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The cook flirts.
He flutters from woman to woman, refilling drinks and snacks as if it's the very reason for his breath. He pays compliments, kisses hands, and makes smooth promises. He’ll strut, and charm, and show off and Zoro watches.
Zoro sits and watches his husband throw himself at every pretty thing that approaches his cook station. Another island liberated, another party, and the pirate king demands another feast. And so Sanji cooks, treats the civilians to a perfectly crafted buffet using local ingredients and working side by side with the newly freed castle workers.
He looks so pretty like this, Zoro thinks as he drinks deep of the special booze the cook had handed off to him. Made with the local fruit and fermented to a tangy, sour burn. A pretty brunette comes forward, younger than them and full of a bubbly intoxication. She grabs Sanji's wrist, giggling as she pulls him from the makeshift kitchen.
The cook protests, but she's far too sweet, too tempting and Luffy's currently occupied with an entire roast boar so what's the harm? And then he's got that lovely smile as she pulls him to the dance floor, the drums and string instruments lively as Brook leads the players in a song that invites bouncing movements. She leads him into a twirling dance, his laughter loud over the music as he stumbles and quickly regains his balance.
It doesn't take long for him to learn the moves and take the lead, his hand on her back while his right hand holds hers firmly. Zoro drinks, eyes never leaving his husband as he turns. Their eyes catch over her shoulder and his smile is so unguarded, so special and perfect— Zoro’s face heats at the intensity.
The song comes to an end and they bow slightly at each other, thankful for the dance. Sanji takes her hand, kisses it politely like the gentleman he is. The lady has other plans, she slips closer and plants a soft kiss on the cook’s cheek.
Sanji turns red, stutters all over himself as he bows again, near twirling off to his station. Zoro watches him compose himself, shakes his head out and huffs. And then he's back to it, prepping the grill and setting up a new batch of skewers. Zoro tracks his hands, the effortless way he preps veggies, moving from task to task seamlessly much in the same way he had just danced.
The cook flirts and Zoro drinks.
And drinks and drinks as Sanji makes skewer after skewer. Until he runs out of supplies, shuts down his station and finally lets himself relax with the rest of them. He makes a drink for himself, and flits over to Nami. She leans into him, playing up her inebriation, cards in her hands. Shes been playing the long con with the island’s soldiers, aiming to fleece them the second they let their guard down.
She throws a sneaky grin over her shoulder at him, and Zoro glares back. Then she sticks her tongue out before she shoves Sanji's elbow in her fucking cleavage. The cook flusters, tries to remove his arm, the reaction selling Nami being wasted even more. Zoro sighs and runs his finger though his hair as Sanji flees to Robin.
The archeologist hands off her empty glass, Sanji happily taking it, his body leaning close to hers as she laughs fondly at whatever weird remark the cook has said. He wanders back to the closed down kitchen and sets the glass near the wash basin to be dealt with later. When he turns to face the party again, a young man with stars in his eyes stumbles forward.
The guy must have been like twenty, too young to even be a possible threat, and yet Zoro's body tenses. The man— a boy, really— gets too close, too fast, chattering a mile a minute. Sanji chuckles politely, answering his questions with grace. With an easy step back, his husband puts a little distance between them. Zoro breathes heavy, willing himself to chill the fuck out.
Sanji talks to the guy until his nervous chatter dies down into an actual conversation. The space behind them eases closer, Zoro's hand finds Wado’s hilt. The boy’s face turns sly, not so innocent as his hand slides over the counter, closer to where Sanji's hip leans.
Zoro doesn't make the choice to clear the few feet separating them. One second he was at a table, the next he's in a bar stool behind Sanji with his fingers itching to stake his claim.
He hears Sanji sigh, put upon and knowing— calling Zoro out without having to say anything. And yet it does nothing to quell the irritation prickling his skin.
“Oh! You're the other wing of the pirate king—” the kid freezes as he makes eye contact with Zoro. His expression falls, panic overtaking his wide eyes.
“Just wanted water,” Zoro gives in response, “Continue.”
Zoro makes no attempt to find water, instead crossing his arms and staring straight ahead.
“Ignore him,” Sanji waves, “He's photosynthesizing or something. You were saying?”
“Right, uh, I was saying that I really admire your fighting style!”
Sanji nods his head, “You mentioned a desire to learn more martial arts?”
“Yeah! I don't have many people here to teach me.”
“I could help you out,” Sanji suggests, “Show you some things before we head out.”
“That would be amazing! Your flexibility is unmatched!”
Zoro isn't sure when he uncrossed his arms, but his hand closest to his husband grabs him around the hip and yanks him back. Sanji's body hits his, and with a snort, the cook relaxes back and continues the conversation.
But Zoro isn't really listening anymore, his husband is pressed into him, he can smell his cologne and sweat from working the grill for so long. And yet this kid is still talking.
Just fucking yapping away like he doesn't fucking get it. Zoro's hold on the cook’s hip sinks lower, coming to rest on his thigh. He slips into the dip of this leg, strong hands pulling closer as he leans his head into Sanji’s shoulder blade.
The kid stutters, but Sanji's nonchalant attitude about being groped keeps him going. More stupid fucking questions, more time waiting for his husband’s attention. Zoro looks out over the party and catches the eye of a man staring. With a growl, he tightens his grip on Sanji's thigh. It has to be bruising at this point, but the cook gives no indication that he's bothered, which is worse than him getting mad, actually.
As a rare mercy, Sanji takes pity on him. Without stopping his explanation about observation haki, the cook twists and scoops up Zoro's head in his arm, pulling his head closer to Sanji's. His pretty fingers thread through green hair, calmingly scratching Zoro's scalp. He pauses in his lecture to place a kiss on Zoro's head and returns as if nothing is going on.
Zoro's eye is heavy when it opens, drunk on the booze and the scraps of attention. His lazy gaze finds the kid’s. Zoro doesn't think he's glaring anymore, Sanji's acknowledgement of him calming him somewhat, but when he makes eye contact with the kid, he turns into a stuttering mess.
They boy is bright red— even in the lantern light— eyes fighting to keep focus on Sanji’s face but he keeps fucking talking.
Zoro must not be communicating clearly.
In a fluid, yet sudden movement, the hand on Sanji's thigh goes farther, hooking around his thigh and hoisting him up. Once he gets the cook in his lap, straddling one of Zoro's thighs, he holds him in place with a firm hand on his stomach.
The cook keeps acting like nothing is happening, the conversation turning to the logistics of running the pirate king’s galley like the kid is actually interested. His long legs lock around Zoro's calf, a small relief to Zoro's ego.
It's not enough, though.
He's wrapped himself around his cook, his smell fills each inhale and it's still not enough.
He digs his nose into Sanji's collar, holds him tighter, his free hand finding his thigh again. How far is Sanji going to make him take this? Zoro nuzzles against the back of the cook’s neck until he finds skin, and he breathes deep of the cologne and natural musk of a long day, resists moaning just for the reaction.
His eye opens again to look at the guy, see if the conversation is ending any time soon and finds him staring right back. Still red in the face, still mildly freaking out, but when Sanji asks a question, his attention snaps back.
Man, fuck this kid.
With a low growl, Zoro noses back into Sanji's neck and then bites. His tongue presses into the back of his teeth as it licks over the flesh held between his canines. He sucks, willing red to mare the pale column of his neck. Sanji finally gives a reaction, a shudder, a break in his voice, a sharp intake of oxygen.
Zoro smiles as he lets go, tongue laving over the fresh mark as the barest of sounds flood him with dopamine.
Mine. It says.
For a blissful second, fingers card through his hair and Zoro thinks he's being rewarded, encouraged, even.
And then they tighten and yank, ripping him from the comfort of Sanji's neck. His husband’s eye glares at him as if he's the one being unreasonable before his attention returns to the boy.
“Excuse me,” Sanji's voice is sickly sweet, “I didn't realize I married a fucking dog.”
Zoro has to resist the way his body wants to rut up against the cook, wants to prove the dog allegations true if it means he marks his territory.
“I'm going to take this mutt on a walk. Please stop by in the morning and I'll give you some pointers.”
“O-oh! Thank you—” the boy starts, but Zoro's face cracks into a toothy grin that's usually reserved for murderous rage, worthy opponents, and for when his husband is going to give him exactly what he deserves. Sanji's fingers find his sword sash, gripping it tight and then forcing Zoro off the bar seat, dragging him away from the kid by the hips.
Zoro glances at the guy as he leaves, runs his tongue over his teeth as his hand goes to Wado's hilt, a threat and a brag. He hopes he never sees this dumbass of a kid ever again.
Sanji leads him away from the party, down a side street, no doubt trying to get them back to their inn. But Zoro really can't wait.
He sees a dark ally, grabs Sanji's arm, and throws his husband down the small side street, stalking after him.
Sanji catches himself and walks backwards, those long, powerful legs carrying him deeper into the dark of the alley. He scowls, arms crossed as he keeps his eye trained on Zoro's steady approach.
“You're a fucking animal,” Sanji scolds, unaffected as Pirate Hunter Roronoa Zoro, Demon of the East, King of Hell, World's Greatest Swordsman, and first mate to the Pirate King, continues to corner him.
Zoro just grunts, smiles, and rushes him with the ferocity that's worthy of his reputation.
Sanji's back hits the brick of the bordering building, hands tight in Zoro's jacket as his knuckles dig into his chest. A threat that if Zoro doesn't behave, his punishment is separation. And really it's a gift he's gotten this far, but Zoro's greedy.
Zoro attempts to kiss his husband, wants to claim his mouth with his tongue, but Sanji turns his head, knuckles forcing distance. Zoro growls, pushes closer only to be held back by Sanji's undeniable strength.
“No explanation for yourself? No excuse about how you were acting?” Sanji continues.
“Wanna touch you,” Zoro breathes.
Sanji scoffs, “You don't deserve it after that.”
He almost whines until he remembers that he can still use his hands even as Sanji's holding him back. Sanji's waist feels like heaven on his callused fingers, even over his dress shirt Zoro can basks in his warmth. The promise of skin draws him further, tugging out the white button up and dipping under his undershirt.
“Fuck, Sanji please—” he begs, high off the tiniest of contact.
Sanji fucking laughs at him, lifts him by his jacket and throws him to the ground. He towers over Zoro, glaring down as he walks over, dress shoe making sharp contact with Zoro's chest. With a grunt, he's forced back, looking up the long line of Sanji's legs.
The cook fishes his cigarettes and lighter out, lights up and pockets everything again. He takes a deep drag, eyes looking out the mouth of the ally as if he doesn't currently have everyone in a five mile radius mapped out with his observation haki.
His heel digs into the bare skin of Zoro's chest, the barest of flexes under his trousers accompanying the movement .
Fuck, he's doing this on purpose. He's doing this on purpose because he knows it drives Zoro crazy to be ignored by him.
Zoro groans and throws his head back against the compact dirt of the street, body going slack.
“Have you calmed down?” Sanji asks, smoke billowing from his lips.
Zoro's only response is to glare up, left hand grabbing the ankle of the foot on him. His fingers dip under the pant leg, scratching at silk socks to drag them down, just a little skin, fucking anything. Course hair hits his finger tips, his right hand finding Sanji's knee and pressing up and into his thigh. His fingers create divots in strong muscles, begging for more, willing Sanji to give in.
“When did you lose your manners, hm?” Sanji asks, eyes darkened by the shadowed alley, “Did you feel threatened by that kid? Think I would replace you with a younger man?”
Zoro barks a laugh, “Never.”
“So confident for someone who was whining in my ear earlier,”
“He didn't deserve to look at you like that,” he growls through his teeth.
“Oh?”
Irritation at the memory wells up in his finger tips, “He was weak, couldn't even own up to what he wanted.”
Sanji's eyebrow shoots up, interest spiking, “So this isn't about a guy flirting with me?”
“I don't give a fuck who you flirt with, man or woman.”
“Then why—”
“I just get pissed off when I see you entertaining pathetic shit like that. He didn't give a fuck about what you had to say, but he was too much of a coward to outright hit on you.”
Sanji shakes his head in disbelief, taking a drag from his cigarette.
“Besides,” Zoro's hands start skating higher, pressing into Sanji's inner thigh, “I’m the only one who can handle you.”
Sanji rolls his eyes, “Is that supposed to be romantic?”
Zoro strains to get up only to be forced back down. He growls, fingers digging into the clothed flesh they can grab.
“If you don't stop fucking with me, then I’m going to start tearing shit.”
There's a smile tugging at his husband’s lips as he smokes. He removes his foot from Zoro's chest, choosing to stand with one foot on either side of Zoro's hips.
“You plan on taking me here?” He raises an eyebrow.
Zoro huffs through his nose, anticipating the argument coming.
“Am I some cheap whore you don't even take to bed?”
“I don't care where it happens—”
“I know you don't—”
“It didn't matter before where we fucked!”
“I'm sorry that I expect a little more class than when we were teenagers—”
“Didn't matter at twenty-one, either—”
“I—”
“Or twenty-five, or twenty-seven, or thirty—”
“You're such an annoying, fucking, beast,”
“Then do something about it!” Zoro growls
Sanji regards him from his place on the ground, looks down his nose in that way that drives him crazy. His husband's eyes on him make him willing to do anything to keep his attention.
“Get up.”
And Zoro does, he raises from the dirt and Sanji grabs him by the wrist. This time, Zoro doesn't fight it.
Logically, he knows Sanji is taking them to their inn. He knows Sanji prefers to ‘pamper’ him and ‘make love’ to him and that often requires a bed.
Right now, though? All Zoro can focus on is the feeling of his husband's fingers wrapped tightly around his wrist. That and the anticipation of a good fuck. This could go two ways for him: Sanji gives him the privilege of being ridden, Zoro forced to watch and not touch as Sanji takes. Or, Sanji fucks him as punishment.
The energy at the inn quickly reveals the direction Sanji wishes to take their night. He orders Zoro to strip, taking a seat in one of the room’s armchairs. He watches Zoro with the eyes of a predator, focused solely on him as he removes his clothes one item at a time. Zoro’s flagging dick is full by the end of it, that gaze burning his skin.
Turns out, there was a third option he hadn't considered.
He’s ordered to get their oil and Zoro wants to complain, Sanji could have gotten it while Zoro got undressed. But that’s not the point, is it? So he does as he's told and brings it obediently to his cook.
“Take a seat,” he motions to his lap, flipping his long hair from one shoulder to the other. Zoro positions himself to straddle Sanji’s lap, settling in on his knees.
Sanji hands him the oil, “Get yourself ready for me.”
He turns the bottle over in his hands, and glares at his husband, “This the sort of fucked up game you wanna play?”
Sanji leans in and speaks low and slow, “You were going to fuck me in an alley because a teenager vaugely flirted with me.”
Zoro stares back, watching for any other hints. Sanji raises an eyebrow.
“What happened to begging me to touch you?”
“You’re not touching me,” he frowns.
“This is how you get me to touch you, understand?” Sanji leans back, “I know one task is a lot for a patch of graying grass. Do you need help?”
Zoro huffs and pops the cork, “I don’t need your help,” he grumbles.
Sanji gives a satisfied smile and watches him pour oil over his fingers. They disappear behind him, readjusting his position to better reach his rim. He’s well acquainted with the feeling of fingering himself and he tries to make it quick, eager to get Sanji’s dick inside him.
“How many?” Sanji asks.
“Two,” Zoro grunts back, hips starting to work back on his fingers.
“You’re going too fast, slow down.”
“Fuck off, I decide when I’m ready,” he argues, exhales starting to sound raspy.
“No,” Sanji hums, and then reaches to the side table where he’s sat his cigarettes and lighter. He taps one out and lights it, closing his eyes to enjoy a long pull of nicotine, “You’re going to keep fingering yourself for as long as it takes me to smoke this.”
With a growl of irritation Zoro throws his head back and slows his hand. It takes way too long for Sanji to finish his smoke. Enough time that cock has gone down allowing him to fully focus on fucking himself on his fingers. He hates how good it feels, being in his husband’s lap, cock neglected between them as he passively observes him. Sanji’s cigarette gets closer to the filter and Zoro aims his fingers at his prostate, his breathing becoming affected.
Sanji must notice because he reaches out and gives his half-hard cock a stroke. Zoro hisses, oversensitive cockhead growing fatter under Sanji’s attention.
“Old man,” Sanji teases, eyes locked on his cock.
“Jackass,” Zoro pants, “You’ve always had a freak dick. Now you’re just a freaky old man.”
Sanji’s eyes are dark as they flick back to Zoro. He takes the cigarette from his lips and checks how much he has left.
And then he puts it out in Zoro’s thigh.
“Oh, fuck—!” Zoro moans, hips bucking into Sanji’s hand as his dick twitches with the pain.
The burn joins the littering of small, circular scars he’s collected over the years, undeniable and unfading proof of where his husband has been.
“Stand and jerk yourself off,” Sanji commands, fingers flicking the cigarette butt somewhere off to the side.
His legs are shaky as he stands, oil slicked hand coming to stroke himself over his husband. Sanji unbuckles his belt and Zoro holds his breath, watching carefully to see if Sanji was going to use it. It would serve him right with everything he's done tonight, getting whipped and forced to touch himself through it.
Sanji doesn’t, instead he unbuttons his trousers and pulls his long, flushed cock out. Zoro’s hips buck at the sight, seeking out friction he can’t have.
“Sit on it and show me why I keep you around,” his face is impassive, but his leaking cock shows his true feelings.
It’s a bluff, he knows it’s only part of their play, but his stomach still twists with nasty jealousy. He climbs back into Sanji’s lap and takes him in with practiced ease. Sanji sighs, a controlled reaction that Zoro wants to wreak.
He raises, the drag making his eyes shudder shut as he dives back down with a roll of his hips. Sanji’s hands finally, finally, come to his waist as Zoro sets a punishing rhythm for himself. The noises he’s making take on a desperate edge as Sanji’s arms bring him closer, let him wrap his arms around Sanji’s neck.
“You feel so good,” Sanji pants his ear. He kisses Zoro’s neck, higher and higher before he reaches his earrings. He tongues over the two remaining piercings, sucking on the open space of the lobe where the third would be.
“You’re going to make me cum first,” Sanji tells him between nips, “And then you’re going to jerk off in my lap, full of my cum.”
Zoro nods, mind focused entirely on his given task. He works his hips, mouth mindlessly licking up Sanji’s neck. He pauses to kiss it, before continuing to where the single piercing dangles. He repays Sanji’s efforts, nuzzling in and laving attention over the lobe.
Sanji’s hips buck up, followed by a curse. He’s getting close, his facade cracking to reveal the horny old man he truly is. Zoro says as much and gets reminded of his task by a hot hand on his dick. Zoro stutters in his movement, having to force his attention to keep fucking himself on Sanji’s cock. He can’t chase Sanji’s hand, he can’t cum yet.
Hands come to his pecs and that’s how he knows Sanji is close. His hands squish and pull the bouncing flesh as more and more noises escape his throat. They abandon their fixation to instead grip Zoro by the waist. Sanji’s hips fuck up into him hard and fast, leaving Zoro a whining mess clinging to his husband’s neck.
Kisses are peppered all over his cheek and neck as sweet words of encouragement bubble forth. He grinds his hips into Zoro as his cock spasms, coating Zoro’s insides with his spend.
“Touch yourself, baby,” he sighs, lidded eyes falling to where Zoro’s fist is quickly working himself.
Sanji’s still in him, and if he does this right he might get him to stay hard enough for another round. He pulls out all the stops, no teasing, just getting off as fast as he can. It doesn’t take long with how worked up he is, spunk splattering over Sanji’s button up and then dribbling down to fall on his black slacks.
Yet his husband still whispers soft praise in his ear, hips passively grinding his dick into Zoro’s fluttering hole.
“Bed,” Zoro grunts, the endorphins fading and leaving behind sore knees.
Sanji scoops him up and takes him there. No one else is able to make Zoro feel less of a monster and more of a delicate flower and actually like the princess treatment. They fall into the bed, Sanji pausing to kick off his shoes. Zoro snuggles into his side, his cologne flooding his senses and making his brain blank.
“Shit, wait. Let me put ointment on your burn,” Sanji clicks his teeth and goes to move away. Zoro rolls over him to pin him to the bed.
“It can wait, fuck me again,” he insists.
Sanji shakes his head, “We've managed to avoid Chopper knowing about this shit for decades—”
Another familiar argument. Zoro groans, loud and petulant, but lets Sanji get up.
He gets patched up, and then fucked again. This time slow and soft because Sanji feels bad for being mean. Zoro takes it on his back, clinging to his husband’s shoulders and giving as good as he gets.
Once they’re showered and getting ready for bed, Sanji hugs him in his silly, satin pajamas.
“I would never leave you for anyone. Let alone a teenager,” Sanji murmurs into his neck.
“Pfft—yeah, no shit,” Zoro scoffs, “I already told you what pissed me off.”
“I know, I just wanted to be clear. You don’t have to defend my honor, or whatever.”
“Eh,” Zoro shrugs and flops down on the bed, “It got me what I wanted.”
“You can ask for sex, you know that, right?” Sanji crawls into bed, kicking Zoro so that he moves over— Zoro does not. “Twenty fucking years and you still do this stupid courtship.”
“I’m not courting you, shitty-cook,” he grumbles
Sanji rolls his eyes, “Scoot over.”
Zoro does and Sanji’s arms pull him in close. The bedside light gets turned on, and it’s not long before Zoro drifts off.