Roronoa Zoro did not beg.
The waiter – cook now, he guessed – made good on his promise. He pretended he didn’t know Zoro when he came aboard the Merry. Acted like they needed to be properly introduced. Like he hadn’t taken Zoro apart in a bathroom and left him stupid afterward.
At first, Zoro didn’t care. It was probably better that way. Having a hookup he never expected to see again show up as the newest crewmember threw things sideways. Pretending it never happened made sense.
Zoro could work with that. He was good at keeping things simple. The cook didn’t mention it, so Zoro didn’t mention it. They were crewmates now, and crewmates came with rules, even if nobody had bothered writing them down. He could eat across from Sanji, sleep under the same stretch of deck, listen to him flirt with Nami and pal around with Usopp, and keep his hands to himself. Fine. Easy.
Except Sanji kept making smirking little comments meant to get under his skin. About his skill. His capabilities. His manhood. Pointed comments Zoro just knew were meant to rile him up.
It worked. Zoro was riled up. And horny. Both things were annoying. But he wasn’t giving in. He had the strength to resist. He had pride. He wasn’t about to let the cook win.
Sanji was ignoring him.
The tavern in Whisky Peak smelled like spilled beer, lamp oil, and too much perfume. Laughter bounced off the balcony rails, loud enough to cover the creak of chairs and the scrape of boots over the floorboards.
Sanji was at the other end of the bar, showing off his bartending skills to a group clustered at the corner. It was lame. He was lame. First he was a waiter, then a cook, and now a bartender. What was next?
“Hey, Chore Boy,” Zoro called, raising his voice. He wanted another beer. If Sanji was playing bartender, he should be serving Zoro. Instead, Sanji continued ignoring him.
It pissed him off. Being ignored pissed him off. Being affected by it pissed him off more.
He reached over the bar, grabbing two beers on his own. His irritation knocked the empty bottle over, sending it clattering loud enough to make him look stupid.
Sanji didn’t turn his head at all.
Annoyed at Sanji, at himself, and at everyone else for existing, he took his beers upstairs to drink. The stairs opened onto a narrow railed walkway overlooking the bar, with another flight climbing behind him and a couple of small tables tucked near the wall.
The first beer was gone before he even reached the second level. He deposited the empty on a table, then went over to the rail to look down at the bar below. From up there, the room looked wrong to him – fake cheer, too many smiles, too many people being friendly all at once. He noticed. He wasn’t stupid. He was just distracted by a different kind of problem, because Sanji was still flipping bottles and showing off and leaning close to blatantly flirt with the woman in the striped dress.
Zoro took a swig of his beer. So what if Sanji was flirting with that woman? Sanji could hit on whoever the hell he wanted. Zoro could, too. He could pull more in this bar with a look than Sanji could with all his stupid flirting if he wanted. Which he didn’t. He might be drinking, but he had other things to concentrate on than getting laid. Or one stupid blond cook with a wicked mouth. Mihawk was out there, so far out of his reach he may as well be a kid again, just picking up bokken for the first time.
The fight with Mihawk dug in under his ribs. Embarrassing. Humiliating. Kuina was probably shaking her head in shame. It sucked. He sucked.
Luffy came up beside him and slapped the rail, a smile on his face, camaraderie in his voice. “Look at us, man. We put together an amazing crew, made it to the Grand Line, and now we’re one step closer to our dreams.”
Zoro couldn’t even look at him. How could Luffy want him when he wasn’t good enough?
Luffy noticed. “What’s wrong?” he asked. “You hungry?”
Zoro thought about accepting the excuse, but Luffy valued honesty and so did he. “Mihawk,” he said.
Luffy’s tone shifted from light to serious. “Hawk Eyes.”
“I still have a long way to go to get to his level,” Zoro admitted, and it hurt to say.
Luffy stepped closer, putting his arm around Zoro’s shoulder. The familiarity of it, the way he didn’t hesitate to show support, wasn’t something Zoro had much of in his life.
“That’s what the journey’s all about,” Luffy said. “You’re gonna fight so many tough guys that by the time you meet him again, you’ll be ready. I can feel it in my gut.”
The knot inside Zoro loosened, just a bit. Luffy still believed in him, even if he was struggling to believe in himself. “The same gut that told you to let that assassin chick go free?” he said, because he wouldn’t admit out loud that Luffy’s words helped.
“Hey, we still don’t know if I was wrong.”
Luffy’s stomach made a loud rumble, and Zoro couldn’t let it pass. “What’s it saying now?”
“That was a dessert grumble.”
“Hn,” Zoro acknowledged with a hum.
“I think I saw a bakery on our way into town.” Luffy slapped his belly. “Boom!”
He clapped Zoro on the shoulder and walked off.
A faint smile pulled at Zoro’s mouth. Luffy’s confidence helped. A bit. He took another swig of his beer, looking down at the bar again.
Sanji was bent forward, leaning his chin on his folded hands, looking up at two women – the one in the striped dress and another in black – a flush on his cheeks. It looked too much like the flush he’d had when he’d looked up at Zoro from his knees, deft fingers undoing Zoro’s trousers.
The surge of jealousy was so fast and so sharp that Zoro cursed under his breath. He shoved away from the rail, guzzled back the rest of his beer, and went to find something stiffer to drink.
Eventually, after several glasses of whisky with some locals willing to share, he made his way back downstairs. By then, the music had gone thin around the edges. The same smiles stayed on the same faces too long, and the lamps threw hard yellow light over tables sticky with spilled drinks. Sanji was no longer behind the bar. The bartender with the mustache was back instead. Zoro pretended he didn’t care where Sanji had gone, or that those two women were gone as well. He ordered several more beers to drink and tried to shut his thoughts off.
Too bad his tolerance for alcohol was so high. Then again, it meant he noticed the unfriendly eyes settling on him the more he drank. Curious, he played it up, slouching slightly, tilting a little on his stool. He caught nods and gestures toward him, smirks appearing. Then he realized Sanji, Usopp, and Nami were gone, and the drinking stopped being funny.
He finished the beer in his hand, pushed himself away from the bar, and pretended to weave unsteadily on his feet. He headed out of the bar, around the corner to the alley, to see who followed. He needed to piss anyway.
Outside, Whisky Peak was quieter than it should’ve been. The party noise dulled behind the door, and the street sat pale under the moon, all painted fronts, empty windows, and shadows tucked between buildings.
Sure enough, before he even finished, two of the smirkers who had been sitting near the door appeared at the mouth of the alley. For a beat, Zoro hoped they were really there for a fuck. If Sanji could screw around, so could Zoro, and damn that cook for even making him think that way.
“The least you could do is buy me a drink first.” He threw it out there, in case he was wrong.
He wasn’t.
He zipped up just in time for the two to come at him with an axe and a sword. He dodged their swings, blocked another, disarmed them, and took them down within a few seconds. Weak.
Nami came running into the alley. “Zoro, this place is a… trap,” she trailed off, noticing the downed men.
“Yeah, I kinda got that,” Zoro said with a sigh. He’d really wanted that fuck to get over whatever this obsession was with Sanji.
“I thought you were drunk,” Nami said.
“So did they.”
“Where are the others? We have to get out of here.”
“Luffy went to find a bakery. Usopp and the cook are still inside.” He could hear the scorn in his tone when he said cook.
“Okay. You get them. I’ll find Luffy. We’ll meet back at the Merry,” Nami said. She looked at him with worry. “Watch out in there.”
Zoro all but rolled his eyes at her concern. “I’ll be careful.”
As she ran off, he dragged the two fallen men with him back to the bar. If he couldn’t have a fuck, a fight would have to do.
And what a fight it turned out to be. One hundred Baroque Works agents, all set up in Whisky Peak to take out pirate crews. They came out of doorways, over balcony rails, from behind tables and fake smiles. The town’s welcome cracked open all at once, and every idiot was holding a weapon. It gave Zoro a chance to learn about his new swords. It also gave his mind a chance to taunt him about how far he was from Mihawk still. Both spurred him on to fight harder, move better, take chances, and stop holding back.
His body count was in the mid-seventies when he got knocked through a wall into a fancy side parlor and found Usopp and Sanji tied up on a settee.
“Zoro,” Usopp said, perking up. “Help us.”
Sanji glanced at Zoro, then dropped his gaze to his hands, embarrassment on his face.
Zoro stared, and hurt hit him out of nowhere. Usopp was drunk, but he knew Sanji was sober because he’d been watching like an idiot. Which meant Sanji got tied up voluntarily. Annoyance hit first. Then anger. Then something worse, sharp enough that he wanted to kick the whole damn settee through the wall. If Sanji wanted to be tied up, Zoro could do that. Tie him up, pin him down, kiss that shitty mouth until he begged.
The women attacked him, and after he took care of them, he refused to look at Sanji. “Get the ship ready to sail. We’ll meet you on board,” he said, heading for the door.
“Hey, mosshead!”
Sanji’s voice made him stop and stiffen.
“You gonna free us?” Sanji said.
Zoro ground his teeth. He thought about leaving anyway, but he didn’t have anything against Usopp. He turned to look back and Sanji gave him this look of almost innocent question, which only served to piss Zoro off more. Zoro kicked the knife toward them with a snide, “You’re good with a knife, right?”
Then he went to kick the rest of the Baroque Works’ asses.
The crew set sail from Whisky Peak in a rush with a princess in tow, circling the island until the log pose finished setting. The cactus peaks shrank behind them in the gray light, their grave-marker shapes cutting up through the morning haze. Dawn came as they sailed away, and Zoro disappeared into the head to doctor his wounds from the fight.
He pulled off his shirts, wincing. The little room smelled like salt, damp wood, and old soap. The mirror was spotted at the edges, and the ship’s movement kept shifting his reflection by half an inch. In the mirror, he saw his cheek developing a bruise. More bruises littered his stomach from Ms. Monday’s brass-knuckle punches. Blood streaked his chest from the knife wound near his shoulder, which still bled sluggishly. The fake nuns had been the only two to really cause damage out of the hundred he fought. He didn’t know whether that made him strong or sloppy.
He washed the wound and taped a bandage over it. From the jar in the cabinet, he rubbed arnica over the bruises. He met his eyes in the mirror again. He was still nowhere near good enough.
“Don’t give up,” he told himself in the mirror. His reflection only stared back at him.
He pulled back on his shirts, the outer one hiding the blood on the one beneath. He went to rejoin the crew on deck, catching Sanji talking to Usopp by the aft steps. Morning light lay bright across the deck, catching on wet rope and the rail where spray had dried into salt. Everyone looked too awake for a crew that hadn’t slept yet.
“Look, I thought we had a real connection before she pulled the knife out,” Sanji said.
“I think I’m never following you anywhere ever again,” Usopp said.
“You can say whatever you want. She was interested.”
“Yes, in stabbing you.”
Zoro’s jaw tightened. After all that, Sanji was still interested in one of those women. The ugly feelings came roaring back, after he’d managed to dispel them with the fight. Damned, fucking cook.
He forced his expression into something neutral and walked over to Luffy’s side. The princess formally introduced herself, and another Baroque Works agent appeared on their ship – Miss All Sunday – who disarmed him within seconds. Zoro blew out a hard breath, pissed at himself all over again. Miss All Sunday gave her speech, gave them an eternal log pose, and then Sanji asked if she was coming with them.
“Keep it in your pants. She’s the enemy,” Nami told Sanji, hearing exactly what Zoro did.
Zoro shoved his reaction down hard. There were more pressing things happening right now.
Luffy crushed the eternal pose – unsurprising – and Miss All Sunday left. They argued it out in the galley. Luffy was for helping the princess – also unsurprising – and Zoro wasn’t afraid of Baroque Works. The princess’s plan was to get another ship once they reached Little Garden. Zoro already had a feeling that wasn’t going to happen, and as Sanji declared he was making breakfast, Zoro left the galley to train.
It had nothing to do with Sanji or the stupid mess in Zoro’s head about him.
The day passed. Zoro trained, ate when called, said as little as possible, and trained some more. In between, he changed into a green t-shirt and napped, squirreled away on the couch in the men’s quarters, gratefully undisturbed.
When midnight rolled around, Zoro fetched a few beers before going up to the stern deck to relieve Usopp of watch. Usopp said goodnight, clapping him on the shoulder before disappearing below. The Merry creaked around him, wood shifting with the roll of the sea.
The night was clear, the wind still buffeting the sails. The whipstaff was locked, the log pose attached to it by a rope. Zoro picked it up, noting the ship continued sailing in the correct direction. He kinda wished everywhere came with a log pose needle. Would certainly make it easier to find bars.
Zoro set the beers at his feet where the stern would keep them from rolling, then opened one. He took a drink, settled against the rail, and looked out over the water behind them. The wake flashed white beneath the moonlight. Stars studded the inky sky. He took another drink and let the peaceful night air relax him.
Cigarette smoke reached him first, followed by shoes on the steps. The smoke cut through the clean salt air, sharp enough that Zoro knew who it was before the first board creaked. He closed his eyes, tension ratcheting again.
The footsteps stopped beside him, and he felt a bare arm brush against his. The touch sent unwanted heat through him. “It’s not your watch,” Zoro said flatly, shifting away.
“I’m aware,” Sanji said, then fell quiet for a moment.
Zoro tried to act like Sanji wasn’t there. He was still pissed about being ignored, about Sanji smiling at everyone else, about wanting any of it badly enough to matter. Sanji could fuck around with whomever he wanted. Zoro refused to give a shit.
Except he did care. And it was annoying. And he wasn’t going to beg.
“You good there, moss?” Sanji said.
Zoro opened his eyes. Sanji’s cherry flared in the darkness as he inhaled on the cigarette. His feet were stuffed into unlaced sneakers. He wore a blue t-shirt and sleep shorts with a puffin in sunglasses on them, the words Stud Puffin printed across the front. They were ridiculous and Zoro was embarrassed to know him.
“You look stupid,” Zoro said, turning his gaze over the water again.
“And you look tense,” Sanji countered. “Plus, you’ve been playing the avoidance game all day. What gives?”
“Nothing.” Zoro kept his eyes on the distant horizon, the dark water indistinguishable from the night sky. “Why are you here?”
“I’m here to have a smoke and to find out what crawled up your ass and died,” Sanji said.
Zoro clenched his jaw. “Nothing crawled up my ass.”
“Oh, really?” Sanji took another puff on his cigarette. “Then why are you acting all sulky and brooding?”
“I don’t sulk,” Zoro said stiffly.
“If your lower lip stuck out any more, I’d call it pouting.”
Zoro exhaled sharply, fingers clenching around his beer bottle so he wouldn’t deck Sanji. “Why do you even care?”
Sanji huffed softly. “What kind of question is that? Of course I care.”
Zoro scoffed. “We’re just shipmates, not friends. You don’t know me.”
Sanji went quiet, then leaned into Zoro’s space. “This about our tête-à-tête at the Baratie?”
Zoro’s shoulders tensed. “No.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a smug grin cross Sanji’s face. “Ha. It is. Fancy another go, do you?”
“No,” Zoro said shortly, even as another part of him said yes. Loudly. Insistently.
The smug grin remained. “Liar. All you had to do was say something.”
“I’m not going to beg,” Zoro gritted out between clenched teeth. The glass bottle creaked in his hand as he squeezed it.
Sanji paused, and then he let out a peal of laughter that rang through the air. “Oh, fuck, you still think I care about that?”
Zoro felt his ears redden, shoulders locking up. “Shut up.”
“No, don’t think I will,” Sanji said, cheekily. He settled against the rail again, stub of a cigarette burning between his fingers. “I’ve been trying to get back into your trousers since Cocoyashi.”
Zoro felt like a fool. An embarrassed, pissed-off fool. “Who said I’m interested?”
“Oh, please,” Sanji scoffed. “I can still hear your gorgeous little moans in my head. See that lovely blush of yours staining your cheeks.”
Zoro could feel the heat crawling across his face at Sanji’s words. He knocked back his beer, finishing it off in several long swallows to try and hide it.
Sanji finished his cigarette, flicking the butt over the rail. Then he boldly plucked the bottle from Zoro’s fingers. Zoro turned and scowled at him. “Hey! That’s mine.”
“And it’s empty.” Sanji set it down on the deck, then crowded into Zoro’s space, bullying him up against the rail, hands on either side of him. Zoro’s katanas clacked against the support posts.
Zoro’s pulse sped up traitorously. He fixed a dark look on his face. “Back off, before I make you.”
“Hn. You could. And I would never do anything someone didn’t want.” Sanji’s smile was like quicksilver, bright in the dark. “But that blush of yours is back and it makes me want to bite you.”
Zoro’s breath went shallow as heat moved through him. “I don’t like you.”
Sanji’s blue eyes looked hot and intent. “You sure about that?”
No, and that was the problem. Stupid cook. Stupid feelings. Stupid self.
“Since you still seem hung up over what I said, how about this?” Sanji slid down to his knees, and Zoro’s eyes widened. “Please, you ridiculously adorable man, I’m begging you to let me mess you up in the best way.”
Zoro’s throat ran dry and his face felt like it was on fire. His fingers curled hard over the edge of the rail. One thought made it through his otherwise blank mind. “I win.”
Sanji sputtered a laugh, and then his hands were on Zoro’s hips and he leaned his chin against Zoro’s lower belly, peering up at Zoro with a wide grin. “Yeah, moss. You do. A hundred percent. Can I suck you off now?”
Zoro’s whole body reacted before his pride could stop it. Desire ran up his spine, his pulse thumped hard, and still some stubborn part of him dug in. “What about that girl?”
“What girl– oh.” Sanji’s grin took on a knowing slant. “You’re jealous.”
“Am not,” Zoro said quickly. Too quickly.
“You are. And it’s making me like you even more.” Sanji laughed softly, still looking up at him. “Who would’ve thought, the Demon of the East Blue was the possessive sort.”
Zoro didn’t think his face could get any redder. “Are you going to blow me, or what?”
“I most certainly am, now that you want it.” Sanji bit the tip of his tongue, cheeky as hell. “Just so you know, you’re still the prettiest.”
Zoro hated that Sanji said that, hated that he liked it, hated that he was close to begging. “Get on with it already.”
Sanji obliged. That was the problem with the cook. He heard a challenge and treated it like an invitation. His hands settled at Zoro’s hips, warm through the loose fabric, and Zoro’s grip tightened on the rail hard enough to make the old wood complain.
“Don’t get smug,” Zoro said.
Sanji looked up at him with his mouth already curved like he’d won something. “Too late.”
Zoro opened his mouth to insult him, but Sanji leaned in, and the insult turned into a sharp breath he bit down before it got embarrassing. Heat rolled through him fast and fierce. His swords pressed awkwardly against the rail. The wake flashed white below them. Somewhere forward, canvas snapped in the wind.
He was on watch. He was supposed to be watching.
Sanji made that difficult.
Zoro kept one hand on the rail and let the other fall into Sanji’s hair before he could think better of it. Sanji hummed, pleased with himself, and Zoro’s head tipped back despite every bit of pride he owned.
“Shut up,” Zoro muttered.
Sanji made another amused sound, which was worse than talking.
The night narrowed down to moonlight, salt air, Sanji’s hands, and the stupid, perfect heat of his mouth. Zoro held himself still through sheer will and spite. Mostly spite. Sanji seemed to know it, because every time Zoro managed to drag a breath in quietly, he did something that made Zoro’s fingers tighten in his hair.
“Cook,” Zoro warned, rough and low.
Sanji looked up at him again, eyes bright in the dark.
Zoro hated him a little. Wanted him more. Hated that, too.
It didn’t take long after that. He’d already been wound too tight from Sanji’s smirking little comments, from being ignored when he wanted attention and mocked when he got it, from watching Sanji smile at everyone else like Zoro hadn’t been thinking about him since Baratie. Sanji knew exactly what he was doing, and Zoro hated that most of all.
When release hit, Zoro shoved his forearm across his mouth and held the sound there. His knees nearly gave, which was unacceptable. Sanji’s hands stayed firm on his hips, keeping him against the rail until the last of the pleasure burned out and left him breathing like an idiot.
For a few seconds, neither of them moved. Then Sanji stood, smug as sin, and Zoro grabbed the front of his shirt before he could say anything unbearable. He kissed him hard enough to shut him up.
Sanji made a pleased sound against his mouth, which meant it didn’t work.
“Shitty cook,” Zoro said against his lips.
“Mm,” Sanji said, grinning. “Pretty swordsman.”
Zoro bit him.
Sanji laughed, quiet and breathless, his hands sliding up Zoro’s sides. “Careful. I’ll start thinking you like me.”
“I don’t.”
“You sure?”
No. That was still the problem.
Zoro kissed him again instead of answering. The rail pressed into his back, and the ship dipped beneath them, making Sanji’s hand tighten against his side. It was easier than talking. Sanji tasted like smoke and salt and sex, which was annoying because it made Zoro want to kiss him more.
Sanji drew back first, blue eyes bright in the moonlight. “I’m going to pop down and get what we need. Then I’m going to take you against this rail until you come all over again.”
“I’m on watch,” Zoro said, even as the rest of his body had already made several stupid decisions without him.
Sanji’s grin went wicked. “Then keep your eyes open.”
He stole one more kiss and stepped away.
Zoro watched him go, then dropped his head back and looked up at the sky.
Shit.
He was really going to let Sanji come back up here. He was really going to let the cook put his hands on him again, even though Sanji had already tied him into stupid emotional knots without needing rope.
He was, wasn’t he. Fuck.
With an aggrieved sigh, Zoro turned back toward the stern and picked up another beer.
Well, at least he hadn’t begged.
End