubashiri to pull him forward and try to cut the Cook, and it’s only the Cook’s reflexes that save him from getting a scar on his pretty face. He drops his cigarette in the process.
Beautiful, Yubashiri sings.
Mine, Kitetsu hisses.
Wado stays silent as the others fight over who will get to taste the Cook’s blood first. It’s only a matter of time until she asks for it as well, if only to remind Kitetsu and Yubashiri that she has been here longer.
Zoro takes a step back and sheathes his swords.
The Cook gives him a bemused look that Zoro decides to ignore. He’s not one for talking, and even if he was, there’s no easy way to explain to a man that your swords dream of cutting him up.
V.
The Cook goes for a swim. When he comes out of the water, there are droplets running down his chest.
Yubashiri wants to cut along the path they leave behind. Zoro wants to lick them off the Cook’s skin.
Ours, Yubashiri whispers. Zoro closes his eyes and goes back to sleep on the Merry’s deck.
VI.
There’s a meteor shower. The Cook tilts back his head to marvel at the spectacle, exposing the column of his neck.
Kitetsu wants to cut it open and watch him bleed out. Zoro wants to feel the Cook’s pulse against his lips while Zoro’s hands get him off.
Ours, Kitetsu laughs. Zoro turns his eyes to the sky and forbids himself from looking back down at the Cook.
VII.
The Cook washes the dishes, Zoro dries them. Sometimes, their fingers brush.
If Wado wants something, she doesn't say. Zoro wants to take those fingers into his mouth and suck on them.
Wado stays silent. Zoro makes sure not to touch the Cook again.
VIII.
On a sunny afternoon, the Cook comes to Zoro, sits down cross-legged in front of him and says, “You’ve been avoiding me,” gesturing at Zoro with the hand that's holding his cigarette.
Zoro, who had been busy cleaning Kitetsu, carefully puts her away and settles his hands on his knees. He focuses on the scent of smoke.
“Why do you think that?”
Just a drop, Yubashiri pleads.
Mine, Kitetsu growls.
Wado doesn't say a word.
The Cook raises his eyebrow and gives him a chastising look.
Yeah, Zoro hasn’t been subtle about it.
The cigarette returns to the Cook's mouth and Zoro forces himself not to look.
“You don’t have to talk to me,” the Cook continues, unaware of what his proximity’s doing to Zoro, Kitetsu and Yubashiri, “but stopping the sparring can’t be doing you any good. You’ll get rusty with no one to fight.”
“I’ll be fine.”
Without warning, the Cook shifts, raises a leg, and aims a kick for Zoro’s head.
Zoro’s instincts have him grabbing Kitetsu and blocking the blow, and her delighted cry at the Cook’s proximity and the promise of violence has Zoro gritting his teeth.
The Cook freezes.
He lowers his leg and stares at Kitetsu.
“I heard her,” he says, oddly toneless, his voice barely above a whisper. Maybe he didn’t even realize he’d said that out loud.
Theoretically, nobody but Zoro should be able to tell what it is that his swords want. He’s the one that handles them, the one that adapted his body and fighting style to their whims, the one that hears them sing, moan and beg in battle.
In practice… This is the Grand Line. Anything is possible here.
The Cook’s eyes meet Zoro’s, wide and nervous.
“I can hear her.”
Beautiful.
Terrible.
Sweet.
Tainted.
Mine, mine, mine.
Zoro puts Kitetsu back in her scabbard. The Cook keeps his eyes on her.
“What the fuck, Moss-head?”
“She wants your blood,” Zoro says, matter-of-factly. “Yubashiri too.” Might as well inform him of both things.
The Cook’s whole body tenses up and he meets Zoro’s eyes again.
This time, there is fear there. Just a hint of it, gone in a second, but Kitetsu and Yubashiri sense it and sing in joy.
“Why?”
Zoro shrugs, shaking his head. “Kitetsu says you’re unnatural, something she’s never tasted before. Yubashiri’s following her lead.”
The Cook swallows. “Is there anything I should know about Kitetsu?”
“She’s cursed.” There’s no reason to tell him about Zoro’s potential horrible death because of her.
“What the fuck,” the Cook says again. He buries a hand in his hair and pulls. “We’re crewmates. I’m supposed to be safe here.”
“You are,” Zoro grits out. “Don’t you dare imply that I’ll let them hurt you.”
The Cook stares for a moment with wide, nervous eyes, and gets to his feet.
Sanji, Sanji, Sanji, cry Kitetsu and Yubashiri as the Cook walks away, never turning back.
Zoro watches him go.
Wado sighs.
IX.
Luffy’s attention is dangerous. The fact that most of the time it's directed towards food could be used as an argument in favor of the existence of God.
Since Zoro doesn't believe in God, Luffy’s focus has turned to him.
“Your swords are loud,” he says, sitting on the railing, swinging his legs.
Zoro doesn't pause the forms he's practicing.
“You get used to it.”
There's no point in questioning how Luffy can hear them. It's Luffy, the guy can probably hear the sun itself.
“They sound sad,” Luffy says, both matter-of-factly and full of empathy.
That does give Zoro pause. He wouldn't describe Yubashiri and Kitetsu’s craving for the Cook’s blood as sad.
Luffy doesn't seem to notice his puzzlement. He adds, “They sound like when Sanji tells me I can’t have dinner yet.”
Yeah, that makes more sense.
“They're acting spoiled.” Zoro resumes his movements. “There are some things they can't have.”
Luffy stills. It's distracting not to have him moving in the periphery of Zoro’s vision.
“Why not?”
“They're not for them.”
“How do you know? Did you ask?”
Zoro freezes. He thinks of his swords tracing the lines of Sanji’s silhouette. Of letting them graze his skin without breaking it. He imagines Sanji trusting him enough to allow that, and then enough to let Zoro draw blood.
“There's no need to,” Zoro says, angling his body away from Luffy, so that he won't see his body's reaction to the images in his mind.
Ours, says Yubashiri.
Ours, says Kitetsu.
Wado hums.
X.
It's always the fucking Marines. Fuck those guys, Zoro is done with them.
Fine, they can spare Luffy’s friend. What was it? Koby? He’s okay, because Luffy likes him. All the others, though? Fuck them.
Pirates at least tend to have the good sense to be ruthless and then to run away when outmatched. Marines, on the other hand? When they think themselves righteous you can never get rid of them.
Luckily, Luffy exists. Between him and Zoro, they can take care of most problems. Throw in the Cook, and the Straw Hats aren't a crew to be messed with.
Unfortunately, they're not immune to the weather. Rain is falling mercilessly, turning the deck into a slippery trap. They had to tie a rope to Luffy's waist and then to the mast before they let him loose against the Marines, because there's no rescuing him if he falls overboard.
Zoro only has Wado out, half to make this fight an actual challenge and half because Kitetsu and Yubashiri are grounded until further notice.
The Cook runs around, kicking Marines off the Merry and guarding Zoro’s back, even though they haven't really talked since that day on the deck. Because the Cook is always eager to brag about saving Zoro.
The wet floor is one problem. The Merry being pushed every which way by the stormy sea is another. Even when you manage to find your footing, an unpredictable wave can make you fall.
He doesn't see the Cook slip. He doesn't see a Marine lunge forward, sword raised, ready to take his chance to bring down a pirate. He doesn't see the danger, but when Wado pulls him to the side, he follows her lead.
His reflexes are fast. He's raising Wado to block the incoming attack before he's even processed what he's doing. When he sees that this no-name Marine was trying to kill the Cook, he deliberately pushes back and stabs.
Sanji’s on the floor, looking up at him, at Wado, at the storm framing Zoro. Raindrops are rolling down the side of his face. There's no blood.
Mine, Wado growls, and Sanji shivers.
The moment ends when another Marine decides to try his luck.
XI.
“What was that?” the Cook asks later, smoking while Zoro checks Wado. They've all already looked over the entirety of the Merry for damage and stowaways, and the only thing that's left to do is to take care of themselves.
Wado's singing in a low voice, inviting and knowing.
Please, she says. It's not a demand or a desperate plea, only a request. Please.
Zoro keeps his mouth shut. Nami's on watch on the crow's nest. Usopp and Luffy have gone to sleep. The Cook had gone to the galley and Luffy had told Zoro to stay with him, because it was what his swords wanted. Zoro won't think about that.
“I know you heard me, Zoro,” the Cook says. “And I know you weren't looking at me while we were fighting. How did you save me?”
Zoro sheathes Wado and takes a seat in front of the Cook.
“Wado,” he says simply.
The Cook nods. His eyes fix on Wado. He studies her the same way he does a new knife, or the ingredients he has available. Tools for a job that he has to know well before he can start.
“You have to explain the blood thing,” he finally says.
Zoro purses his lips and tries to find a way to do that.
“You have knives, right?”
The Cook looks up at him and raises his eyebrows, unimpressed. Zoro ignores that and continues, “What do your knives want?”
“To be put to work.”
Zoro nods. “Swords hunger for bloodshed.”
“Hunger, huh?”
The Cook puts out his cigarette and lights a new one before returning his gaze to Wado. Zoro waits.
“Then why did she save me?”
Zoro thinks of the first time he saw Sanji, back at the Baratie. How Wado had hummed in appreciation as Zoro studied their waiter.
Ours, she’d said with the finality of a death sentence, and Zoro had pretended not to hear her.
“Is it the same for you, to be served a dish instead of preparing it?”
The Cook concedes the point with a tilt of his head. He holds his cigarette between his lips while he loosens his tie until he can take it off.
“I'd be a poor cook if I let any member of this crew go hungry,” he says as he undoes the top four buttons of his shirt with practiced ease.
Zoro inhales sharply. Sanji looks at him and smirks.
“She saved my life. Just this once, I'll give her what she wants.”
He pulls his shirt away until his chest and shoulder are partly exposed. Kitetsu and Yubashiri growl.
Thank you, whispers Wado.
Zoro’s gaze caresses the line of Sanji's neck down to his torso, and stops to dance on the dip over his collarbone.
“Come on, Zoro,” Sanji says, his voice low to fit the moment. “Give Wado what she wants.”
“Don't you wanna do it yourself?”
“You'd let me handle her?”
Yes.
Please.
Zoro doesn't know which thought is Wado's and which one is his.
It's not the moment for that. He stands up and draws Wado out again.
Sanji takes a drag of his cigarette, leans back in his seat, and exposes some more of his skin.
“Don't kill me, Moss-head,” he says lightly.
He’s practically lounging, legs spread and eyes inviting, mischief in the curve of his mouth. This isn’t a man facing a deadly weapon.
“I told you I won't let them hurt you,” Zoro says, half because it’s what he’s supposed to say, half because he needs Sanji to believe him.
Sanji snorts. Zoro earned that, what with how Wado's tip is now resting on his chest.
“Yeah, you did.” Sanji closes his eyes and tilts his head back.
Zoro swallows and raises Wado to Sanji's neck. He thinks he can feel Sanji's pulse thrumming against her blade.
Sanji takes a drag of his cigarette. His other hand lets go of his shirt so he can rest a fingertip on Wado.
She goes silent under Sanji's touch. Zoro can feel her emotions, the peace that settles over her at Sanji's acceptance of her nature.
Yours, she whispers after a moment.
In response, Sanji presses her lightly against his skin. Enough to break it. Enough to draw blood.
Thank you.
Zoro pulls Wado away. Sanji brings his fingers to the thin red line at the side of his neck and opens his eyes.
“Bring out the others.”
Zoro sets Wado on the table. He takes out Yubashiri and holds her in front of Sanji, who drags a bloody finger over her. Zoro tightens his hold on the hilt in case she tries anything, but she's the same as Wado: the moment Sanji touches her, she calms down.
Zoro puts Yubashiri down. He only partially unsheathes Kitetsu, who is screaming in rage over having been left for last and Wado stealing her prey. She's crying and begging for her share of Sanji’s blood, almost shaking in Zoro’s hands as he offers her to Sanji.
“She called me ‘tainted’, didn't she?” Sanji asks, his face lowered just so that Zoro can't read his expression.
Beautiful, sweet, perfect, Kitetsu calls. Unnatural, monster, broken.
“That’s the most compliments I’ve ever gotten from a lady,” Sanji says, some humor sneaking into his tone.
He rests the pad of his finger on Kitetsu’s edge. She's still as sharp as the day Zoro got her, when she buried herself halfway into the floor, and Sanji hisses at the new wound. He proceeds to draw his finger over the flat part of the blade, slow and careful. A lover's touch.
“Tainted blood for a cursed sword,” he says.
Made for me, Kitetsu sings. I'll kill you one day.
Zoro sets her down, leaving Sanji’s finger hovering in the air. He looks up at Zoro and narrows his eyes questioningly.
“I won't let her,” Zoro vows.
I'll kill him and then you, Kitetsu promises.
Kitetsu’s curse: a horrible death for her master. But if Kitetsu kills Sanji, dying after that can only be a blessing.
Sanji's gaze softens and he reaches his bloody hand towards Zoro, who leans towards him without thinking. The moment Sanji's fingers touch his cheek, the world goes silent.
He can't hear Kitetsu, Yubashiri and Wado anymore, he can't hear the waves, he can't even hear his own breathing. He smells copper and salt and he closes his eyes, leaning into Sanji's touch.
“You're the same as your swords, aren't you?” Sanji says oh so tenderly.
The sound Zoro makes is a bit of a whimper. He's been pretending for so long that he doesn't want the same things they do, that he doesn't want to sink his teeth into Sanji, to bury himself in him and make him scream.
A sword is a weapon is a tool and Zoro has chosen Sanji as victim and master.
Sanji’s fingers are warm and sticky on Zoro’s face and they feel like a brand.
“Come here, you idiot.” It's affectionate.
Zoro opens his eyes and walks around the table to sit next to Sanji, who wastes no time in cupping his cheek again. He brushes Zoro's lips with the pad of his thumb and Zoro licks it, tasting salt.
“Come here,” Sanji repeats, angling his body towards Zoro and pulling him towards his neck.
Zoro breathes in: copper, sweat, tobacco. He inhales deeply, in case the smell of cologne still lingers this late at night. He doesn’t want to miss anything.
Sanji’s hand settles at the nape of Zoro’s neck. His thumb rubs circles on Zoro’s skin.
Slowly, Zoro parts his lips to press an open-mouthed kiss to the line he cut on Sanji.
Sanji’s hand twitches and Zoro smiles. He lets the tip of his tongue caress the wound, and the taste of Sanji’s life floods his senses for a moment.
If this is tainted blood, Zoro doesn’t want to know purity. He was called a demon in the East Blue, and this is the destruction he craves.
He sucks on the skin to make the wound bleed again, and he drinks in the hitch of Sanji’s breath, the moan he tries to swallow, the way he says Zoro’s name.
Zoro licks every drop until the cut stops bleeding, and then kisses Sanji’s neck again. He trails his lips up Sanji’s neck to his ear.
“Thank you,” he says.
Thank you, his swords—even Kitetsu—echo.
When he pulls back, Sanji’s eyes are closed. His cigarette has burned down to almost nothing in his hand, and the ashes have fallen on the table. Zoro takes it from him and extinguishes it.
It's Zoro's turn to cup Sanji’s face.
Mine.
“Hey,” he says when Sanji looks at him.
He doesn’t get to say anything else: Sanji surges forward and kisses him.
XII.
The cut heals faster than expected.
Tainted blood, Sanji thinks.
He can hear Kitetsu calling for him from the other side of the ship.