The Thousand Sunny had sailed into a blistering summer climate three days ago, and it was hot. Mind-meltingly hot.
And Sanji was wearing the shortest shorts imaginable.
He’d cut off a pair of old suit trousers that morning, just below the back pockets. He’d never worn anything so tiny. His usual shorts came nearly to his knees, or he wore those calf-length half-pants. These rode so high that Franky almost looked decent in his speedo in comparison.
Zoro couldn’t stop staring. Golden hair covered miles of muscular legs exposed by the cut-offs. Creamy skin stood out vividly against the black material. Sanji wore them with an unbuttoned short-sleeved shirt, his bare feet stuffed into open sandals. He looked casual and almost unkempt. Zoro had seen him bruised, soaked, half-dressed and bandaged after a fight, and asleep in rumpled pajamas. Sanji had chosen to walk around this way, comfortable enough to leave his usual polished appearance in his locker.
Zoro’s gaze wandered over him again as Sanji crossed the deck, the open shirt shifting with each step. Sweat beaded along the cut lines of his abdomen and pooled in the hollow of his throat. Neon zinc oxide streaked his nose, courtesy of Chopper, which should’ve looked ridiculous but only enhanced the overall picture.
He wondered how far Sanji would kick him if he touched.
And Zoro desperately wanted to touch. To run his hand over the golden hair on Sanji’s thighs. To slide his fingers along the frayed seam of the cut-offs and find out whether Sanji’s skin felt as warm as it looked.
Zoro rarely paid much attention to anyone that way. Women did nothing for him. A few men had caught his eye, though never long enough to matter. He chalked it up to being too focused on his goals to be bothered with that sort of thing.
But Sanji was getting a reaction out of him that no one else ever had. His mouth went dry. His stomach flipped and dipped every time Sanji moved. Heat pooled low in a way that had nothing to do with the weather.
The actual heat gave him a convenient excuse, at least. The deck had been baking beneath the sun since morning. Heat shimmered above the railings, and the metal fittings were too hot to touch with a bare hand. The sails sagged in the occasional breeze, leaving the Sunny to drift over water that glittered hard enough to hurt Zoro’s eye.
Most of the crew had found whatever relief they could. Luffy, Usopp, Jinbe, and Brook were taking their turn in the Soldier Dock pool, where cold, moderately desalinated seawater filled the enclosed space. Franky had a fan attachment blowing over him as he worked, while Chopper made rounds with sunscreen and a doctor’s eye. Nami and Robin occupied the deepest patch of shade on deck beneath the tree, and Sanji danced around them with a tray of iced treats. Zoro himself was dressed in a pair of board shorts and nothing else.
“Ah! Zoro!” Chopper gasped as he ran up to where Zoro leaned in the shadow of the mast, trying to make his staring look casual. “You’re all red! You might be suffering from heat exhaustion. We have to get you inside.”
“Uh – right.” Zoro’s face burned as Chopper fussed over him, blissfully unaware of the real problem. Correcting him would require admitting that Sanji’s legs had reduced Zoro’s brain to useless sludge, so heat exhaustion could stand.
Chopper tugged on his arm. “Go and sit on the galley couch for at least half an hour. I’ll have Sanji make you something cool to drink.”
“I can get my own drink,” Zoro said hastily as he pushed to his feet.
Chopper shook a hoof at him. “No alcohol!”
“Tch.” Zoro huffed, gathering his katanas. “Fine.”
Chopper escorted Zoro to the galley, as if he knew Zoro would make a break for the crow’s nest if left to his own devices. The room was cooler than the deck, since the Adam wood kept out some of the sun’s intensity, but the air was still very warm. Every porthole had been opened, and occasionally a breeze would drift through. The lingering scents of lunch mixed with the salt drifting in from outside.
Once Zoro was seated on the couch, his katanas resting against its side, he got another hoof shake.
“No alcohol. I mean it!” Chopper said. “I’ll be back in half an hour to check on you.”
“Check on who?” Sanji said as he entered the galley, empty tray tucked under his arm. His gaze narrowed when it alighted on Zoro. “Oh. You.”
Zoro tried to twist his lips into a sneer, but his pulse skyrocketed at Sanji’s appearance, and it was a lost cause. Across the deck, Zoro had at least been able to pretend his attention was elsewhere. In the galley, Sanji stood close enough for him to see sweat caught in the golden hair above his knees.
“Will you make him something cold to drink?” Chopper asked Sanji.
“Only since you’re the one asking,” Sanji said flippantly. He set the tray on the bar, ass swaying in those short shorts as he rounded it to enter the kitchen.
“Thank you, Sanji,” Chopper said, and turned back to Zoro. He frowned. “Your face is still very red. Be sure to sip the drink – don’t chug it.”
“I’m fine, Chopper,” Zoro insisted, not wanting to worry Chopper over something else entirely.
Chopper remained unconvinced. “I need to check on Franky, but I’ll be back.”
With that, Chopper left. Now it was just Zoro, Sanji, and Sanji’s short shorts in the galley. Short shorts that were heading in his direction, corded quads flexing with each step.
Zoro swallowed dryly as Sanji came to a stop in front of him. Sanji thrust a glass into his face. “Here, shitty marimo. Drink this. Chopper was right. Your ugly face is the shade of a ripe cherry tomato.”
Zoro dragged his eye upward, took the glass of cold lime water, and tried to muster up his usual disdain. Condensation slicked the outside of the glass and ran over his knuckles. “There alcohol in it?”
“No, you pickled lout.” Sanji scowled down at him. “I put a touch of salt in your drink to help replenish what you’ve sweated out. Though I don’t see how your lazy ass got dehydrated lying around on deck all morning.”
“I trained.”
“Like a fool.” Sanji turned dismissively, and the creamy backs of his thighs were right there.
Zoro made a sound he’d never made before.
Sanji paused mid-step away from the couch, then turned to face Zoro again with an arched eyebrow. “You good there, moss?”
Zoro didn’t answer. Instead, he gulped his drink exactly the way Chopper had told him not to, his face burning and his body doing him no favors, either.
Sanji pulled a cigarette from the breast pocket of his shirt and put it between his lips. Then he dug his hand into the front pocket of his cut-offs for his lighter. Zoro’s gaze was drawn downward by the movement before he jerked it back up again.
Sanji noticed. “There a problem?”
There were several problems. Most of them involved Sanji’s hand disappearing into a pocket that barely had room for it.
“No,” Zoro said quickly, a squeakiness in his voice that was both telltale and mortifying.
Sanji stared at him for a long moment, then lit his cigarette. The flame flared briefly before he snapped the lighter shut and tucked it back into his pocket. “Sure about that?”
“Yeah.” Zoro managed to keep his voice level that time.
Sanji continued to look at him. He took a drag, then let the smoke escape slowly between his lips. Then he plucked the empty glass from Zoro’s hand. “I’ll get you another glass.”
“Don’t need one,” Zoro said.
“You’re getting one anyway.”
Sanji turned again, putting the backs of those thighs directly in front of him.
Now would be a good time to leave the galley and throw himself overboard. But Sanji was quick. He already had the pitcher out, and Zoro never turned his back on an enemy – even if the enemy was a pair of short shorts.
Outside, Franky shouted something from the deck. Nami yelled back, her words carrying clearly through the open portholes, followed by Robin’s laughter. Inside the galley, the only other sounds were the clink of ice against glass and the low hum of the refrigerator.
Sanji took longer than necessary to fill the glass. His shoulders stayed tense, and when he glanced over, his gaze lingered on Zoro before returning to the pitcher. Zoro’s embarrassment eased as suspicion took its place. Maybe he wasn’t the only one having trouble.
“You know,” Sanji began. He walked back toward the couch with the refilled glass in hand, his attention fixed on it rather than Zoro. “If – if – I were to do anything, I might – might – consider it. With you.”
“Do what?” Zoro said.
Sanji gave him a pointed look. Zoro followed it down to the cut-offs, remembered every thought he’d had for the past hour, and went, “Oh – oh.”
His palms tingled. He forced his gaze back to Sanji’s face. “Never done this before,” he admitted. “But if you mean it, can I?”
Sanji took a slow drag from his cigarette and held out the glass. “Maybe. Drink your water. Chopper’s gotta clear you first.”
Zoro took the glass, anticipation thrumming through him. “You know I don’t have heat exhaustion.”
“Kinda figured that out,” Sanji said dryly. He hesitated, his gaze dropping briefly to Zoro’s hands around the glass. Then he turned toward the kitchen. “I have a job to do, shit swordsman. Keep your eye to yourself until later.”
“But there’ll be a later?”
An exhale of smoke hid Sanji’s face briefly. “Maybe. If you shut up.”
Zoro shut up and drank his water – slowly this time – while the ice clicked against the glass and the summer sun burned against the galley windows.
He wondered why it was taking Chopper so long to return.
End