“~Grant me arm and mind of steel, on a road both hard and looooooong~ hic.”
Zoro’s deep baritone reverberated inside the massive wooden vat, echoing off its curved walls like a drunken prayer, distorted and ghostly. The sound bounced back at him in uneven fragments – steel...long...hic...hic...steel… – like drunk spirits were harmonizing with him.
He shifted in the slick puddle of booze beneath his ass – remnants of what had once been a vat of perfectly good alcohol – and belted out another slurred verse, leaning his head back against the curved wall like it was a pillow spun from wood and bad decisions.
“~Ten swordsmen rode into town, where lived a single swordsman…~” His voice cracked with dramatic flair. “~And when the dust had settled the ground, there still lived a single swordsman.~”
The notes stretched, sagged, and sloshed just like the warmth in his gut.
He was very drunk. He was aware of how drunk he was, which was saying something, because it usually took a bar's worth of liquor to even make him feel a buzz. But this vat – this glorious, generous, accidentally-fallen-into vat – had finally done the trick.
The world tilted lazily when he breathed. His body felt like a bag of soaked rice, heavy, soft, and rolling around inside itself. A hiccup popped out again, followed by a long, drawn-out “Uhhhhng.”
It had been an unfortunate stumble, really. Not at all a greedy lean to get a taste. Nope. Definitely not. But once he’d landed inside, and noticed the slight smear of blood and dirt from the earlier scuffle with the Marines...
Well.
It was already ruined.
May as well drink the evidence.
So he had. All of it. Sucked up through happy lips, a dark warmth that ran like fire down his throat and turned his thoughts to jelly.
Now, sprawled at the bottom of the vat, limbs heavy, eyes half-lidded, and mouth ajar, Zoro decided he might never move again. His cheek pressed against the wooden slats, cool and sticky with old booze, and he smiled softly to himself.
The vat smelled like fermented barley, old oak, and sweat. A fly buzzed somewhere overhead, but Zoro couldn’t be bothered to swat it. Not when the acoustics were so good. Not when he was wrapped in warmth, buoyed by the fuzzy edges of alcohol, the throb in his head perfectly matching the rhythm of his own pulsing breath.
This was a very good place to sing.
“~And when the dust had settled the ground, there still lived a single swordsmaaaaan…~”
His voice wobbled, then cracked into a laugh that dissolved into a groaning sigh.
A halo of blond hair and smoke appeared above the rim. Zoro squinted at it. Was it an angel? A resident of Skypiea? No. It spoke.
“What the fuck are you doing, marimo?”
Ah. A Sanji.
Zoro grinned widely, head lolling against the curved wooden floor under him. “Cook! Do you have wings?”
Sanji scowled down from the lip of the massive vat. “Do I have– what the hell are you talking about, idiot?” His eyes darted around the dim, barrel-scented brewery. “And I’ve been searching everywhere for your stupid ass. Why the hell are you at the bottom of an empty vat?”
“Wasn’t empty before,” Zoro hiccupped, his cheeks flushed pink and his pupil wide and shiny.
Sanji narrowed his eyes. “Are you fucking drunk?”
“Yes!” Zoro lifted both arms toward the sky – or ceiling, or whatever was above him – and declared, “So drunk. So nice. So floaty.”
Amber puddles clung to the curved floorboards, and Zoro’s clothes were damp with the remnants of whatever had been in the vat earlier – ale, rum, sake? He couldn’t remember. Didn’t care. Everything was pleasantly fuzzy.
“Great. Lovely,” Sanji muttered. “The Marines are amassing and you’re plastered.” His voice echoed against the wood in a way that made Zoro giggle.
“Hmmm, can’t leave.”
“Can’t?”
“Stuck,” Zoro mumbled, letting his arms flop limply to the floor. “Save me.”
“I’m not fucking saving you, dipshit.”
“Then I guess I’m stayin’ here forever.” Zoro rolled lazily to his side. The world followed a second later. “S’nice. Boozy. Round. Spinning.” He smiled at the vat wall as if it had told a joke.
Sanji cursed in a weird language. Then his legs appeared over the rim of the vat. He dropped down and landed hard, nearly flattening Zoro’s head in the process.
“You missed,” Zoro chirped, too slow to flinch. His face split in a lopsided grin.
Sanji kicked him in the head anyway, with a self-satisfied smirk.
"Ow!" Zoro groaned, rubbing the side of his skull. “You’re mean.”
“And you’re an idiot.” Sanji kicked him again, lightly this time. “Get the fuck up, marimo.”
Zoro lazily swatted at the offending foot. “G’way. M’busy.”
“You’re gonna be busy getting your ass kicked if you don’t move.”
Zoro exhaled through loose lips in a vibrating bray, sounding like a drunken horse. “D’n wanna.”
“For fuck’s sake—” Sanji bent down, grabbed Zoro’s wrists, and yanked him upright.
Zoro yanked back, toppling them both sideways. He burst into laughter as Sanji stumbled. “Gotcha!”
“I’m gonna murder you,” Sanji snarled, releasing Zoro’s wrists only to seize him under the armpits like a sack of wet rice. “We’re leaving.”
As he was dragged to his feet, Zoro threw his arms around Sanji’s neck for balance. The world spun like a lazy carousel. “Whoa! Dizzy!”
Sanji’s jaw clenched. “I’m going to Sky Walk us out of here, and then we’re going back to the ship.”
Zoro leaned his weight into Sanji, cheek brushing his collar. “My hero.”
Then he kissed him.
Or more accurately, collapsed against his mouth with a soft, clumsy smear of lips. “Mmm, cook kisses,” he mumbled, smiling dreamily.
Sanji shoved him away like he was on fire. Zoro’s head slammed against the curved wall. The dull thunk echoed hollow and hard.
“OW! Fuck! ”
“You fucking kissed me! ” Sanji shrieked. His voice bounced around the vat like a caged bird.
Zoro rubbed his head and blinked at him. “Mm. Yeah. Always wanted to do that.”
“What?! ”
“You’re so hot,” Zoro said sincerely. “And I am very, very gay.” He raised his voice and sang, “~Veeeeeryyyy gayyyyyyy!~” The acoustics in the vat made it echo like an opera hall. He grinned crookedly. “I like cock.”
Sanji made a choking sound.
Zoro stared at him. “You okay? You swallow a peanut or something?”
Sanji fumbled for his cigarette case with trembling fingers, lit one with unnecessary force, and puffed like he was trying to burn a hole in reality. He pointed it at Zoro accusingly. “I’m going to pretend that you remember I only like women and none of this happened.”
“My ass is better than any pussy you’ll ever have,” Zoro muttered, weaving slightly. “Once you’ve had it, you’ll never go back.”
Choking sound number two.
Zoro watched him thoughtfully. “You sure you didn’t swallow something wrong?”
“I’m not gay, you dumbfuck! Stop coming on to me!”
“Pft.” Zoro waved him off. “Everyone’s a little gay. A blowjob’s a blowjob.”
He paused, then eyed Sanji’s crotch thoughtfully. “Can I blow you?”
“No, you cannot!” Sanji’s foot slammed into Zoro’s chest, pinning him to the wall. “Stay over there!”
“But I like doing it,” Zoro whined. “I’m good at it.”
“No, you gay monstrosity!”
Zoro’s expression darkened. “It’s not monstrous to be gay.”
“No, I didn’t- that’s not- argh!” Sanji sucked in a breath through clenched teeth and exhaled through his nose like a raging bull, smoke curling furiously upward. “I don’t care that you’re gay. That actually explains why you’re such a hopeless idiot around women. But I’m not, and I don’t want your mouth anywhere near my dick.”
“Wanna fuck my ass instead?”
Sanji’s eye twitched violently. His eyebrow curl jolted partway up his forehead like it was trying to escape before flopping back into place. “I don’t want to have any kind of sex with you, pervy swordsman!”
“Oh.” Zoro’s lower lip jutted out in an exaggerated pout. His head lolled a little, too heavy on his neck, and he swayed as he blinked slowly at Sanji. “That sucks. I kinda love you.”
Sanji choked for the fourth time, coughing and sputtering like he’d inhaled his cigarette. Zoro frowned, concern swimming sluggishly to the surface through the alcohol haze. “You sure you didn’t swallow something wrong?”
“You… you…” Sanji stammered, eyes wild. “No. This is the booze talking. You drunk love me. You don’t even know what you’re saying.”
Zoro tilted his head, which tipped too far and made him nearly fall over. He laughed, caught himself on the side of the vat, and slurred, “Nah. I’ve kinda been in love with you since Cocoyashi. But, y’know, can’t do anything about it ‘cause we hate each other.”
Sanji stared at him, looking more and more like a man losing his grip on reality. “Do you even hear yourself? You can’t love and hate someone at the same time!”
Zoro shrugged, then hiccuped. “I do. S’why we can’t date. Gotta be built on more than just mutual trust and sexual tension, y’know?”
“And the fact that I’m straight!” Sanji barked.
“Eh. I can work around that.” Zoro grinned, crooked and bright-eyed. “Getting off’s getting off. I’ll wear a skirt if you want.”
“NO!” Sanji looked like he might start foaming at the mouth. His hand trembled as he pulled another drag from his cigarette, exhaling like he needed to expel Zoro’s words from his soul.
Zoro beamed, pleased. “I probably look dumb in a dress, but I can do this – watch.” He unbuttoned his coat a little further and squished his pecs together with both hands, giving himself a rather passable set of tits. “See? Can’t even tell the difference.”
Sanji blinked at the makeshift cleavage. His eyes glazed slightly. His jaw unhinged for a beat before he snapped it shut and shook his head like a man trying to physically eject the image from his brain. “You’re a green menace,” he growled. “Shut the hell up before I kick your teeth in.”
“Aww, c’mon, it’d be fun.” Zoro leaned in with a wobbly, hopeful smile. “You can be a total top, and I’ll let you fuck my tits.”
The kick to his jaw came fast and brutal. His head snapped sideways, and he teetered, but caught himself, laughing breathlessly. “Was that a maybe?”
“NO!” Sanji barked. He spun, swept Zoro up with a furious Sky Walk, and launched them both out of the vat.
Zoro hit the catwalk above with a thud. Sanji landed beside him like a graceful devil.
“Not. Another. Word.” Sanji hauled Zoro over his shoulder like dead cargo and took off at full tilt.
The world bounced and whirled in jerky rhythm. Zoro clung to Sanji’s hips, eye shut, mouth pressed to his shoulder blade. “Gotta pee.”
“Hold it! ” Sanji snapped.
Zoro groaned but did as told, mostly because he liked Sanji’s blue pinstripe shirt and didn’t want to ruin it. It smelled like citrus and smoke and masculinity. He clung to Sanji’s hips with loose hands, head dangling upside down over his back, his green hair flopping with each jostling stride.
The world spun violently – streets smeared into stripes of light and color. Zoro’s vision bounced with every step Sanji took. Shop signs blurred past, bells chimed overhead, a dog barked, and someone shouted “Drunk bastard!” as they hurdled over a crate of cabbages.
Zoro slurred, “Is this flying?” and then laughed to himself, drooling a little down Sanji’s back.
“Shut up,” Sanji barked. His footsteps pounded hard against cobblestone. “You’re going to puke on me.”
Zoro grinned at the idea. “Nooo, I’m fine. Just floatin’. I’m floatin’... like a leaf... on the breeze... on a hurricane…”
They skidded around a corner, Sanji barely missing a fruit cart. An old man swore behind them. The smell of ocean salt thickened, gulls cried overhead, and the harbor finally came into view, glinting blue and white under the late afternoon sun.
Sanji leapt onto a stack of barrels, then vaulted off a rooftop edge with a growled "Sky Walk!" His feet hit the air like it was solid, and Zoro howled, flailing in drunken glee.
“WHEEEEEEEE!”
“Shut UP!”
The Thousand Sunny loomed ahead, dock ropes creaking as the ship rocked with the tide. Franky’s voice boomed from the deck: “CAST OFF!”
With a final thump of feet on wood, Sanji landed.
Zoro was dumped on the deck like a sack of trash. He rolled once, thudded into a railing, and lay there giggling.
“Your shirt’s safe,” he mumbled into the planks. “I didn’t even pee on it.”
Sanji didn’t dignify that with a response – just lit a cigarette with shaking hands and exhaled smoke like he was trying to clear the memory from his lungs.
The ship jolted beneath them as the Sunny shoved off from the dock, ropes pulling tight and the waves slapping loud against the hull. Somewhere above, the sails snapped open with a loud FWUMP, and wind rushed in from the sea.
Zoro blinked blearily as the sky turned upside down and then sideways. “Oh. Oh shit.” He scrambled to his hands and knees. “Gotta piss.”
“Then go!” Sanji barked, giving him a shove with his foot.
Zoro staggered toward the staircase leading to the head, bouncing off the railing once, then the mast. His boots clomped unevenly, one foot sliding as he lurched beneath the stairs with a hiccup.
He muttered to himself all the way: “Left foot... right foot... both feet... no, wait – where’s the floor?”
He shouldered into the little toilet room tucked under the stairs, missing the handle entirely and falling into the door, which slammed shut behind him. From inside: the loud, unmistakable sound of someone pissing like a firehose, paired with a sigh of profound drunken relief.
Water splashed. Something clattered. “Oops,” Zoro said to nobody.
The ship rocked and creaked. Footsteps passed on deck. Somewhere, Luffy laughed wildly about something else, and Nami shouted in response.
Zoro eventually reemerged, face flushed, shirt crooked, trousers loose and eye barely open. He washed his hands – sort of – and stumbled toward the men's quarters. His hand missed the doorknob twice before he finally got it, fell inside, and faceplanted into his bunk like he’d been shot.
The room spun like a carousel, and Zoro clung to the mattress. “Brain, stop. The battle’s over. Let me die in peace.”
From somewhere on the deck, Sanji’s voice filtered faintly: “If you even think about puking in that room, I’m throwing you overboard.”
Zoro groaned. “He loves me.”
Best vat ever.
Zoro woke with a pounding head, the urge to hurl, and the taste of something long-dead in his mouth.
“Fuck,” he croaked, voice like sandpaper. Yeah. This was a hangover. A real one. He hadn’t had one in years, but the sensation was unforgettable. Like his skull was cracking open from the inside out while his guts did somersaults around a burning coal.
He sat up too fast. Regretted it instantly.
The bunk rocked beneath him. Or maybe the ship did. Hard to tell. Either way, he pushed unsteadily to his feet, hand braced against the lockers as the room spun with malicious glee. He stumbled toward the door of the men’s quarters, each step echoing in his skull like a cannon blast.
The moment he pushed open the door to the deck, sunlight impaled his retinas.
“Gaaaah – fuck off!” he hissed, throwing an arm over his eyes like a vampire seeing daylight for the first time in centuries.
The sea breeze slapped him with salt and nausea. Nami’s voice rose in shrill fury somewhere off to starboard, screaming at Usopp about a broken deck chair or who-knew-what. It stabbed into Zoro’s eardrums like an ice pick. His stomach lurched in response.
He didn’t go far, just ducked under the stairs and threw himself into the little toilet stall, barely making it before he puked. Loud, miserable, retching. His knees hit the floor and stayed there.
“Ughhh.” He rinsed his mouth in the tiny wash basin, palms trembling against the porcelain. Cold water helped, a little. A glance in the mirror above the sink showed him a horror: pale, sweat-slick skin, hair mashed in all directions, circles so dark under his eyes he looked punched, and a crease between his brows that screamed pain.
He groaned softly and braced his hands on the sink’s edge.
Think. There had been Marines. He remembered fighting them. Easy work. Then a brewery. A vat of something. A full vat. A stumble. A drink. A lot of drinks. Singing? Definitely singing. Maybe falling. Maybe kissing?
His brow twitched.
He was on the Sunny now. Somehow. Definitely not dead, though he felt halfway there. That was something.
Guess someone found me and dragged me back. Or maybe he staggered here on his own. He snorted softly to himself, then winced as the sound bounced inside his own skull.
“Maybe I’ve got better direction drunk than I do sober,” he muttered, and splashed more water on his face.
He had no clue where they were sailing or what came next. For now, all he wanted was water, silence, and maybe a slow death under a blanket in the crow’s nest.
But peace, as always, was too much to ask for.
The next explosion wasn’t Usopp’s usual chaos, it had weight. A deep, teeth-rattling boom that shook the deck beneath Zoro’s feet. The kind that came from a Marine cannon, not some half-baked gadget. The screaming that followed wasn’t Nami yelling at someone useless. It was the kind with panic in it.
Zoro groaned. “You’ve got to be shitting me.”
He staggered out of the cramped toilet, shielding his eyes as sunlight stabbed him again. The world was too loud, too bright, and far too spinny, but sure enough, cannon smoke curled on the breeze, and Marines were already swinging across on ropes or scrambling up from a boat below.
“Don’t these guys ever stop?” he muttered, dragging a hand down his face. The smell of gunpowder mixed with salt and stomach acid made his nausea spike again.
Still, his hands moved on instinct, drawing Wado and Kitetsu. He didn't even reach for the third, his balance was shit. Two-sword style would have to do. Enma would try to eat him alive.
His head split like a melon with every heartbeat, but his body knew what to do. A Marine lunged. Zoro parried, pivoted, and sent the man flying overboard in one clean motion.
Hangover or not, he fought. Because that’s what he did.
Zoro sliced, dodged, countered, slashed, and stabbed his way through the Marines swarming the deck. His blades danced with deadly rhythm, cutting arcs through sunlight and smoke. Around him, the chaos roared – steel against steel, the sharp crack of gunfire, the whistle of explosive pellets, and the rumble of distant thunder as Nami loosed lightning into the fray.
A bullet seared past his ribs, grazing his bicep. White-hot pain flared along the muscle. Zoro hissed through his teeth, found the shooter, and cut him down without hesitation.
The battle sprawled across both the Sunny and the Marine vessel beside them, a brutal, shifting clash of fury and survival. Bodies fell. Shouts echoed. The scent of smoke and salt clung thick in the air.
It was only one Marine ship – one foolhardy gamble. A Devil Fruit user, cocky and desperate for promotion, had thought to make his name by capturing the Straw Hats.
Big mistake.
Joy Boy took care of him personally, reducing the man to a crater in the smoking deck. The rest of the Marines broke quickly after that. Bodies – defeated but alive – were tossed back onto their crippled ship. The Marine vessel, charred and listing, drifted behind them, dead in the water.
The Sunny sailed on, the battle fading behind them. Minimal damage. Little casualties.
Another day, another idiot.
Now Zoro had a pounding headache and a bullet wound to deal with, and it annoyed the snot out of him. He needed water, painkillers, and hair of the dog, in any order.
He shrugged his coat off, tied it loosely around his waist, and climbed the stairs to the galley, checking his arm as he went. The bullet had torn a clean furrow through his bicep. Flesh wound, no stitches needed. Just blood. He’d rinse it. No big deal.
The galley door creaked as he pushed it open. Inside, Chopper was ushering Nami through the connecting door into the infirmary beyond the wall-length sofa. Zoro barely gave them a glance.
The room, split down the middle by a waist-high bar, was quiet otherwise. One half dining, one half kitchen. Behind the stove wall sat storage and Chopper’s tiny clinic; between them, the service elevator led to the Aquarium Bar. It smelled like citrus and simmering broth, from whatever Sanji had been working on before the attack.
With Chopper preoccupied, Zoro ducked into the empty kitchen. He grabbed a glass, filled it at the tap, and chugged it. Cold, clean. He refilled it and drained half again before moving to the fridge.
Technically, he wasn’t supposed to know the code. But Nami wasn’t as good at holding her liquor as she thought, and Zoro was. He punched it in and pulled out a chilled bottle of sake with the reverence of a man choosing his next sword.
He finished the water before moving on to the sake, pulling the cork free with his teeth and spitting it into the sink. The alcohol would take the edge off the hangover, dull the throb in his skull, maybe ease the nausea.
He set the bottle on the prep counter and moved to the sink. Cold water hissed over the blood on his arm, pink rivulets swirling down the drain. The gash was shallow, already clotting, but it welled up again stubbornly when he let go.
With a grunt, Zoro grabbed a clean dishtowel from the rack, wrapped it tight around his bicep, and knotted it with his teeth and one hand. It’d hold for now. Just enough until the bleeding stopped.
Satisfied, he picked up the bottle, took a long pull, and let the warmth spread through his chest like a welcome flame.
The galley door opened again, and Sanji walked in, yanking loose his tie, muttering about bullets and pressed suits. He stopped mid-step when he saw Zoro emerging from the kitchen, eyes widening just a touch.
Zoro gave him a look. “Why do you look like Usopp when he gets caught rifling through my locker?”
Sanji shook it off, ignoring the question. “Get out of my galley.”
“Tch.” Zoro dropped onto the couch, leaned his head back, and closed his eye. His skull throbbed in time with his pulse. “Make me a hangover breakfast.”
“I’m not making you shit. Dinner’s in a few hours.”
“Just do it,” Zoro grunted. He didn’t have the energy to fight. Not now.
“You wouldn’t need a hangover breakfast if you didn’t get plastered,” Sanji snapped. “Can’t believe you drank a whole vat of booze.”
“Hn.” Either Sanji had been the one who found him, or Zoro had bragged about it. Probably both.
“Do you… remember doing that?”
The pause was odd, but Zoro let it pass. “’Course I remember. The details are fuzzy, but I know I drank a lot.”
Sanji banged around in the kitchen. Every clang rattled Zoro’s brain, but the sharp sizzle of eggs meant food was on the way.
“You remember saying anything stupid?”
Zoro took a long drink of sake, then pressed the cold bottle to his temple. “You’re saying stupid things now. What’s it matter?”
“Guess it doesn’t,” Sanji said, tone easing. “Food’ll be ready in five.”
Zoro grunted, took another swig, and tried to wish his hangover out of existence.
Sanji was drunk. And it was fucking awesome.
The locals had served some kind of fruity mixed cocktail that tasted like candy but hit like a Sea King’s punch. The Straw Hats had just routed a militant group extorting the town, general assholery at its finest, and naturally, that led to a feast, which led to drinking, which led to Sanji getting wasted in the absolute best way possible.
The town square was a riot of raucous laughter, clinking mugs, and the scent of roasted meat mingling with spilled ale. Lanterns swung overhead, casting flickering golden light that danced over the uneven cobblestones. Music throbbed somewhere nearby, a drunken fiddler's off-key tune weaving through the chatter and shouting.
Staggering away from the chaos, Sanji swayed like a ship on a gentle sea, the world tilting and sliding under his feet in a dizzy, pleasant haze. He giggled at the sensation, the warm buzz loosening his limbs and thoughts. He overcorrected a step, bounced off the rough corner of a nearby building, and muttered, “‘Scuse me.”
The brick wall offered silent forgiveness as he slid down the narrow alley beside it. Somewhere ahead, the unmistakable sound of a man relieving himself echoed off the stone. Jackpot.
Squinting through the haze, Sanji blinked and pointed. “It’s you!” he exclaimed, hiccuping as he leaned back against the bricks, a wide grin plastered across his flushed face.
Zoro zipped up, giving him a flat, unimpressed look. “Yeah? And?”
Sanji stumbled forward, jabbing a finger into Zoro’s bare chest beneath the open vee of his coat. The moonlight and alley shadows played over the sharp planes of muscle. Suspiciously nice, rounded muscle. “I know what you’re trying to do. And it’s not gonna work.”
Zoro arched a brow, expression amused but cautious. “What am I trying to do?”
Sanji’s eyes locked on the exposed skin, his voice dropping to a slurred but determined whisper. “Show me your tits.”
“…My what?”
“Your tits,” Sanji insisted, poking lightly at the fabric stretched across Zoro’s chest. “I know you have them. You showed them to me. Told me I could fuck ’em. Lemme see ’em again.”
Zoro recoiled, backing a step into the alley’s shadows. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. And you’re drunk.”
“So?” Sanji stamped a foot, eyes bright with stubbornness and drink. “You’re the one who wants me to be gay, therefore, give me tits!”
Zoro blinked, open-mouthed in disbelief. “…HUH?”
Sanji reached for the lapels again, trying to press Zoro’s pecs together like before. Zoro batted his hands away, stepping back into the dim light, the coat falling just right to tease the curve of his chest.
“You’re mean,” Sanji accused, lower lip jutting in mock offense.
“You’re insane.”
Zoro crossed his arms, pushing his chest together despite himself, the dim alley glow tracing the outline of cleavage that sent a fresh wave of heat through Sanji’s chest.
“Are you getting a nosebleed?” Zoro asked, half-scandalized, half-entertained.
Sanji nodded solemnly. “I like tits.”
Zoro scowled. “I’m well aware.”
“You got nice tits,” Sanji said, voice thick with the haze of alcohol and desire. “Take off your pants.”
“…HUH?!”
“Your coat’s like a dress. I wanna see if you’re girly enough for me to fuck.”
Zoro’s brain short-circuited so hard, he might’ve actually sparkled. “HUH?!”
Sanji swayed closer, fingers reaching toward the tempting cleavage again. Zoro made no move to stop him. He just stared, nostrils flaring, eyes wide and a little wild.
“You said you’d wear a skirt and let me top you,” Sanji reminded him, voice surprisingly soft beneath the bravado. “Said it didn’t matter that I wasn’t gay. Said you gave great blowjobs.”
The noise Zoro made was a strange mix of panic and something else. Something closer to flustered.
Sanji tilted his head, blinking up at him through heavy lids. “Will you blow me?”
The panic pitched higher, almost audible.
“I respect and trust you,” Sanji said, his sincerity breaking through the drunken fog. “So maybe I could love you back. Even though I’m straight.”
That strange noise turned into a choked whimper.
“So take your pants off, make some tits, and let me see if I wanna pound your boy pussy.”
Zoro spun on his heel and fled down the alley.
Sanji frowned after him, lips twitching with a mix of frustration and fondness. “Coward!”
His bladder reminded him of the original mission. He turned back to the wall and finally relieved himself, the sound echoing softly between the brick walls.
“Didn’t even get to see the tits,” he mumbled, voice thick with defeat. He liked tits.
Sanji groaned awake, his skull pounding like a war drum and his stomach twisting into knots. Fuck, he was hungover. The locals’ booze had been nothing short of a punch to the gut, sweet and deceptively lethal.
He peeled himself from the tangled sheets, muscles stiff and protesting. His legs wobbled as they met the cold, creaky wood floor, sending a shiver up his spine. The stale, salty scent of the ship mixed with the faint remnants of spilled rum lingering in the air.
His head swam in a dull fog, each step heavy with regret. Cocktail number seven was the last thing he could clearly remember before the night blurred into drunken oblivion. Hopefully, he hadn’t embarrassed himself too badly.
Sunlight stabbed through the porthole like a sharp blade, forcing Sanji to squint and tilt away. The glare bounced off the polished brass fittings, casting jittery reflections on the wooden walls. He ducked into the cramped water closet, grateful for the shadowed refuge.
The cold tile under his feet felt harsh against his bare skin as he relieved himself, the sharp coolness a minor comfort. The rush of water from the basin was a brief shock to his senses as he splashed his face, the cold biting into his heated cheeks.
His reflection in the foggy mirror showed a flushed, haggard face – eyes red-rimmed, hair sticking up in disheveled spikes. He scraped his teeth with the rough bristle of the brush, the minty paste stinging the back of his throat.
Sanji figured he was the only one awake. The ship was usually quiet this early, the wood groaning softly as the waves rocked them gently in the harbor. No chatter, no footsteps, only the soft creak of rigging and the faint scent of salt air drifting in through the open portholes.
Breakfast wouldn’t cook itself, and today, it demanded something greasy and heavy. Definitely a hangover breakfast.
He was heading toward the infirmary, a dull ache pressing behind his eyes, when he nearly collided with Zoro just outside the men’s quarters.
“Watch where you’re going, asshole,” Sanji grumbled, massaging his temple.
Zoro sucked in a sharp breath, eye wide like he’d seen a ghost. “You walked into me.”
“Pft. Whatever. Get outta the way. I need painkillers.”
Sanji shoved past, the scent of salt and musk following him as Zoro fell into step behind.
“Uh… do you remember anything from last night?” Zoro asked, voice low, cautious, like stepping on fragile ice.
“What is this, a friendly interrogation?” Sanji snapped, yanking open the galley door. “We’re not friends. Stop talking.”
“So… that’s a no?”
Sanji rolled his eyes, the scrape of his boots on the wood floor loud in the quiet. “Whatever’s got your panties in a twist, leave me out of it. If I owe you an apology for anything I said or did last night, it’s not happening. I don’t remember, and I don’t care about you enough to apologize.”
Zoro let out a shaky breath, the sound barely more than a sigh. “Good.”
Sanji pushed through to the infirmary, the faint antiseptic smell biting at his nostrils. He rummaged through Chopper’s cabinets, the clink of glass bottles and rustle of paper sharp against the quiet hum of the ship.
“You done? Can you let me suffer in peace?” he called out.
Zoro chuckled behind him. “Yeah. Have at it.”
Sanji popped two painkillers dry, chased them with a gulp of cold water from the sink, the icy rush soothing the back of his throat.
He sighed, voice rough and low. “Hangover breakfast. And maybe a Screwdriver. Fuck it.”
Zoro was soaring. He’d gotten stung by something on this overly jungle-ated island, and now everything bled pretty colors and made him giggle.
The island the Thousand Sunny anchored at was a small one they spotted while cruising toward their next log pose destination. Luffy had wanted to stop, of course, and everyone else was in favor. The Sunny set anchor, and most of the crew disembarked to explore.
It was a tropical jungle island with heavy trees, heavy humidity, and a heavy amount of bugs. Nami and Sanji had gone screaming back to the ship after encountering a tree crawling with angry red beetles – an event Zoro planned to razz Sanji about indefinitely – leaving five of them trekking through the thick underbrush to see what the island had on offer.
Zoro had gotten lost pretty early on. He knew he was lost. Didn’t pretend otherwise. His sense of direction was shit, but he didn’t care too much unless it interfered with his ability to fight. He’d stumbled upon a stagnant pond buzzing with insects and croaking frogs, and something had stung him. Maybe a bug, maybe a frog, maybe a flower with teeth.
Not long after, the world turned to watercolor and Zoro floated merrily along.
He’d been wandering for hours, or minutes, or seconds, he couldn’t tell. Time melted like candle wax. The trees waved at him, and he waved back. The jungle hummed with a radiant energy, and the sounds of nature blended into a musical harmony that sounded vaguely like Brook playing the violin underwater. He hummed along, occasionally breaking into nonsense verse:
“~My love for you is like the most yummy runner bean,
Your face reminds me of slender butterflies,
Together, we are like pastries and olive oil…~”
He tripped over a log. “Oops, sorry,” he told it, and continued his meandering path through the colorfully dripping jungle. The sky turned lavender and the ground glittered like wet chalk. Leaves whispered sweet nothings. Flowers blinked at him.
He was surprised when he spotted the seashore. More surprised still when he saw the Sunny.
“Hey, I’m not lost anymore.”
He stumbled up the gangplank, onto the deck. The lawn sang to him in greeting – a full barbershop quartet – and he smiled at it. “Hello to you, too!”
He bumped into the tree, fell into the swing, and somehow ended up tangled upside-down. This was hilarious. He laughed so hard tears rolled into his hair. The tree chuckled with him. The clouds loop-de-looped across the sky in pastel pirouettes.
An upside-down face appeared in his view, pale and concerned. “How are you standing upside down?” Zoro asked, delighted.
“What the fuck are you talking about, idiot?” Sanji frowned down at him. “And what the hell are you doing?”
“Swinging!” Zoro pushed the deck with his hand and began to sway again, upside down, watching the colors swirl and ripple around him like an oil painting in motion. “Whoa. Pretty.”
Sanji stared at him. “How the hell can you be drunk?”
“Not drunk,” Zoro said happily. “Just… wheeeee!”
“Someone fucking save me,” Sanji muttered, stopping the swing with one firm hand. “Get off. Chopper can deal with you.”
Zoro flopped off the swing onto the lawn. The lawn oofed and wiggled in protest. “Sorry, lawn,” Zoro said, petting it like a cat. He pushed to his knees and peered up at Sanji. Sanji’s colors smeared like watercolor bleeding on wet paper: blue, gold, and soft white, glowing from within. Zoro smiled so hard his cheeks hurt. “You’re so pretty, cook.”
“Oh, fuck no. I’m not doing this again,” Sanji said, turning on his heel.
Zoro scrambled upright and followed. “Hey, cuuuurlybrows…”
“No. No. And also no,” Sanji barked, heading into the galley. “Go away.”
“But you’re so pretty. And I’m so pretty.” Zoro followed with a wide eye, marveling at how the kitchen swirled and pulsed around him like a heartbeat. “And the galley is pretty.”
Sanji opened the passthrough door to the infirmary and pointed into the room like he was warding off evil. “Go in. Stay. Far from me.”
Zoro pouted. “Don’t you love me?”
“Fuck, no. Shut up.” Sanji looked panicked now. “Get in the infirmary.”
Zoro dragged his feet toward the doorway. “That’s not what you said last time. You said you could love me back if I gave you my boy pussy.”
Sanji choked so violently Zoro thought he might need medical assistance. “I what?!”
“You came onto me. I liked it,” Zoro said, dreamy and wistful. “I liked it a lot. Even though I ran away.”
Sanji stared at him, wide-eyed. “I did not.”
“Did, too. You wanted me to blow you.”
Sanji choked. A vein in his temple twitched.
Zoro grinned, gliding closer like a hallucinated prince. “Want me to blow you now?”
“NO!”
Zoro pressed his pecs together, making an admittedly impressive rack. “What about now?”
Sanji stared at Zoro’s tits. A thin trickle of blood leaked from his nose. Zoro crowed in delight. “~You liiiike my tits~,” he sang, twirling again. Glitter exploded in his vision. Somewhere, a choir of dandelions cheered.
“Shit. Shut up.” Sanji wiped his nose and refused to meet his eyes. “You’re still a guy.”
“I’m wearing my coat.” Zoro’s voice dropped an octave, all breathy seduction.
“Why are you undoing your trousers?!”
Zoro kicked off his boots, unbuckled his belt, and let his trousers fall. The jungle echoed with triumph. He was now in just his coat, haramaki, and swords. The coat swung like a skirt as he strutted forward.
“This girly enough for you?” He mashed his pecs together again.
Sanji turned beet red. His aura looked like a supernova.
Zoro turned around, bent over, and slapped his own ass. “Try my boy pussy!”
Sanji nearly fell trying to flee.
Zoro stood in the middle of the galley, coat fanned, trousers forgotten, and sighed. “I’m never getting laid.”
The counters offered condolences.
Zoro woke in the infirmary with a pounding head, a dry mouth that tasted faintly of runner beans for some reason.
He blinked slowly, the dim light filtering through a small, round porthole casting soft golden patches on the wooden floorboards. The salty scent of the sea mingled with the faint tang of disinfectant and herbs in the air. Outside, the gentle creak of the ship’s timbers and the rhythmic slap of waves against the hull murmured through the walls.
“The hell…” he muttered, throat rough and parched.
“Zoro, you’re up!” Chopper’s cheerful voice piped up nearby, bright and warm in the quiet room.
Zoro turned his head slowly, the motion sending a dull throb through his skull. “Why am I here?”
“You got stung by something on the island,” Chopper explained, checking his pulse with practiced hands. “A powerful psychedelic. You were tripping hard.”
Zoro rubbed his face, still fuzzy. “That explains… nothing. I don’t remember anything.”
“Not surprising. You were hallucinating for a while. Colors swirling, sounds warping, laughter echoing. Once the effects started to fade, you conked out. Sleeping was the best thing for you.”
He tried to catch hold of the scattered images buried in his mind – a flash of color, some singing, something about tits? He snorted softly and gave up.
“If I did anything dumb, someone’ll tell me.” He sank back into the pillow, the cool linen soothing against his flushed skin.
Chopper smiled sympathetically, the faint smell of herbs and salt air comforting around them. “Or Sanji will yell at you.”
“Same thing.” Zoro closed his eyes again, the steady creak of the ship rocking beneath them lulling him toward sleep.
“Wake me when breakfast’s ready.”
“Dinner.”
“Whatever.”
Sanji was well and truly inebriated when he snagged Zoro by the collar and dragged him into the Aquarium Bar.
It was late. The Sunny rocked gently on the waves, and the ship’s wood creaked like it was dreaming. Most of the crew had long since turned in. The quarter moon hung low and sharp, grinning smugly at Sanji’s wine-soaked courage.
The Aquarium Bar, tucked beneath the galley, pulsed with soft blue light from the enormous fish tank that filled three walls. Silvery fish flickered through coral shadows, casting ripples of movement across the plush sofa below. The service elevator stood idle at the center of the room, surrounded by a round table and empty chairs. The scent of salt air drifted in from cracked portholes, mingling with the lingering aroma of oak-aged wine and fermentation. Along one wall, wine racks and two fridges stood like sentinels, half-pillaged.
Sanji had killed the main lights. He liked the glow of the tank. It smoothed the edges of everything, even his thoughts. Dozens of bottles littered the floor and table, glinting like fallen stars in the blue hush. He’d started drinking to forget the whole “Zoro coming onto him again” thing and the inconvenient truth that, apparently, he’d made a move at some point himself. He’d spent the day clenching his jaw through prep and dinner, the thought of it winding tighter and tighter in his chest until he was practically vibrating with tension. Once the galley was clean and the bread dough was set to rise, he escaped, poured a glass of wine, then another, then another, until the anxiety dissolved into warm, heavy-limbed recklessness.
Zoro had made a brief appearance at dinner, barely upright, still hazy from whatever trip Chopper had detoxed him from. Otherwise, Sanji hadn’t seen him since the infamous boy-pussy offer. Which was good. Sanji had likely would’ve put a boot through his face if he had. Still, Zoro hadn’t said anything. Hadn’t looked at him. Just vanished.
So Sanji drank.
Now he was buzzed and swaying, leaning against the table with the kind of confidence only a belly full of wine could provide, and Zoro was right in front of him.
Time to put an end to the ridiculous back-and-forth.
“We’re going to fuck.”
Wait. That wasn’t what he meant to say.
Zoro froze. “Are you drunk again?”
“Yes,” Sanji said without shame, setting his jaw like he was bracing for battle. “Take off everything but your coat.”
Zoro blinked, took a step back, hands raised. “Nope. Not happening. You’re drunk and I’m not interested.”
“Lies,” Sanji hissed, stepping forward. His voice was low, heated, just a bit too loose. “You keep offering your ass like it’s the hottest commodity on the Grand Line. So I am going to fuck you, and if I like it, then we’ll talk.”
Zoro looked visibly panicked. “You’re straight.”
“Everyone’s a little gay,” Sanji shot back, with a lazy, crooked grin. He pointed at him. “Now, are you going to bend over like a good girl, or do I have to kick your ass first?”
Zoro bolted for the door. Sanji moved fast despite the alcohol – his leg lashed out, catching Zoro in the side and blocking his exit.
“We’re going to do this, shitty swordsman. Stop fighting it.”
“You’ve lost your damned mind,” Zoro growled. “There’s no way in hell I’m having sex with you while you’re drunk.”
Sanji tilted his head, glassy-eyed. “But you’d do it if I was sober?”
Zoro made a strangled sound. “That- I- you wouldn’t-”
Sanji grinned. “So you would.”
Zoro clenched his fists, jaw tight. “Yes,” he bit out. “Happy now?”
Sanji stared at him for a beat, the fog lifting just enough to let guilt crawl in. “No,” he admitted quietly. “Because I don’t think I can do this sober.” He perked up a moment later. “Wait- I’ve got it! Let’s get you drunk too!”
“That’s not going to happen.”
“Yes, it will.” Sanji gestured grandly toward the racks of wine and spirits. “You just need to drink it all.”
Zoro exhaled hard through his nose. “This is stupid. I’m not doing this.”
“Oooh, hey, I got a better idea.” Sanji smacked his arm like it was brilliant. “Go dose yourself with katamine.”
“What?”
“You know,” Sanji said, teetering slightly, “Chopper’s stuff. The anesthetic. The thing that makes you high.”
“No, I- cook, no.”
“C’mon, marimo. Get high so we can fuck.”
Before Zoro could reply, the door to the Aquarium Bar creaked open.
“Good evening!” Brook’s chipper voice cut through the haze. “Anyone up for a late-night drink? Oh-ho, looks like I’m late to the party.” His eye sockets swept the room, taking in the scattered bottles.
The chance was gone. Zoro was already slipping past him, out the door without a word.
Sanji watched him go, lips parted, pouting over the missed opportunity. “…Shit.”
Sanji woke up sprawled on the sofa in the Aquarium Bar, with a pounding hangover and full memories of what he’d tried to do last night.
“Fuck.”
Zoro was well on his way to being smashed.
He’d wandered off the Sunny and stumbled straight into a rowdy tavern in Sheepshead Bay, where a half-shouted drinking contest promised the winner all the free booze he could stomach. Perfect.
His head was swimming with a warm buzz that made the edges of the world soft and wobbly. He couldn’t stop picturing Sanji’s half-crazed, half-drunken attempt to fuck him at the Aquarium Bar the other night – the blue lighting, the sloppy confidence, that damned leg trapping him. Brook’s interruption had saved them both, but part of Zoro wished it hadn’t. Maybe if they’d gone through with it, Sanji would’ve realized what he really wanted. Maybe things could go back to normal. Maybe Zoro could go back to quietly pining after an ass he’d never have and pretending that was enough.
He blinked slowly, the tavern’s chaos washing over him like a slow tide.
The place was perfect: scuffed floors sticky with spilled ale, tables sticky with old sweat and something sour, the air thick with burnt hops and rum. Laughter boomed and bounced between walls, card games were in full swing, and bodies slouched over chairs that threatened to collapse. Waitresses shouted sharp warnings at anyone who got too handsy. The bar rattled with life, glasses clinking nonstop.
Zoro leaned heavily against his table, which groaned beneath an impressive pile of steins, bottles, and tankards – his winnings. He’d been drinking since he’d arrived – before the contest, during, and after – and now he was warm and loose, a little fuzzy-headed and pleasantly horny. He kept glancing at the brunet leaning against the bar.
The guy was slim, sharp-eyed, with a mischievous mouth that turned into a sly smile when he caught Zoro looking. His hips swayed like a promise, and Zoro felt a lazy grin creep across his face. It’d been too long since he’d gotten laid. Maybe it was time to fix that.
“Damn it. You’re here.”
Zoro turned with a slow, lazy blink. Sanji was standing beside him, all sharp lines and attitude, ocean breeze still clinging to him.
“So I am,” Zoro slurred slightly, voice thick. “That a problem?”
“Your face is a problem,” Sanji muttered, eyes flicking over the mountain of drinks. “How the hell did you afford all this?”
“Won a contest,” Zoro puffed up a bit, proud. “Free booze ‘til I leave.”
Sanji snorted, unimpressed. “This bar’s going to go bankrupt.”
Zoro grinned wide, teeth showing. “Yeah.”
Sanji stared a beat too long, then shook his head like he was shaking off a bad thought. Without asking, he reached for a stein.
“Hey – get your own!” Zoro tried to swat at his hand, but Sanji was already knocking back the beer. He downed it fast, lips parted and throat working in quick, practiced gulps.
The empty mug hit the table with a heavy thud. Sanji grabbed another.
Zoro narrowed his eye, trying to focus. “You trying to get drunk?”
“Enough not to be fully sober,” Sanji said, eyes sharp despite the booze. “You and me got business.”
Zoro’s face twisted a little. “You gonna try to fuck me again?”
Sanji choked on his beer, coughing hard. “Keep your voice down, asshat.”
Zoro shrugged, raising his own drink. “Whatever.”
They drank in near-unison, foam clinging to lips, beards of sweat forming on the glasses. The crowd pressed in around them like a second skin, loud and warm and alive.
“Bet I can drink more than you,” Zoro goaded, voice a little thick and slurred.
“Of course you can. You got booze in your veins,” Sanji said, draining another stein, face flushed, fingers already curling around a third. “Two more should do it.”
He belched after the next one, shoulders relaxing.
Zoro barked a laugh, almost losing his balance. “Wuss.”
“Shut up. Drink more beer,” Sanji muttered.
Zoro obliged, knocking back several more fast – too fast maybe – barely feeling the burn anymore. He liked this feeling. Buzzed and loose, thoughts simple and easy, a low hum in his brain. The brunet caught his eye again and winked. Zoro smirked back, stumbling a little in his chair.
Sanji was on his fifth beer, fingers tight on the handle, lips thin and unreadable.
“This is going to be the stupidest thing I’ve ever done,” he muttered low and bitter, “and that includes trying to face my father alone.”
Zoro blinked slowly, the words landing but too fuzzy to pry apart. “Whatever,” he said, slurring a little. “You drunk yet?”
“Will be, once this hits,” Sanji said, killing the stein in three long gulps.
Zoro chuckled darkly. “Bet you puke.”
“Not happening.” Sanji wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Be back.”
He swaggered toward the bar, moving like a man pretending to be more sober than he was.
Zoro’s eyes lingered on him a beat, then flicked back to the brunet watching with clearer interest.
Zoro leaned back, head spinning pleasantly.
Bet he’d make a lot of noise…
Sanji felt it hit him like a warm wave, washing through his limbs and leaving him loose and fuzzy-headed. The bar’s din – the clink of glasses, laughter, some off-key singing – melted into a lazy hum in his ears. He swayed slightly as he sat back, the edges of the room blurring, just enough to stop him from overthinking or panicking. Perfect for doing stupid shit.
He was so done with all this crap with Zoro. They were going to fuck, it was gonna be a mess, and then life would go back to whatever “normal” was. No more of this stupid gay panic swirling in his head since that damn vat incident. Because he wasn’t gay. No way. He was gonna prove it, by fucking Zoro.
Wait… that thought twisted oddly in his mind. He blinked, frowning, then shrugged it off. Whatever. Nail Zoro, forget it ever happened. And that weird, kinda-in-love feeling Zoro confessed? Smashed down into the darkest corner of his brain where it belonged. Definitely not something to cherish.
He downed the third glass of water the bartender plunked down – a hangover bribe – and stood, wobbling just a bit. The air was thick with sweat, wood polish, and the musk of too many bodies pressed together. Someone belched loudly, another shouted for another round, a mug dropped with a clatter that made him jump.
He shuffled to the restroom. In the cracked mirror above the sink, his face was flushed, pupils blown wide, cheeks tinged pink. His hair stuck damp to his forehead. He swayed a little, grinning at himself. “Time to get laid,” he slurred under his breath, fingers running wet through his hair before he stumbled back out.
The golden bar light now stabbed a little too sharply, casting long shadows that danced as the room spun gently like a ship on waves. His eyes locked on Zoro, who lounged like a lazy king with a brunet perched on his leg, fingers weaving through that stupid green hair.
Sanji’s chest tightened with a flare of something fierce.
He stalked over and knocked the brunet off with a sweep of his leg. The guy yelped and hit the floor with a jingle of bracelets. “Piss off. This girl’s mine.”
Zoro blinked slowly. “Not a girl.”
The brunet blinked up, wide-eyed and raising hands like Sanji might kick him again. “Didn’t know he was taken.”
Sanji grabbed Zoro by the collar and hauled him up. “Let’s go, marimo.”
Zoro grunted, swaying a little. “But I’m not done drinking.”
“Yeah, you are. Now we’re gonna fuck.”
Zoro made a noise somewhere between a whinny and a groan, let himself be dragged up, and shot the brunet a sheepish little salute. “Maybe next time.”
“Nope. Not gonna happen, asshat,” Sanji snapped, tugging Zoro through the crowd, bumping into chairs and knocking over half-empty mugs.
Outside, the town thrummed with night. Streetlamps cast soft yellow pools on cobblestones, music spilled from taverns, mixing with the sea-salt breeze. Laughter echoed in alleys, gulls squawked as they settled for the night. The ocean air was thick with humidity, fish, steel, smoke, and liquor all tangled together.
Sanji stomped toward the Sunny with purpose, Zoro grumbling behind him. A fiddle screeched a sour note somewhere, making Sanji wince.
“Where do you wanna fuck?” he asked without looking back.
“Uh… crow’s nest?” Zoro slurred, shrugging. “Got stuff up there.”
Sanji waved a hand. “Works for me.”
They climbed the rigging, ropes creaking and swaying with their weight. Sanji’s foot slipped once; he cursed low, catching himself with a sharp snarl. The wind whipped past, the sea below dark and churning. Town lights blurred into flickering patches.
Pushing through the hatch into the crow’s nest was relief. The air inside smelled of sweat, oil, and old metal’s bite. Sanji flopped onto the bench, catching breath.
Zoro’s training gear stood in moonlight, weights, benches, towel hooks swaying faintly. Bottles clinked softly in a corner.
Zoro crossed to a window, shoved it open, letting the salty wind rush in. The ship rocked gently; the world steadied.
Sanji pushed up, narrowing eyes. “You are the bane of my existence.”
Zoro leaned on the frame, green hair silvered by moonlight, expression lazy and smug. “Goes both ways. We gonna fuck now?”
“Yes. Take off everything but your coat,” Sanji said, tugging at his tie with a slight wobble. The room felt suddenly too hot, and his words came out a little breathy, a little thick.
Zoro’s eye darkened, a slow smirk curling his lips. “Demandy, aren’t you?”
“Hn.” Sanji kicked off his shoes, barely steady on his feet. “Less talking. More stripping.”
Zoro chuckled, shaking his head as he obeyed. He set his katanas on the bench, kicked off his boots, and fumbled a bit with the buckle on his trousers, stumbling as he peeled them down, clearly just as drunk.
Sanji slipped off his shirt, popped open his fly, and palmed himself through his boxers, eyes locked on Zoro. “Make some tits for me.”
Zoro bit his tongue, cupped his chest, and a pair of C-cups swelled beneath his hands, framed by the open coat.
“Fuck,” Sanji whispered, rocking against his palm, a flush deepening on his cheeks. The sight was ridiculous. And stupidly hot. The coat draped like a dress, smooth legs, chest full, face still very much Zoro. A built woman, or a guy with tits. His nose prickled and started to bleed.
Zoro caught it with a laugh. “Pervert.”
“Tch. Shut up. Come ride me like a woman.”
Zoro’s eye gleamed, heated and playful, but instead of moving closer, he drifted toward his locker.
“What’re you doing?” Sanji scowled, voice thick.
“Getting stuff.” Zoro crouched low to rummage, coat lifting just enough to reveal the curve of his bare legs and ass. Sanji wiped his nose again, blinking through the haze.
“Hurry up.”
Zoro rose with a thick vial in hand and shut the locker with a soft bang. He crossed the small space and straddled Sanji’s lap, his black eye catching the moonlight as he leaned in, grinning sharp and teasing. “Hi.”
Sanji blinked, breath hitching, his heart giving a funny little catch. “Hi.”
Zoro held up the vial. “Lube.”
“Uh-huh.” Sanji’s brain spun – booze, lust, Zoro in a coat – and his voice came out low and a little slurry. “Use it. Ride me.”
“Tch. Pushy.”
Zoro uncapped the vial, poured some onto his fingers, and set it aside. Then he reached behind, hiking up his coat.
Sanji frowned, confused. “What’re you doing?”
Zoro’s face twisted into a blissful grin. “Getting my boy pussy wet for you.”
Sanji choked on his tongue, the words slurring in his head.
Zoro ignored him, focused on preparing himself, and Sanji felt like he was about to burst from the fire coiling in his gut. He pulled down his boxers, freeing himself to the cooler air of the crow’s nest.
Zoro’s gaze dropped, lips curling. “That for me?” he murmured, voice thick like smoke.
Sanji’s cock twitched. “Yeah,” he rasped, words slurred but urgent. “So do something about it already.”
“Hm. Okay.”
Zoro picked up the vial again, slicking Sanji’s cock with a slow, steady grip. His hand was rough and warm. Sanji’s breath caught, pleasure roaring past any sober hesitation.
Then Zoro stopped.
“Don’t stop there,” Sanji growled, hips lifting.
Zoro chuckled, shifting forward and draping his coat like a curtain over them both. Sanji felt the smooth glide along Zoro’s skin, the press of hard cock nestled between warm flesh, and the kiss of something softer and tighter.
Zoro held his gaze, heavy-lidded and hungry. Slowly, he began to sink down.
“Holy- holy shit,” Sanji gasped, voice cracking. Zoro was tight and hot and unreal. Not fully in yet, and Sanji already felt the edge creeping in. “Shit.”
Zoro chuckled low, easing down in short hops until his ass was flush against Sanji’s lap. The coat flared like a curtain, trapping heat. “Mmm, nice and full,” he sighed. “You got a great cock.”
Sanji whined, fighting to hold on.
After a moment, Zoro started to move, slow rolls and lazy lifts that blurred Sanji’s vision. His head fell back, panting through parted lips. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.”
“Yeah.” Zoro rolled his shoulders like settling into something familiar. “Knew this’d be good.”
Sanji gripped Zoro’s hips through the coat, fingers digging in. Everything narrowed to this rhythm, this feeling. He couldn’t feel Zoro’s cock against his belly through the layers, but he knew it was there, hard and demanding.
“Oh, almost forgot,” Zoro said, shifting again.
Sanji cracked an eye to see Zoro squeeze his chest, those conjured breasts bouncing above the coat line.
“Good?” Zoro asked.
Sanji choked, coming with a groan.
Zoro raised a brow, still moving slow. “Did you just come?”
“Shut up,” Sanji panted, legs twitching. “Give me a minute. I’ll be good to go again.”
Zoro grinned, sharp and sinful. “Can’t wait.”
It took more like five minutes – definitely not one – for Sanji to get hard again. Zoro didn’t care. He was perfectly content where he was, perched on Sanji’s lap with a dazed grin, swaying slightly from the alcohol buzzing through his veins. He kept catching Sanji staring, nose bleeding and eyes glassy, completely entranced by the tits he’d conjured. It was hilarious and hot and kind of amazing.
He’d wanted to do this forever, and now he was. No regrets. He’d wait all night if it meant they could keep going.
When Sanji finally gave the go-ahead, Zoro started rocking his hips, slow and steady at first, using his thighs to rise and fall with a rhythm that made him hum. The coat swished faintly with each bounce, brushing his sides and thighs, trapping warmth between them. Sanji’s cock filled him just right – deep, thick, and delicious – and the pleasure climbed up his spine like firelight.
He kept the tits, because Sanji clearly loved them, and let them bounce freely as he moved.
Opening one eye, he caught Sanji mid-drool, face flushed, still bleeding. “You enjoying your girl riding you?” he slurred, voice hoarse with heat and booze.
Sanji nodded like an idiot, eyes unfocused. “Good girl. Great tits.”
Zoro cackled, breath catching on a moan. “You gonna fuck my boy pussy all the time now?”
“Girl pussy,” Sanji corrected, reaching up to cup a breast reverently. “Like your girl pussy. Even though you’re a boy.”
Zoro was more than fine with that. Everything about this was fine. He was drunk, getting railed, and Sanji had an incredible cock. Life was good.
“I love your cock,” he blurted.
“I love your pussy,” Sanji slurred back, before nuzzling into Zoro’s cleavage like it was home.
Zoro let out a blissful sigh, riding him harder. The world swayed with every motion, the ship creaking faintly outside, wind humming against the crow’s nest windows, moonlight casting both of them in pale silver. Sanji licked and sucked at his tits like they were real, and Zoro was more than happy to let him.
“We should’ve done this a long time ago,” he mumbled into the air.
Sanji, nose still bleeding a bit, murmured, “Not gay. But I can live with this.”
“Heh.” Zoro pulled him in tighter. “Gonna try this sober sometime?”
Sanji blinked slowly. “Hm… maybe.” Then he grabbed Zoro’s hips and pulled him down harder. “Less talking, more riding.”
Zoro obeyed, legs straining, coat brushing his own erection as he moved faster. He wasn’t quite hitting the angle to get himself off, but that didn’t matter. He’d finish on his own later, once Sanji had filled him again.
Sanji looked absolutely gone, flushed and dreamy, his lips slack. His hands were back on Zoro’s tits, fondling them with single-minded devotion.
Zoro loved it.
Loved him.
“Love you,” he said without thinking.
Sanji’s eyes snapped up. “Yeah. I know. You’re… not so terrible.”
Zoro grinned, sloppy and warm. “Works for me.”
Then he bounced harder, and rode Sanji through another breathless, body-wracking orgasm.
They had sex several more times, Sanji even getting bold enough to fuck Zoro on his back, the coat artfully draped to cover whatever bits made him skittish. And the sex? Fan-fucking-tastic. Better than any woman he’d paid for, hands down. Zoro’s tits scratched that old itch Sanji had for breasts, and the rest of him hit every other craving like a punch to the gut.
It was a win all around.
His drunk-ass brain latched onto the thought: If Zoro was cool with playing dress-up, Sanji could do this all the time. No hesitation. Just Zoro in a pretty skirt and a push-up bra, tits he could bite and squeeze and fuck between, and that same cocky bastard smirking through it all.
That didn’t erase the fact that Zoro was a guy – just a guy in slutty clothes. No makeup, no wigs, no good-for-them-but-not-for-me femme aesthetic. Just tits and a skirt. Easy. Sanji could keep his gay panic suffocating quietly in the corner where it belonged.
Unhealthy? Sure. Morally gray? Probably. But kinky as hell? Absolutely. And if it was consensual, who the fuck cared?
Sanji collapsed beside Zoro on the futon, a sated mess. Who knew the mosshead had a whole damn bed setup up here? He shouldn't have been surprised. Zoro lived in the crow’s nest most of the time, working out or meditating or whatever weird shit sword freaks did.
Zoro sprawled beside him, his coat damp and crusted from the mess they’d made. He looked ridiculously pleased and smug as hell.
Sanji jabbed him hard in the ribs. “What the fuck are you smirking at?”
“My ass is better than any real pussy,” Zoro said with a snort. “Gay boy wins.”
Sanji blinked. That phrase tickled something in his memory, but it slipped away in the haze of alcohol and post-orgasm fog.
“You’re so fucking gay,” Sanji muttered, rolling his eyes, which sent the room tilting sideways again.
“Yes,” Zoro said proudly. “Best way to be.”
Sanji snorted. “I think I’ll stick to being straight... with a side of Zoro pussy.”
Zoro grinned, wide and pleased. “Works for me.”
The drunken haze thickened, all sticky satisfaction and slow-dragged gravity. Sanji’s eyes grew heavy, limbs sunk into the futon like lead. His clothes were long gone, down to sticky boxers that clung uncomfortably, but he couldn’t be bothered to care. Zoro shuffled closer, warm and broad, and Sanji let him.
The open window spilled in a soft breeze that cooled their flushed, sweaty skin. Somewhere distant, the ship creaked. The sea breathed.
“Hey, Sanji?”
The name sounded strange in that voice, rougher than usual. Softer.
“Hn?”
“I hope we figure this out when we’re sober.”
Sanji felt something gentle – Zoro’s fingers, maybe – press over his chest.
“Yeah,” he said quietly, honestly. “Me too.”
Morning came early for Sanji, like always, no matter how late he crashed. The sun burned through the crow’s nest window like it had a vendetta. He cracked one eye open, head pounding like it had been used as a drum in some sea-shanty nightmare.
Ugh. Never drinking again, he thought, like a liar.
The air was thick with stale sweat and the lingering warmth of sex, heavy and close. His mouth tasted like cotton soaked in old liquor and regret. He groaned softly, shifted – and froze.
Zoro. Sleeping next to him.
No. Fucking. Way.
Memory smacked him in the face like a wet mop. He’d fucked Zoro. Multiple times. Enthusiastically. With feeling.
And it had been… great.
Shit.
Sanji squeezed his eyes shut again and groaned. This wasn’t supposed to happen. It was supposed to be a trainwreck – a one-time, catastrophic disaster he could pretend never happened. Instead, it had been mind-blowingly, shamefully, satisfyingly good.
Of all the nights to not be blackout drunk.
His bladder throbbed and his brain screamed for water, but neither were as urgent as the growing dread pooling in his gut. Reluctantly, he cracked his eye open again.
Zoro was staring at him.
Sanji’s breath caught.
Fuck.
Zoro felt heat rush to his face as he locked eyes with Sanji’s slightly wild blue gaze.
They’d fucked. Actually fucked. Kinky, filthy, amazing sex. And surprisingly, Zoro didn’t hate it – the whole tits-pussy-girl thing didn’t bother him. Hell, he’d absolutely do it again. No hesitation.
Shit.
His head throbbed, the aftershocks of the hangover pounding in rhythm with his heartbeat. His bladder was yelling, but he couldn’t move – could only lie there, staring at Sanji, drowning in awkward silence.
“Uh…” Zoro finally offered, “...hi?”
Sanji’s lip twitched in disbelief. “Hi? That’s all you’ve got?”
Zoro opened his mouth, but no words came. He shrugged helplessly.
“Guess you remember?” Sanji asked, cautious.
“Yeah.” Zoro scratched his jaw, catching Sanji’s gaze tracking the movement. He opted for honesty. “It was… nice.”
Sanji sat up, incredulous. “Nice? I fuck your brains out multiple times, and it’s just nice?”
“Okay, great then,” Zoro corrected, sheepish. “Really great.”
“It better be,” Sanji muttered, flopping back with a sigh. “Fucking made me kinda gay because of you.”
Zoro snorted. “Thought you were ‘straight with a side of Zoro pussy.’”
Sanji groaned, covering his face. “That sounds terrible. But… accurate.”
Zoro grinned. The sheer lack of yelling or a kick to the face was starting to feel like a win. “You think… maybe you’d want to do it again?”
Sanji went still. His gaze sharpened, guarded. After a long moment, he sighed like a man surrendering to gravity. “Fuck it. Yeah. Might still need a drink or two. Or you in one hell of a dress.”
Zoro’s heart and dick jumped at the same time.
Sanji sat up with a groan, clutching his head. “I need to piss. And painkillers.”
“Same.” Zoro rolled off the futon, hunting for his pants while Sanji gathered his own clothes. They dressed quickly, both moving like men one bad sneeze away from throwing up.
Zoro descended the rigging a few steps behind Sanji, heading toward the toilets tucked under the stairs on either side of the Sunny. The early morning air was crisp with salt, gulls wheeling overhead as the harbor stirred awake – wood creaking, ropes clinking, faint voices rising from the docks.
Alone in the small water closet, Zoro stared at his reflection while he scrubbed his hands. His face was flushed, eye bright despite the headache. He looked… happy.
He knew Sanji didn’t love him. That kind of thing might never work between them anyway. Too many fights, too much pride. But Sanji had said he didn’t hate Zoro. That Zoro wasn’t terrible.
Zoro could work with that.
Now he just needed to find one killer dress.
Sanji cooked a hangover breakfast for two, smoked through an entire pack of cigarettes during a silent breakdown, and then crashed in his own bunk while Zoro headed back into town.
The ship was quiet, docked in the harbor, the city’s noise dulled by the Adam wood hull. Sanji shut his eyes, breathing through the last dregs of his headache and the screaming gay panic clawing through his skull.
He still couldn’t believe he’d done it.
Worse – he’d enjoyed it.
Really, really fucking enjoyed it.
What the hell had he been thinking? Now he was… kinda gay? Or straight with a side of Zoro pussy? Either way, he was definitely in over his head.
He could already see it: long days of denial, confusion, and spiraling thoughts, all because one dumbass swordsman kinda in love with him had said “Hi” with a vial of lube and a killer coat.
Sanji let out a long, slow sigh.
Maybe it was the alcohol.
Maybe he hadn’t sobered up yet.
Or maybe – shit – Sanji was just a little intoxicated by him.
Sanji had no idea where this was going, how far he was willing to let it go, or whether he was even remotely ready. But he’d found a workaround – and for now, he was willing to give it a try.
Besides… Zoro had an amazing rack.
End