Sanji was in love with Zoro. It was fucking annoying.
He was supposed to fall in love with a beautiful woman whom he could dote on, shared his passions, and would look at him like he was the best man in the world. Basically, Pudding, before the betrayal. But no, he had to fall for a mannerless musclehead who thought grunting constituted a full sentence and sweat was an acceptable clothing choice.
The worst part was, he fell in love without Zoro even being around. It was during the crew’s two years apart that he went and decided to upend his life. He went from I miss my crew to I miss Zoro over the span of six months, then spent the following year and a half going through denial, gay panic, depression, and finally acceptance that he was well and truly fucked. Then, Zoro went and got built, and Sanji had a minor mental breakdown and threw himself back into denial with a side of nosebleeds.
Sanji wasn’t exactly physically attracted to Zoro. He was attracted to the man himself. His person. His loyalty. His determination. His subtle caring. The way he fought with Sanji and was unafraid to say what he thought. That wasn’t to say he wouldn’t screw Zoro six ways from Sunday, but it was less of a consideration for Sanji. Because Sanji wasn’t gay. He didn’t find men to be hot. While he would happily kiss any woman who wanted a kiss, he wouldn’t do that with a man.
But he wanted to do that with Zoro. Kind of. He mostly wanted to take care of Zoro and dote on him and share his passions while also fighting with him. Like having a best friend and girlfriend rolled into a one-eyed meathead. Someone he wasn’t afraid to speak his mind to or get dirty with – which spoke more to Sanji’s insecurities and biases about women than anything else, and so it was probably a good thing he’d gone and fallen for Zoro.
Of course, he hadn’t told Zoro any of this. Once he’d gotten past his resurgence of denial and then his family re-emerging to rend his self-worth into tatters, he’d had ample opportunity to find out if the green-haired menace might be interested in a relationship. But Sanji continued to repress and ignore, even if his spank material now included Zoro in a black, skin-tight jumpsuit that highlighted how fuckable of an ass he had.
Sanji didn’t even know if Zoro was into men. Or at least flexible enough to try it. The thought of having a dick anywhere near his mouth or ass made Sanji want to jump overboard and swim back to the East Blue, but the thought of having Zoro’s mouth or ass around Sanji’s dick made it stand up and enthusiastically beg. But if Zoro wasn’t into that, sex would be off the table. And Sanji was… sort of okay with that. Sex was awesome, but he didn’t need it. He’d rather have Zoro’s company than get laid, and that pretty much sealed the fact that Sanji was in love with him.
At some point, he was going to have to either shit or get off the pot. Pining was getting old, and irritating. It was distracting him from more important things, like revering Nami and Robin for the goddesses that they are, because he was too busy thinking about how he’d like to revere Zoro, too.
Fate must’ve decided it was getting tired of his moaning, because Zoro was getting married.
“I’m what?” Zoro stared at Nami, dumbfounded.
“Getting married,” she repeated, bonking Luffy on the head hard enough to earn a yowl. “This one decided to go where he wasn’t supposed to go and made a mess as usual. And to get out of the mess, we had to quickly decide who was going to get married. Luffy picked you.”
Zoro blinked, gaze sliding to his captain. “What?”
“Yo-ho-ho, a wedding! I will be honored to play the music for your nuptials, Zoro-san,” Brook said.
“Super! I love weddings.” Franky sniffled, wiping at his eyes. “They always make me cry.”
The ten Straw Hats were gathered in the Sunny’s galley, scattered between the table, sofa, and bar. Nami had called an emergency meeting the moment everyone stepped back onto the ship that night.
The Isle of Veralia lay in a warm stretch of the Grand Line, steeped in late-spring air that smelled of flowering citrus and sea salt. White sand beaches curved around its coast, giving way to meadows thick with wildflowers and terraces of jade-green rice that climbed the hills in careful steps. At the island’s heart, pale limestone cliffs formed a crescent around a freshwater basin fed by underground springs. The runoff spilled toward the sea in narrow, glittering waterfalls that caught the sunlight like glass threads.
The Thousand Sunny had docked that afternoon. The air had been humid but pleasant, heavy with the perfume of blooming vines and the hum of bees drifting between crimson and gold blossoms. Small villages clung to the shoreline, their houses painted in soft coral tones, and narrow stone paths wound uphill toward the sacred grounds. At the summit stood the Shrine of the Twin Currents, an open-air temple carved directly into the limestone.
Nami had handed out money, they’d drawn lots to decide who stayed aboard, and the crew had scattered to explore. The log pose would take three days to set, ample time to enjoy the island. Veralia had been modestly populated, home to a few hundred residents scattered across coastal hamlets and terraced farms. Most families had lived close to the sea, their lives bound to fishing, harvest cycles, and the festivals that drew travelers from neighboring islands each spring.
The festival was in full swing. Villagers had draped their homes and boats in woven garlands of vine and flower, the docks lined with lanterns painted in soft pastels. Markets stayed open until dawn, offering sugared fruits, spiced rice cakes, and sake brewed from the island’s sweet spring water. Dancers performed barefoot in the shrine’s outer courtyard, their skirts threaded with petals that scattered across the stone with every step. Music drifted on the air – drums, flutes, and voices blending together in celebration.
Now, the scent of festival smoke and spilled sake clung to them, drifting through the galley in faint traces of fruit and ash. Someone’s clothes were damp, someone else’s shoes left muddy prints across the floor, and petals from the shrine still clung stubbornly to the cuffs of a few jackets. Nami stood at the head of the table, arms crossed, looking like she’d been holding in her temper since sunset.
Sanji thought he’d somehow fallen asleep on watch and was dreaming – one of those slow, creeping nightmares that started out almost believable before tipping into madness. Except the smell of wet sake and Luffy’s sheepish grin were far too real for this to be a dream.
Usopp was seated with his elbows on the table, eyes darting between Nami and Luffy. “So,” he said, “which part of the island caught fire this time?”
“No fire, only a glutton who saw fruit laid in offering and decided he wanted a bite,” Nami growled.
“But I was hungry!” Luffy exclaimed.
“You knocked over half the stuff in the temple leaping for the food!” Nami hit him again. “You’re lucky we didn’t get run off the island!”
Luffy held his bruised head. “Sorry.”
“I am curious as to how Luffy’s actions resulted in Zoro getting married,” Jinbe said.
“When the temple priest found the mess and asked what happened, I lied and said that Luffy was in a rush to leave an offering and his enthusiasm got out of hand,” Nami said with annoyance. “Then the priest asked if it was an offering for a blessed union and I said yes.”
“Then the priest asked who was getting married, and I said Zoro!” Luffy sounded proud of this.
Zoro stared at Luffy like he’d grown five heads. “What?”
“Who’s the bride?” Usopp asked.
“Unnamed,” Nami said, flicking her eyes to Zoro. “But the wedding is tomorrow at three, so Zoro needs to pick someone by then.”
Zoro shifted his focus to her. “What?”
“Oh, and, um… the wedding concludes with a public consummation.”
“WHAT?!”
Usopp sputtered with laughter, and Luffy joined in. Chopper pressed his hooves to his cheeks with wide-eyes. Brook and Franky threw catcalls. Jinbe murmured, “An unexpected twist.” Robin hid a grin behind her hand. And Sanji…
Sanji wanted to scream. Or cry. Or volunteer.
“Why don’t we just leave?” he asked instead.
“No can do, bro,” Franky replied. “Still got the rabbit screw torn apart. It’ll take me until the day after tomorrow to fix.”
“And the log pose takes til then to set,” Nami said. “Even though we have the option of following one of the other routes, since Franky’s doing repairs, we need to stay. Which means Zoro needs to get married so the locals don’t decide to skewer us.”
“It’ll be fun!” Luffy clapped Zoro hard on the back. “There’ll be lots of food there!”
“So, Zoro, you just need to pick someone you’d be okay with having sex in public,” Nami said. “We’ll figure out how to get you unmarried at the next island.”
Zoro just stared at her.
“I–” Nami grimaced and then went on. “I’ll do it, since I’m the one who lied to the priest to begin with.”
Sanji choked on his tongue.
“Nami, you don’t like men,” Robin pointed out. She turned her attention to Zoro with a sly smile. “I would be willing to assist Zoro with this. It would be fascinating to experience a cultural tradition first hand.”
“I would be happy to volunteer to help our dear swordsman-san,” Brook spoke up. “It would give quite an interesting take on the euphemism boning. Because I am a skeleton. Yo-ho-ho!”
“I’m in.” Franky made a heart with his hands. “Bros for life. I can even fix myself up to self-lubricate.”
“I would be willing as well,” Jinbe spoke up. “I would be remiss not to offer in a friend’s time of need.”
“It’d be weird, but I can volunteer, too,” Chopper said. “I can shift into my more human-like form.”
Luffy grinned widely. “I’ll do it as long as I get to eat!” He cackled.
Usopp sighed dramatically. “I suppose it should be I who makes the ultimate sacrifice for my crewmate. Kaya will understand why I could no longer wait for her. It will be a tale of tragedy, love torn asunder, by the loyalty I have for my friend.”
Sanji stood in the kitchen, staring as all his nakama offered to be Zoro’s bride. He opened his mouth to volunteer as well, but the words choked in his throat. He couldn’t do it in front of everyone.
No one even glanced in Sanji’s direction. His silence was either expected or ignored. Nami clapped her hands together. “Great. You have your pick, and it doesn’t have to be your lesbian sister-like friend. So, who do you want?”
Zoro’s jaw twitched. His gaze flicked to Sanji, sharp and searching, before he stood and walked out.
Nami scowled. “Rude.”
“Aw, let a dude think. It’s a big decision,” Franky said. He pushed to his feet. “I’m going to work on the self-lube, just in case.”
Usopp pressed his palms together and looked heavenward. “Please, don’t pick me. Please, don’t pick me.”
“I am intrigued by the public consumption tradition.” Robin pushed to her feet as well. “I will be heading back into town to learn more.”
“I’ll accompany you, Robin-san, if that is alright?” Brook said, rising. “I would not mind inquiring about local tradition regarding wedding music, in case I am playing instead of laying. Yo-ho!”
Nami punched Luffy again, as Robin and Brook departed. “This is your fault!”
“Owie!”
“If Zoro doesn’t pick you, I’m going to lock you up tomorrow so you don’t get any wedding food!” With a huff, Nami stormed out of the galley.
Luffy ran after her. “Noooo! Don’t do that!”
Chopper looked worriedly at Jinbe. “I’ve never had sex before. I’m not even human. What if I do it wrong?”
Jinbe chuckled. “Fear not. I doubt Zoro shall choose you, but it was valiant of you to offer.”
Chopper blushed and wiggled. “Don’t say such nice things, asshole!”
“Come, let’s continue our chess game in the library.”
Jinbe and Chopper left, as did a still praying Usopp, leaving Sanji alone in the galley.
Moonlight filtered through the portholes, cutting silver stripes across the floor and the empty chairs. Sanji lit a cigarette with shaky hands, taking in the first hit of nicotine relief. He couldn’t believe this. Zoro was getting married. Though Nami would capitulate if Zoro put his foot down, pissing off an island full of friendly people while they were still undergoing repairs was an option of last resort.
If it was just getting married, Zoro probably would have agreed without much thought. Nami was right in that they could undo it at the next island. It was the public consummation that put a whole new twist on the event. People were going to watch Zoro having sex with someone. With one of the crew. Sanji had never seen Zoro even look twice at anyone in public, and now he was going to fuck in front of an audience.
Sanji took a drag off his cigarette, then pinched the bridge of his nose. Shit. He didn’t want that for Zoro. He wanted Zoro to get married for love, even if it wasn’t to him. He wanted Zoro’s romantic wishes to come true. He wanted Zoro to be happy and Sanji couldn’t think of how this situation could possibly lead to that. But if Sanji could make it the tiniest bit more bearable in any way, he’d do so.
He washed the cups and mugs left from the crew, then quickly wiped down the galley before heading to the men’s quarters. From the bottom of his locker, he fetched the high proof whisky he’d planned to give Zoro on his birthday in a month. He’d get another bottle. Zoro deserved a stiff drink.
Sanji had no trouble finding Zoro. He’d retreated to the crow’s nest, his second home on the Sunny. The crow’s nest doubled as Zoro’s training gym, with weights, a locker, and towel bar set up for him. A bench ran around the circular room, the open windows carrying the spring breeze. Zoro was curling barbells with a furious grimace and his gaze was unfriendly when Sanji entered the room.
Sanji held up the bottle. “Thought you might need a drink.”
The barbells clunked onto the floor. “Fuck, yes.”
Sanji chuckled and brought him the bottle. Zoro ripped the cork off and guzzled a quarter of it in one go. Sanji moved over to one of the windows, looking out at the lantern-lit island. The breeze stole his cigarette smoke.
For all their bickering, they’d figured out how to exist in the same space without setting each other off. The rough edges had worn down, not gone away, just… fit together better. Sanji hated that it mattered to him, that he’d started to rely on Zoro – on anyone. He’d spent too long pretending he didn’t need help. But he did. And he cherished it. Hell, Sanji cherished him.
“You don’t have to do it,” Sanji said, breaking the quiet between them. “Nami won’t actually force you.”
“I know.”
Sanji turned from the window toward him. Zoro was seated on the bench across the room, head hanging, elbows on his knees, bottle clasped loosely between them. “But you’re thinking about it.”
Zoro lifted a shoulder in a shrug. “It’s not that big of a deal.”
Sanji snorted. “I’d think fucking someone in public is a very big deal.”
“Good thing it’s not you doing it then.”
Sanji studied Zoro’s downturned head, his heart filled with longing. He decided to be honest. “I would, you know.”
Zoro’s hand stopped mid-lift of the bottle and glanced up at Sanji. Something flickered across his face – surprise, maybe relief – gone before Sanji could name it. “You.”
“Yeah, me.” Sanji took a drag off his cigarette. “We’re namaka, marimo. Just because I didn’t join in the lovefest in the galley doesn’t mean I wouldn’t do this for you.”
Zoro looked at him for a moment, then nodded. “I’d do it for you, too.” His voice was low, carrying a warmth that hadn’t been there a moment ago.
The sentiment made Sanji’s heart flip. Idiot. It was friendship, not a confession, and he was the bigger idiot for wishing otherwise. “Can’t deny that I’d rather not be the bride.”
Zoro rolled his eye. “Of course you wouldn’t.”
“Hey, I’m well aware of my limitations,” Sanji said. “While I’d be happy to fuck the green out of your hair, the other way around isn’t something I’m interested in.”
Zoro paused, studying him, as he took another long swig of his whisky. “Didn’t think you swung that way at all, cook.” There was no mockery in it, just curiosity. His gaze drifted, caught somewhere between Sanji’s mouth and the cigarette smoke curling past it.
Sanji took a drag off his cigarette and blew out the smoke to hide his face. “Depends on the person,” he admitted. Which was true. As long as that person was Zoro.
“Oh, yeah?” Zoro grinned rottenly. “Love cook’s got some secrets.”
Sanji flicked him off and turned back to the window to hide his reddened face. “Anyway, idiot, the entire crew’s willing to do this with you. Don’t you dare pick Nami or Robin, or I’ll cut your dick off.”
Zoro laughed. “I’d like to see you try.”
“Don’t tempt me.”
Zoro went quiet again, and Sanji could hear him drinking the whisky. Sanji watched the sparkle of the lanterns against the surface of the water in the harbor.
“It’s kinda of humbling, that everyone offered,” Zoro eventually said, his voice low, thoughtful. He chuckled softly. “Even Chopper.”
“We’re nakama.”
“Yeah.”
Zoro went quiet again, the slosh of the bottle indicating it was almost empty already. Sanji inhaled on his dwindling cigarette and blew the smoke out the window. The Sunny creaked as it rocked in its moorings. He could hear voices in the distance, laughter curling toward them from the dock.
“I never thought about getting married,” Zoro said quietly, a trace of something wistful threading through the words.
“Never?” Sanji had been thinking about marriage since he was thirteen, reading romance novels he’d stolen from Patty initially for the sex parts. Then he fell in love with love, and happily ever afters, and it shaped his entire being.
“No.” Zoro’s fingernail tapped against the glass bottle behind Sanji. “I’m going to be the World’s Greatest Swordsman. That comes with a built in death sentence. Wouldn’t be fair.”
Sanji was already mourning the day it happened. “Any person who loved you would know that going in. Besides, you’re going to be a doddering old man before someone would be able to take the title from you.”
“First you tell me you swing your sword in two directions, now you’re giving me a compliment?” Zoro sounded amused. “Who are you and what did you do with the cook?”
“Funny,” Sanji said flatly. Zoro chuckled.
Sanji stubbed out his spent cigarette in the ashtray perched on the back of the bench. He debated on lighting another one.
“You probably have your whole wedding planned out, don’t you, love cook?”
Sanji snorted. He tucked his hands in his pockets, still looking at the harbor. “I did. Right down to the color of the napkins and the digestifs. Then I got roped into that horror show with Big Mom and the Vinsmokes, and I’d rather not go through that again.”
From behind him, Zoro said, “You don’t want to get married at all?” The question hung there, soft and uncertain, before the faint clink of glass filled the silence.
“I didn’t say that,” Sanji said. He was talking to the person he was in love with, after all. And while he hadn’t imagined them married one day, he would be completely lying if he said he was opposed to the idea. “I just don’t want a big spectacle anymore.”
“What would you like?”
He laughed under his breath, wistfully sardonic. Of course Zoro would have to ask. He leaned over the bench, bracing his forearms against the window, and looked up at the night sky. The silvered moon curved with a crescent. This was ridiculous, pouring his heart out to the man he was in love with but couldn’t find the balls to say anything about it. He decided to indulge in the fantasy, of what he might like if he actually married Zoro.
“I think I’d want something more sacred,” Sanji said. “Reverent.”
“Your bride wearing white?” Zoro’s tone was light, but there was a careful note in it, as if he were only curious to hear what Sanji might say.
Sanji’s lips quirked, imagining Zoro’s bulky form in yards of lace. “A dress, definitely. Something lacy and fitted. Easy to get under.”
“Pervert.”
“Heh.” Sanji grinned at the night. “I’d wear something with black this time, to mourn the loss of all the ladies I’m leaving behind.”
“Pathetic, too.”
Sanji glanced over his shoulder, still grinning. “You’re just jealous, mosshead.”
Zoro stared at Sanji, a slight redness stealing across his cheeks. Then he looked away and snorted. “None of those ladies gave you the time of day.”
“There might have been a few,” Sanji said with a smirk in his tone. “Enough that I know what I’m doing.”
“Blow up dolls don’t count.”
“Ha!” Sanji barked in laughter. He pushed off the window frame and went to take the empty bottle from Zoro. “You want more, you’ll have to get it yourself.”
Zoro grunted at him, and Sanji shoved with affectionate roughness at his head. “Don’t do something you don’t really want to do, marimo.”
Zoro batted at his arm, though there was a small smile playing on his lips. “I won’t.”
Sanji headed for the hatch. “Night, dumbass.”
“Night, shit cook.”
Sanji dropped down the rigging, landing lightly on deck. He took the bottle to the galley to rinse it out, to be reused for other purposes. His mood turned melancholy as his thoughts wandered back to Zoro’s impending wedding. Even if it was fake, temporary, Zoro would still be having sex with someone from the crew. Sanji had to brace himself for the fact it wouldn’t be him. Tomorrow, he’d make a joke of it – razz Zoro about his choice, toss out an impotent comment or two – but tonight, all he could do was curse fate and pretend the pang in his chest was just heartburn.
The next morning, Sanji was surprised to find Nami and Robin already in the galley, fully dressed and drinking coffee. Usually, it was just him for an hour or two, prepping for breakfast. “Oh, good morning, ladies! What brings me the joy of your presence so early this morning?”
Nami grinned wickedly at him. “Zoro picked you.”
Sanji’s eyes went wide. “Uh- wha- he- huh?”
“Zoro picked you,” Nami repeated with evil glee. “He told us last night.”
“He also said that he would be the bride,” Robin added, her tone mild, though amusement flickered in her eyes. “And that he didn’t want to see you until the wedding.”
Sanji’s mouth opened and closed several times like a fish. His brain refused to latch onto what was being told to him. “Zoro– he– huh?”
“I’m taking Zoro to the shrine and shopping for the appropriate attire as soon as the shops open. We won’t be here for breakfast,” Nami said. “Robin is going to help you get ready.”
“Zoro assured us that you had offered,” Robin said, watching Sanji flounder. “Does it still stand? If not, we’ll let him know that he needs to pick a second choice.”
“No!” Sanji blurted, finally finding his words. Like hell Zoro was going to pick anyone else. “I’ll do it.”
The ladies exchanged amused looks and Sanji cleared his throat. “I mean, I’ll honor my offer. Any one of us would have. We’re nakama, after all.”
Nami hummed, unconvinced. “Of course.”
Sanji’s face heated, and he busied himself in the kitchen, pouring a cup of coffee. He tried to get his racing heart under control. Zoro had picked him. Him. He was going to marry Zoro.
He took several gulps of coffee, staring blankly at the coffee pot as his mind whirled. He couldn’t believe this was happening. He reminded himself it was fake. That it wasn’t a real marriage. That Zoro didn’t love him. Still, Zoro had chosen him.
“After breakfast, we shall head to the shrine to speak with the priest as to what the ceremony entails,” Robin said. “Then we shall visit the shops.”
“Anything you wish, Robin-chan,” Sanji replied absently. He wondered if he should get a haircut. His hair was getting a bit long. And he needed a shave. His beard could use a trim. Should he trim elsewhere? Did Zoro even like hairy men? Did Zoro like men at all? Why didn’t he know the answer to that question yet? They were friends. Friends knew that sort of thing, didn’t they? But why would Zoro pick him otherwise when Robin and Nami were willing? Or say he’d be the bride?
“Sanji-kun, I can hear your breakdown from where I’m sitting,” Nami said.
“Sorry, Nami-san! I’ll break down more quietly!”
Nami snorted, and Robin chuckled quietly. Sanji gulped more coffee and tried to calm down. While he excelled at overthinking, it wasn’t getting breakfast made. He set the mug down, rolled up his sleeves, and turned toward the stove. The routine of cooking would help – chop, stir, taste, repeat. At least the ingredients didn’t make his heart do stupid things.
The shrine was beautiful. Sanji leaned against one of the pale limestone columns, cigarette dangling from his lips, and let his gaze sweep the place. The islanders had carved the temple straight from the limestone, open to wind and sky, the air rich with the scent of salt and flowers. Smooth marble gleamed beneath drifting petals carried by the breeze, worn soft from centuries of bare feet.
At the heart of the shrine lay the wedding platform, a wide ring of pale marble open to sunlight and sea air. Garlands of white and gold blossoms hung between the columns, their petals scattering across the stone with every breath of wind. A low altar of polished limestone held vessels of spring water, sweet sake, and trays of fresh offerings: fruit, shells, and flowers gathered that morning. Above, bronze bells swayed and chimed softly, their echoes mingling with the distant sigh of the waves.
Steps descended from the platform into the Pool of Reflection, a clear spring that shimmered with mineral light beneath the surface. Offerings lined the water’s edge, their colors vivid even in the morning light. Every time the wind moved through the arches, the bells sang their haunting notes, threading between the columns like whispers.
Beyond the pool, the ground rose in a gentle curve. A semicircle of tiered stone seats had been carved into the limestone, overlooking the shrine from a respectful distance. Low walls and flowering hedges marked the boundary, giving the spectators a view of the ceremony, but nothing of what took place below the pool’s edge. The design balanced reverence and discretion, preserving the illusion of privacy beneath open air.
Robin had gone to find the priest while Sanji drank in the atmosphere. This was where he was going to be married in a few hours. Where he’d exchange vows with Zoro. His heart did a slow flip in his chest. He sucked on his cigarette, reminding himself – for the thousandth time – that it wasn’t real. This was for show, for the islanders, to keep the peace. Zoro may have chosen him, but he hadn’t chosen him. Sanji needed to keep that in the forefront of his mind.
He exhaled, letting the smoke drift into the heavy air, then drew a slow breath in return. The scents of golden champa and white frangipani wrapped around him. A bittersweet smile touched his lips. No matter how he felt about the marimo, they were friends first and foremost, and Sanji would do his best to make this ceremony as painless as possible for him. The fact that Sanji hoped for more was irrelevant.
Robin returned with a white-robed priest of indeterminate age – Marrell, the island’s Keeper of the Currents. His face was weathered by sun and salt, his skin the color of aged parchment, and his eyes calm and kind. He reached out both his hands to take Sanji’s in a warm greeting. “I have been told you are the groom for our afternoon nuptials. Welcome to the Shrine of the Twin Currents.”
Sanji smiled around his cigarette. “The shrine is lovely.”
Marrell’s eyes crinkled at the corners. “It is our most sacred space. Come, let me walk you through the ceremony.”
They descended to the platform, Marrell explaining as they walked. “The ceremony will begin with you at the altar. A priestess will guide you in, and you will give an offering before taking your place before me. Then, a priestess shall guide your intended in, and she–”
“He,” Robin corrected.
Marrell nodded, seemingly unconcerned. “He will also give an offering and take his place beside you. I shall begin the ceremony with an invocation for Marea and Aven, then we shall proceed to the vows and the binding of hands.”
“Binding of hands?” Sanji glanced at the items on the altar, and saw a smooth patch on the ground where countless couples stood to be married.
“I will take a white ribbon that has been soaked in the Pool of Reflection and bind your wrists. You will remain bound for the duration of the ceremony.”
Sanji nodded. It didn’t sound bad. They could always break it if necessary, to fight.
“After I conclude my portion of the ceremony, I shall instruct you both to enter into the Pool of Reflection,” Marrell continued. They walked over to the pool to stand at its edge. Close up, Sanji could see into the crystal water. A single bench carved from limestone and smoothed from time sat in the center of the pool. “You will sit on the bench to consummate the union.”
Heat climbed Sanji’s neck. He’d been trying not to think about that part of the wedding. He didn’t want to walk around with a boner all day. “How–” his voice squeaked and he cleared his throat. “How does it work? Do we get undressed and just do it?”
Marrell shook his head. “Oh, no. Minimal skin should be bared during the consummation. While the Pool of Reflection will prevent the witnesses from seeing below the surface, this is a sacred ceremony and not a bacchanalia. Wear loose trousers with a drawstring and only expose what is necessary to complete the act.”
“Are they to copulate to climax?” Robin asked, and Sanji nearly died on the spot.
“No, only until the bells have ceased ringing.” Marrell motioned to the bells above the pool. “It is a symbolic union of joining, of Marea and Aven coming together as one.”
Sanji inhaled on his cigarette, trying to center himself again. “And after the bells stop ringing?”
“Then, after adjusting your clothing appropriately, you two shall leave the pool and return before the altar, where I will pronounce the union blessed. A priestess shall lead you both out, and you may proceed unto your honeymoon.” Marrell winked. Robin laughed softly.
Sanji blinked, then arched a brow. A honeymoon? He’d assumed they’d go back to the ship and never speak about it again.
“Do you have any questions?” Marrell asked.
Sanji shook his head. “Seems straightforward enough.”
Robin smiled at the priest. “Thank you for taking the time to speak with us. I know you have a busy day ahead.”
“That I do. Many islanders and visitors marry during the festival. There will be a wedding nearly every hour beginning at noon.” Marrell gave them a short bow. “I shall see you at the ceremony, young man.”
He departed. Sanji allowed himself a moment of what the fuck am I doing? panic before turning to Robin. “What’s next?”
“Shopping,” Robin told him, hooking her elbow with his. His heart briefly went pitter-pat, but he was too wound up to gush at her touch. “Then we shall have lunch and get prepared for the ceremony. Nami has rented a room at the inn, where she and Zoro will remain until time.”
“What’s up with the separation?” Sanji asked, as they left the shrine. “Mosshead afraid I’ll bolt if I see him before the wedding?”
“Perhaps.” Robin’s eyes were alight with mischief. “Or perhaps he wants to make this special.”
Sanji doubted that. Zoro was as romantic as a rock. And that was an insult to rocks.
Sanji looked at himself in the full-length mirror attached to the support pillar in the men’s quarters. He’d gotten a quick trim from Usopp, showered thoroughly, shaved, and neatened his beard. He wore loose black trousers and a fitted gray vest over a white shirt and darker gray tie. He topped it off with a black morning tailcoat. A white frangipani blossom adorned his lapel.
“This isn’t real,” he reminded his reflection. He was doing this because he was a good friend. Nothing more. They’d get through the vows, have a quick fuck, and be back on the Sunny before Sanji needed to start dinner prep. Then he could box this day up under the label That time I married Zoro, ha-ha, wasn’t that funny? and go back to pining like a fool.
“Sanji, are you ready?” Jinbe’s low voice traveled through the door. The rest of the crew had already set off for the shrine. Sanji picked Jinbe to accompany him, as he was the least likely to burst into tears or poke fun at him. Even Robin had been giving him sly, subtle jabs during their shopping trip.
Sanji adjusted his tie once more and gave himself a wry smile. “Maybe your third marriage will actually work out,” he told his reflection, then headed out of the men’s quarters.
Jinbe was a quiet companion on the walk to the shrine. Sanji smoked a cigarette and tried not to get in his head. At least this marriage didn’t come with a side of assassination. Not yet. There was still time. Maybe the islanders were secretly bounty hunters and this was a big ruse to get the Straw Hats into one location for easy picking. Not that they would be easy to pick. In fact, he could use a good fight. Not having a mid-morning dust up with Zoro had thrown him off. An all-out brawl with bounty hunting islanders would be just what he needed.
Alas, it wasn’t to be. They arrived at the shrine and saw excited villagers dressed in bright colors, the Straw Hats intermingled with them. A priestess was waiting for Sanji and she swept him away as Jinbe wished him luck. Sanji was brought behind the shrine into a small room with two doors, one to the outside, the other to the wedding platform. She asked if Sanji had any final questions or concerns, and Sanji shook his head no. He couldn’t even find it in him to swoon over her beauty. He sat on the lone bench in the room, breathing in through his nose, out through his mouth, staving off his nerves.
It’s not real, he reminded himself again.
He heard a single bell ring low and long, and glanced at the priestess. She smiled. “It is time.”
He stood, straightened his shirt sleeves and tails, and accepted the shells she passed to him. He plastered a benign smile on his face and followed her to meet his heart’s doom.
The crowd in the tiered stone seating fell to a hush when Sanji and the priestess appeared. He spotted Luffy waving wildly from the front row, Franky blowing his nose beside him. Robin and Nami flanked Usopp and Chopper, Nami holding Zoro’s three katanas. Behind them sat Brook and Jinbe. The rest of the rows were filled with islanders, all witness to the ceremony taking place.
Sanji took a deep breath, exhaled slowly, and nodded to the priestess when she brought him to the altar. He presented his offering – the shells – adding them to the small bowl with the others. The priestess departed, and Sanji took his place in front of Marrell in the worn spot on the platform where many grooms had stood before.
A second bell rang, this one slightly higher in pitch. Sanji saw a different priestess emerge from the other side of the wall behind the altar, followed by Zoro.
Sanji’s heart stopped.
Zoro was wrapped in white lace, the fabric clinging to the breadth of his chest like a filigree of light. The floral pattern traced every line of muscle, sheer enough to show the strength beneath, fragile enough to look breakable. The bodice was scalloped and cut away in places, small, deliberate openings that revealed the curve of his ribs and the ridges of his abdomen through the lace. The waist cinched tight before falling into a layered, fairy-light skirt that ended just below his knees. Barefoot, he looked both fierce and unearthly – a warrior bound in delicacy instead of armor.
Zoro approached the altar and left an offering. The priestess departed, and Zoro took his spot beside Sanji.
Sanji stared, lips parted in quiet disbelief. The faint pink on Zoro’s cheeks only made things worse. Zoro kept his gaze fixed forward, shoulders taut, hands clenched at his sides, as if holding himself together by force of will.
Marrell began to speak, dragging Sanji’s focus from the unexpected beauty beside him.
“Be still, and listen to the voice of the water.
“We gather in this sacred place where sea and river meet, to witness the joining of two souls beneath the gaze of Marea and Aven.
“Here, where the currents mingle, love takes its shape – steady as the tide, strong as the flow.
“Let all hearts be calm, all spirits open, as we call upon the keepers of the twin currents to bless this union.”
Marrell’s voice carried easily over the hush of the gathered crowd. The cadence of his words settled over the gathering, quieting even the restless seabreeze. When he lifted his hands toward the altar, the faint clink of the shell bracelets at his wrists marked the shift from welcome to reverence.
His next words came lower, deeper. A prayer meant not for the witnesses, but for the gods themselves.
“Before Marea, Keeper of the Ebb, and Aven, Keeper of the Flow, we gather to honor the balance that binds all things.
“Marea, who teaches the constancy of love and the renewal of the heart.
“Aven, who reminds us that strength and passion give love its motion.
“Their meeting is the harmony of the sea and river – two currents drawn ever toward one another.
“So too are these two souls, joined here today, to move as one: steadfast and free.”
Sanji stood still, though his throat felt tight. The priest’s voice seemed to carry straight through him. He had to remind himself, yet again, that this was a show to appease the locals. He wasn’t really getting married. Yet the phrasing, the talk of love and strength, landed deeper than it should have. He turned his head slightly, unable to stop the glance at Zoro.
Zoro hadn’t moved. He faced forward, jaw set, but Sanji could see the rise and fall of his chest had gone shallow. The delicate lace caught the light with each breath. His hands, still at his sides, flexed once before stilling again. Whatever he was thinking, it stayed locked behind that solid posture, but there was a softness in his expression Sanji had never seen before.
Marrell lowered his arms and smiled at them both. “And now, we shall speak the vows that join your hearts as surely as these waters meet. Repeat after me.
“Before Marea of the Ebb and Aven of the Flow, I stand with you.”
Sanji repeated the words, Zoro’s voice joining his own. “Before Marea of the Ebb and Aven of the Flow, I stand with you.”
“We are two forces that move differently, yet are always drawn toward one another.”
“We are two forces that move differently, yet are always drawn toward one another.”
“As the sea to the shore, as the river to the sea, my path finds yours.”
“As the sea to the shore, as the river to the sea, my path finds yours.”
“In your stillness, I find peace. In your motion, I find strength.”
Sanji glanced at Zoro from the corner of his eye. Zoro’s expression was serious, almost reverent. “In your stillness, I find peace. In your motion, I find strength.”
“I vow to honor the balance between us – the ebb and the flow, the giving and the return.”
“I vow to honor the balance between us – the ebb and the flow, the giving and the return.”
“Together, we are harmony – two currents meeting, forever moving toward one another.”
“Together, we are harmony – two currents meeting, forever moving toward one another.”
Sanji’s heart was pounding by the time the priest concluded. The vows hit too close to something real, too well-fitted to what he didn’t want to think about. His throat tightened.
When Marrell turned to lift the wet white ribbon from its bowl, the gold trim glimmered in the light. He held it aloft for the crowd, then lowered it between them. “Extend your wrists closest to each other.”
Sanji hesitated for half a breath before raising his left hand. Zoro’s right came up without pause. Their skin brushed, cool and warm at once. Marrell began to wind the ribbon around their wrists. “In the name of the twin currents, I bind your hands as a sign of unity. As the sea draws in the river, and the river renews the sea, may your hearts draw and renew each other, now and for all your days.”
The ribbon clung faintly, moisture darkening the lace at Zoro’s cuff. Sanji looked down at it, swallowing hard. He told himself it was only ritual, nothing binding but the performance.
Marrell turned back to the altar, poured two shallow cups of sake, and presented one to each of them. “Now that your paths are bound, let your spirits join as well. Drink, and let the sake carry your promise into the waters.”
Sanji raised the cup, wishing it were the whole bottle. The sake was soft and bitter, a comfort that hurt more than it helped.
When Marrell set the empty cups aside, he gave a small nod toward the Pool of Reflection. “Enter the water as they once did, sea and river entwined. In its depth, make your unity, in the ceaseless joining of ebb and flow.”
Sanji watched the sunlight ripple across the pool, Zoro’s reflection wavering beside his own, and wondered if it was too late to stop. Because what would break him wasn’t the vows or the ribbon or even the lace – it was what came next.
He felt Zoro’s gentle tug on his bound wrist as Zoro took a step toward the pool. Sanji had to follow, or get pulled unceremoniously behind. Get a grip, he told himself. He’d agreed to this. He was going to follow through. Then he was going to get plastered, hide in the supply closet, and cry.
The water was warm as he stepped into its depths. His shoes scraped the stone bottom. The pool came up to his waist, soaking the clothing he wore. The white lace around Zoro’s legs turned almost translucent, wrapping itself around his muscular thighs. Sanji couldn’t help but stare, arousal stirring.
A bell ringing above startled him, and he jerked his gaze up. He saw all the people watching and nearly had a stroke. He’d forgotten they were there, he’d been so enrapt in the ceremony. And now they were all going to watch him have sex with Zoro. “Fuck,” he gulped.
“That’s the idea,” Zoro murmured in response, and Sanji couldn’t stop the small, nervous laugh from escaping.
They reached the bench at the center of the pool, and Sanji took a seat as he’d been instructed by the priest. He looked up at Zoro, standing in front of him, their wrists still bound. His breath caught. Afternoon sunlight highlighted Zoro’s skin, glinting against his earrings, making the lace seem to glow. The hard muscle of Zoro’s body shrouded by delicacy caused Sanji to ache.
“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” Sanji breathed reverently.
A pink blush stole across Zoro’s features. “‘S’what you wanted.”
Sanji’s heart thumped hard against his breast. He opened his mouth to say it had been a joke, but the words died in his throat as the meaning sunk in. Zoro was wearing that lace dress for him.
The bell overhead rang again. Zoro glanced up at it, then down at Sanji again. A wry smile twisted his lips. “Guess we should do this.”
“Zoro–” Sanji started to say, but Zoro straddled his legs and sank down onto his lap. The water lapped around their chests. Sanji’s free hand immediately went to Zoro’s waist. He felt Zoro’s fingers tugging at Sanji’s waistband and he sucked in a shuddering breath. “Wait.”
Zoro paused, looking at him questioningly. The bell rang again.
“We don’t have to do this,” Sanji said in a quiet voice beneath the low echo of the bell. “They can’t see in the pool. We can fake it. Just like the ceremony.”
Sanji should curse his inner voice for reminding him the witnesses couldn’t see beneath the surface, but having sex with Zoro had never been a goal of his. He wanted Zoro to be comfortable. To not regret something he was sort-of forced into. To make today as good as possible for him.
Zoro’s chin dropped, his lashes sweeping down to hide his gaze. He seemed to brace himself before murmuring, “Wasn’t faking it.”
The bell rang again.
All the air left Sanji’s lungs in a rush. Zoro wasn’t faking it. That meant he’d treated it as if it were real. Like he was really getting married to Sanji. “You…”
One of Zoro’s shoulders lifted in a shrug. “Thought maybe you felt the same, but if you don’t–”
Sanji’s unbound hand shot up, fisted in the back of Zoro’s hair, and cut him off with a kiss.
The bell rang, and it felt like joyous noise in the background. Zoro melted against Sanji almost like he was breakable and not a behemoth of a man. Sanji kissed Zoro with all the pent up passion and longing and love he had been hiding. Their mouths moved against each other, chasing back and forth, growing deeper, more ardent. Sanji couldn’t get enough.
Zoro rocked his hips against Sanji’s and Sanji moaned in the back of his throat. He hardened beneath his trousers, desire coiling with emotion. When Zoro’s fingers worked at his waistband, Sanji helped with his bound hand. He freed himself from the loose trousers and hissed into the kiss when Zoro’s rough palm closed around him.
Another bell rang, and Zoro shifted, lifting up. Sanji felt the press of bunched material against his waist. Then he sucked in a sharp breath when he felt the head of his shaft bump against Zoro’s entrance. He broke the kiss, eyes growing wide. “Zoro…”
Zoro’s face was flushed, his lips swollen, his breathing unsteady. He met Sanji’s gaze with a hooded look of desire. Then he sunk down on Sanji’s cock, a low gasp torn from his throat.
He was hot, tight, and slick. Sanji realized Zoro had prepared himself for this. Prepared himself for Sanji. Not because he had to do this, but because he wanted it, wanted Sanji. For real.
Zoro began to rock, hands coming to clasp the lapels of Sanji’s morning coat. Sanji turned his bound wrist so he could cover Zoro’s fingers with his own, his other hand still ensnared in Zoro’s hair. Zoro’s head tipped back, exposing his throat, his earrings chiming softly as he rode Sanji. The water lapped around them, and all Sanji could do was watch as Zoro took his pleasure, drowning in the sensation of being inside him.
The bells rang again, a chorus of them, ringing clearly over the shrine. Movement at the corner of Sanji’s eye drew his attention from the beauty in his lap, and he saw the priest draw closer to the pool. Sanji’s memory tickled, that when the bells stopped ringing they were supposed to stop. It was on his lips to protest, because he never wanted this to end. He wanted to be here, with Zoro, loving him, because it was real.
Reluctantly, Sanji leaned forward, laved a kiss on Zoro’s neck, then tugged Zoro’s head forward again to brush a kiss on slackened lips. “Time to stop,” he murmured.
Zoro whined softly, then slowed his rocking. When he opened his eye, Sanji could see hunger and longing in his gaze. Sanji pressed another kiss to his lips. The reverberation of the bells began to fade.
Sanji prompted Zoro off him, fixed his trousers, and clasped Zoro’s bound hand in his. Together they left the pool, rejoining the priest. There was no hiding their arousals beneath the wet clothes plastered to their bodies. Zoro was almost indecent in his lace, the layers of material the only barrier around his waist.
Marrell smiled at them both, raised his hands, and gave a final blessing. “Your vows have been spoken, your unity sealed in the depth. May the Twin Currents keep you, guiding your course in balance and devotion. Go forth as one, ever distinct, yet ever joined.”
The islanders burst into applause, and Sanji felt a rush of embarrassment heat his cheeks. He’d completely forgotten they were there. Again. He could hear Luffy’s whooping, Franky’s sobs, Brook striking up a celebratory tune. He refused to look in their direction. Though at least it caused his erection to wane.
A priestess came out, unbound their wrists, and escorted them behind the wall into one of the rooms. She handed them both fluffy towels. “Leave the towels on the bench. Congratulations to you both.”
Then, she left them alone in the room.
Zoro glanced at Sanji, then quickly looked away and began drying off roughly. Sanji snapped at him. “That’s lace, meathead! You’re going to rip it.”
Zoro huffed. “It’s just clothes.”
“Just clothes!” Sanji flicked the towel at him, causing the end to whip against his wet ass. “That’s your damned wedding dress. Treat it with the reverence it deserves.”
“Oi!” Zoro jumped back with a scowl on his face. “It’s my dress. I can do what I want.”
“You’re wearing it for me. And you look fucking beautiful. And I won’t have you ruin it.”
A blush rose up Zoro’s neck, spread across his cheeks, and tinted the tips of his ears. He ducked his head and returned to drying off – gently this time.
For a second, Sanji just stared. The color on Zoro’s face was the same soft pink he’d noticed at the altar, blooming up from his lace collar as if the memory of it still lingered there. He’d thought it was embarrassment then, or stage fright, but seeing it again, in private, pulled at something tender inside him.
He covered it with a cough and did the best he could to towel his own clothes dry. It was really a lost cause. “We need to get back to the ship, so we can change.”
Zoro’s blush grew even darker. “Nami gave us the inn room. She packed you a bag and left it there.”
Sanji didn’t know whether to rejoice or dig a hole to hide in. He opted to go with gratitude with a side of anticipation. “Then why are we still here?”
Zoro stopped drying himself, looked at Sanji, and grinned wolfishly. “Let’s go.”
So much for no longer having an erection.
They hurriedly left the room, exiting out the back of the shrine, only to run into Nami and Robin standing there chatting. They both gave Sanji and Zoro knowing looks, and Nami thrust Zoro’s katanas at him and gave Sanji a key. “The inn is three blocks west when you get down the mountain. Room three. See you tomorrow.”
With that, the ladies left, and Sanji died a little inside. But then Zoro grabbed his wrist and began dragging him toward the path. Sanji was going to yell at him, but the cling of the damp dress to Zoro’s ass was distracting.
They made it down the mountain in record time, almost running by the time they reached the bottom. Zoro kept going straight, but Sanji nabbed his elbow and corrected course, heading west down the street. The inn was nestled between a small shop and a park, a coral-colored building decorated with flowers and lanterns. Exterior doors made the room easy to find.
The room was simple but clean: a low bed draped in white linen, a carved chest at its foot, faintly faded curtains that swayed with the breeze. Two overnight bags sat on the end of the bed. Zoro’s usual clothing was heaped on the chair positioned beneath the window. The scent of frangipani drifted through the open window.
Zoro leaned his katanas against the chair, turned toward Sanji, and rubbed the back of his neck. “So…”
Between the lace, the way the fabric draped, and the muscles shifting underneath, Sanji’s nose started to bleed.
Zoro noticed, and smirked. “Perverted cook.”
Sanji didn’t deny it. “I want you.”
Zoro’s smirk turned feral. “You got me.”
Sanji’s nose gushed more. He cursed, grabbed his bag, and dug through it, knowing Nami would’ve packed a handkerchief for him. He found it and pinched his nose shut.
Zoro sauntered over to the bed, snagged his own bag, and dragged it toward him. He rooted around inside and retrieved a tube of something. Sanji stared at it a second, put two and two together, and got hard again. “Fuck.”
“Hope so,” Zoro said this time, and he pushed the bag off the bed.
Sanji’s bag followed immediately, and he was yanking off his morning coat, tugging loose his tie. Zoro reached for the buttons on the back of his dress, but Sanji stopped him immediately. “Don’t you dare.”
Zoro grinned. Then he popped the cap on the tube, slicked his fingers, and reached under the skirts of the dress behind him. His eyelid fluttered shut with a breathy moan.
Sanji stared, jaw hanging, as Zoro fingered himself. Blood from his nose dripped onto the floor. He stemmed it quickly, then stripped down to his shirt and not-so-loose trousers. He kicked off his shoes and peeled off his damp socks. If he didn’t get back inside Zoro soon, he might bleed to death.
He didn’t want to get blood on the dress, though. As much as he didn’t want to stop watching, he needed to clean up. He darted into the small en suite, used the sink to wash the blood off his face and hands. He looked at himself in the mirror. His face was bright, slightly flushed, excitement glinting in his eyes. This was not how he’d expected this day to end.
He adjusted his hard-on, trapping it in his waistband, and returned to the bedroom. Zoro looked at him with hunger in his gaze, chest rising and falling with quick breaths, hand still beneath the back of his dress. Sex hadn’t been a priority for Sanji when it came to Zoro, but at the moment, it was the only thing he could think about.
He closed the distance between them, grabbing Zoro into another kiss. Zoro eagerly reciprocated, tongue sliding against Sanji’s, drawing him deeper. He tasted like sake, mint and desire. Sanji couldn’t get enough.
Zoro’s hands found Sanji’s waist, maneuvering them both before giving a firm shove. Sanji fell back onto the bed, and Zoro followed, straddling his hips. He caught Sanji’s mouth again, lips moving hungrily against his as he ground down against him.
Sanji sucked in a sharp breath, want slamming into him. He ran his hands up Zoro’s back, fingertips catching on the lace. His erection throbbed as Zoro ground against him again. “Fucking– marimo–” he muttered between kisses, “–come on already.”
Zoro raised up, an aroused flush on his cheeks, his lips reddened and puffy from kissing. He smirked at Sanji, then reached between them to free Sanji from his trousers. With a shift of the skirt, Zoro positioned Sanji and sank slowly down onto him once more.
Sanji cursed as Zoro’s body swallowed him greedily. Zoro balanced his hands on Sanji’s stomach and began to roll his hips. The tight, slick heat grasped Sanji, dragging pleasure from him. It felt fucking fantastic. His hands grasped Zoro’s hips, helping him along. Zoro’s expression was twisted with lust as he rocked on Sanji’s lap.
The dress hid their connection from view, draped around Zoro’s bent knees. The contrast between delicacy and muscles drove Sanji crazy. He never wanted Zoro to take it off. And to think, Zoro had worn this because of him.
To get married.
Sanji’s breath stuttered and his heart caught hard. “We’re married.”
Zoro’s eye cracked open, and a small smile curved his lips. “Yep.”
“For real.”
“Yep.”
Sanji scowled. He was having a moment, and Zoro was being… Zoro. “That's all you got to say?”
Zoro’s lips curved higher. “Yep.”
Sanji used his core strength to flip them, earning a squawk from Zoro. Still seated inside, hips flush against Zoro’s ass, he bracketed Zoro’s head with his forearms and stared down at him. “Do you love me?”
Zoro’s expression softened, as did his voice. “Yep.”
“You–” Sanji didn’t know whether to laugh or strangle him. “When? How long?”
“Little while. Knew for sure when you ran off to get married.”
Sanji had him beat, then. Not that he was going to admit it. Not right now, anyway. “Why didn’t you say something?”
Zoro’s brow climbed. “Why didn’t you?”
Point. Sanji mumbled something about timing and the crew and other lies until he shut himself up by kissing Zoro again. Zoro’s chest rumbled with a laugh, and he wound his hands around Sanji’s back and shifted his hips. Sanji caught the hint. He drew back and drove forward again, eliciting a quiet moan that vibrated against Sanji’s lips.
Sanji deepened the kiss, breath mingling with the low hum in Zoro’s chest. The world outside the small inn room fell away. Sanji set a slow rhythm, different than before, pressing repeatedly into Zoro, showing him the reverence Sanji had longed to give him. Zoro’s hands slid along Sanji’s back, pushing up under his shirt, warm skin against warm skin. The light through the window turned everything gold, the linen shifting beneath them.
When Zoro’s head tipped back, Sanji followed the curve of his throat with his mouth, tasting salt and devotion. Breathy moans and steady rocking filled the air. This was what Sanji had sought with Zoro, not sex, but love swathed in softness. Zoro was not delicate, but he still deserved to be treated with tenderness and preciousness. For them to find a balance between their harsh edges and gentler desires.
Later, they’d get a big wilder. Later, they’d do more. But for now, Sanji revelled in making slow, sweet love to his husband.
Sanji wanted to kick the smug smirk off Zoro’s face. So he did.
The two of them tumbled out onto the deck, brawling with feet and swords. Sanji kicked, Zoro striked, the ship shuddered and Franky yelled. Everything was as usual on the Thousand Sunny.
Except now, when the fighting was done, Sanji got to kiss Zoro.
They had the lace wedding dress professionally cleaned before leaving Veralia. Sanji hung it in his locker because he didn’t trust Zoro not to breathe on it and get it dirty.
“Sure, cook, that’s the reason,” Zoro smirked. “Pervert.”
The crew had welcomed them back from their overnight honeymoon with a banner that read Conga-Rats! and a party that Sanji needed to cook for. He didn’t mind, because his friends were happy, and he was really happy, and Zoro was smiling.
They talked late into the night, lazily draped over each other, Sanji tracing absent patterns on Zoro’s back. Somewhere between exhaustion and comfort, Sanji finally got his answer on Zoro’s sexuality.
“I’m into certain people, but not very often.”
In turn, Sanji confessed to his own “Zoro-awakening” on Momoiro – what he wanted, what he didn’t, and what he might be willing to try, for Zoro. Zoro’s reply was quiet, fragile in a way Sanji almost missed: that he just wanted to be with him.
After that, the conversation gentled – whispers about fears, hopes, and half-dreams the night promised to keep.
When Sanji told Zeff later, the old man just snorted. “Treat him right or I’ll kick your ass, eggplant.”
“I’ll treat him like the treasure he is,” Sanji promised.
It was an easy one to keep. Like their vows said, they were two forces that moved differently, yet were always drawn toward one another. They gave each other strength and also peace.
Sanji got what he wanted most: to fight with Zoro and to dote on him. Zoro pretended he didn’t like it, but the softened line of his jaw gave him away. Sanji had his best friend and girlfriend in one, only the girlfriend was now his spouse.
He knew it wouldn’t always be easy. The Grand Line was full of dangers, and Zoro was still on a path that would one day end in his death. But until then, Sanji would get to take care of him, spar with him, and share every current between them – the ebb and the flow, the giving and the return.
Because Sanji was in love with Zoro. And it was fucking awesome.
End
Zoro's Dress