Chapter Text
The night was stifling.
Zoro hated these tropical zones where even the sea breeze brought no relief. The air clung to skin, heavy with humidity, and the deck of the Thousand Sunny seemed to absorb all the heat accumulated during the day only to slowly release it into the darkness.
He hated even more having to share his watch shift with the cook.
"You could at least pretend to watch the horizon, you shitty marimo," Sanji called from the other end of the deck, a cigarette between his lips. "Instead of dozing off standing up like an idiot."
"I'm watching," Zoro grunted without opening his eyes. Leaning against the mast, arms crossed, he indeed appeared to be on the verge of falling asleep. "Just because I've got my eyes closed doesn't mean I'm not paying attention. Unlike you who spends all your time staring at your damn cigarettes."
"My *damn* cigarettes are worth more than your face."
Zoro cracked one eye open, a mocking smile at the corner of his lips. "Touché. You're particularly charming tonight, cook."
Sanji took a long drag without responding. The truth was, he was just as on edge as the swordsman. This heat, this forced proximity, these endless hours walking in circles on the deck with nothing else to do but avoid each other or provoke each other... It was starting to get on his nerves.
And then there was this tension. The one that had nothing to do with their usual rivalry. The one that had settled in over the past few weeks, insidious, and that neither wanted to name.
"I'm gonna check out the crow's nest," Zoro muttered, suddenly straightening up.
"Good idea. The less I see your mug, the better off I am."
Sanji watched him climb the ladder with more attention than he should have. The way the muscles of his back rolled beneath the open kimono, the line of sweat running down his neck... He shook his head and crushed his cigarette with more violence than necessary.
*Fucking heat.*
---
Ten minutes later, Sanji was about to light another when a strange sound reached him from the crow's nest. A breath. Short, slightly ragged.
He frowned. "Marimo? You dying up there or what?"
No response.
Intrigued despite himself – and vaguely worried, even though he'd commit seppuku before admitting it – Sanji climbed up as well. His head emerged at platform level.
And he froze.
Zoro was there, leaning against the railing, one hand pressed against the wood, the other... the other disappearing into his unfastened pants. His head was thrown back, eyes closed, jaw clenched. His chest rose rapidly beneath the open kimono.
"What the hell..." Sanji began.
Zoro's eyes snapped open. For a split second, something passed between them – surprise, embarrassment, defiance. Then the swordsman wore a crooked smile, absolutely unrepentant.
"What? I needed to relax. It's your fault too, pissing me off all evening."
"MY fault?" Sanji finished climbing up, blood pounding at his temples. "You're jerking off during a watch shift and it's MY fault?"
"I didn't hear Nami sound the alarm. Everything's fine." Zoro didn't remove his hand. On the contrary, he held the cook's gaze with tranquil arrogance. "Unless it bothers you? You can go back down if your shocked virgin modesty is offended."
Sanji's cheeks flared – with anger, he told himself. Only anger. "Shocked virgin? Are you fucking kidding me?"
"Prove it."
The silence that followed was charged with electricity. Sanji should have gone back down. Should have thrown out a well-aimed insult and let this idiot finish alone. Instead, he heard his own voice say:
"You really are just an animal, marimo. Can't even hold back for a few hours."
"At least I own it." Zoro's gaze became more intense. "Not like some people who pretend to be saints."
Something broke in Sanji's chest. A dam that had been holding back weeks of frustration, unresolved tension, nights when he'd touched himself while thinking about things he refused to examine too closely.
"I've got more control than you, anyway."
"Oh yeah?" Zoro tilted his head, his smile widening. "Prove it."
"With pleasure."
Sanji leaned against the opposite railing, just far enough that their legs wouldn't touch. Without taking his eyes off Zoro, he slowly undid his belt. The click of the buckle echoed in the nocturnal silence.
"Let's see who lasts longer, you shitty marimo."
Zoro's laugh was low, hoarse. "You're really stupid, cook."
"Good thing you are too."
---
At first, it was almost innocent. Well, as innocent as two men masturbating face to face could be. Each focused on himself, ostensibly ignoring the other, this ridiculous competition serving as a pretext for something neither would have dared initiate otherwise.
But the innocence didn't last.
Sanji couldn't help but look. The way Zoro's hand moved, slow and confident. The way his abs contracted with each movement. The small sounds he let escape despite himself – short sighs, almost frustrated, as if he refused to give pleasure total control.
And Zoro was watching too. His eyes followed Sanji's wrist, the curve of his elegant fingers, the way he bit his lower lip to stifle a moan.
"You're... really... pathetic," Sanji panted, but his voice lacked conviction.
"Shut up."
Zoro's hand accelerated slightly. Sanji noticed – of course he noticed – and adjusted his own rhythm accordingly. It was like their training fights, this constant ebb and flow, this mutual reading of each other's movements.
Except this was infinitely more dangerous.
"You're going... too fast," Sanji breathed. "You're gonna lose."
"I've got... stamina." Zoro's smile was strained. "Unlike you who... who probably get hard for any woman who walks by."
"Jealous?"
"Shut up."
But Sanji had hit a nerve, he could see it. Zoro was clenching his teeth, his movements becoming more jerky, less controlled. The cook smiled, victorious, and deliberately slowed the pace of his own hand.
"That's it... let yourself go, marimo. I've already won any—"
"You talk too much."
And suddenly, Zoro moved.
In two strides, he crossed the space separating them. Sanji didn't have time to react before the swordsman was there, very close, his hot breath against his ear.
"What are you—"
"Shut. Your. Mouth."
Zoro's hand didn't touch him. But his presence, his scent – sweat and steel and something darker – overwhelmed all of Sanji's senses. He could feel the heat emanating from the swordsman's body, see up close every detail of his scar-marked torso.
"This is cheating," Sanji protested weakly.
"Everything's fair."
Zoro didn't back away. On the contrary, he pressed his forehead against the cook's temple, their breaths mingling in the thick night air. His hand resumed its movements, and Sanji could *hear* every slide of skin, every stifled sigh.
It was too much. Far too much.
"Shit," Sanji moaned despite himself, his own hand accelerating, his entire body taut as a violin string. "Zoro—"
"What?" The name sounded different in the swordsman's mouth. Hoarser. Almost tender. "You gonna lose, cook?"
"Never."
But it was a lie and they both knew it. The proximity, the heat, this tension that had been simmering for weeks and was finally exploding – it was insurmountable. Sanji felt his control slipping away, every nerve in his body on fire.
"Look at me."
Zoro's order was soft but inflexible. Sanji turned his head, and their eyes met. The intensity in the swordsman's eyes took his breath away – raw desire, yes, but also something deeper. Something that looked dangerously like reverence.
"Together," Zoro murmured, and it was no longer a competition.
Their hands accelerated in concert, their breaths intertwining, their bodies so close they could feel each other's trembling. Sanji closed his eyes, overwhelmed, and when Zoro growled his name – *his name*, not an insult, not a mocking nickname – he tipped over.
Pleasure hit him like a wave, violent and liberating, tearing a cry from him that he muffled against Zoro's shoulder. A second later, the swordsman followed with a deep groan, his body tensing against his.
---
The silence that followed was strangely peaceful.
They remained like that for a long moment, trying to catch their breath, to reassemble the pieces of their reality. Then Zoro stepped back, readjusting his pants with studied nonchalance.
"Draw," he said finally.
Sanji let out an incredulous laugh. "Are you serious? You came first, marimo."
"Not even true."
"Yes it is, I felt it."
"See? You were watching me. That means you were distracted. I won."
"That's bullshit!"
And just like that, they were back on familiar ground. Except something had changed. In the way Zoro looked at him while lighting a cigarette confiscated from Sanji. In the way their fingers brushed when the cook took it back.
"We never talk about this," Sanji said, but without conviction.
Zoro had that crooked smile, the one that never boded well. "Whatever you say, cook."
A pause. Then:
"Same time tomorrow?"
Sanji should refuse. Should put the boundaries back in their place, preserve this fragile dynamic they'd built over the years. Instead, he blew his smoke in the swordsman's direction and smiled.
"Count on it, you shitty marimo."
And when Zoro descended from the crow's nest, Sanji stayed there a long moment, watching the stars and wondering what exactly he'd just gotten himself into.
He had the feeling this October was going to be long.
Very long.
---
End - Day 1