Work Header

Three Rounds With a Tiger

Work Text:

By the time Sanji got to the party, everyone was already drunk.

This would have been a bigger surprise if Franky hadn't been hosting ("hosting," at Usopp's place, but whatever), and if literally all of said engineer's old high school and college friends (which were which, Sanji honestly had stopped trying to keep track of anymore, since it didn't seem to matter) hadn't been... maybe literally... bringing down the house. At least he didn't have to balance his own alcohol intake or his arrival time against cooking tonight (he'd have been pissed if he'd been working this late otherwise); Zambai had insisted on buying enough pizza and accoutrements (Sanji's word, not Zambai's) to feed an army (it would be gone by 2am at the latest), and he never would figure out where the lovely Kiwi and Mozu got their hands on so. Much. Booze. And in variety.

Well, coming off an evening shift or not, being the most sober one in the house by a fair measure or not, 9pm wasn't exactly bringing him in at the end of the festivities. In fact, there was a general shout when he was noticed in the doorway, and within moments he'd been literally lifted over the nearest couch and had a glass of something-or-other pressed into his hand. A year ago, maybe less, this kinda thing would've brought protest out of his mouth and his shoes, loud and rancorous and maybe costly (apologies to Usopp and his lovely late mother...) depending on the level of manhandling, but now he could really only laugh, returning the fistbump to Franky's stupid oversized papercraft Hulk hands (or mecha hands or who even knew this week, Sanji wasn't paying a lot of attention), shouting a "kampai!" with Tamagon, lifting his pizza out of the reach of the ladies' mastini by rote almost before the plate had settled in his hand. Leave it to these bunch of idiots to have made even someone as prickly as he used to be into a party person.

And speaking of prickly -

Goosebumps ran up Sanji's neck at the next loud laugh that reached him, the dark timbre of it vibrating in his bones (compared especially to the one that followed; Luffy's laugh made the metal of the chandeliers ring) - and, other places, to be frank. Sanji found himself leaning back in his perch on the back of the couch despite himself, peering through the open bookcase built into the upper pass-through between the living and dining rooms. One of Usopp's antique flintlocks obscured part of the view (oh my god, calling it a view, Sanji fucking Black...), but there was that shock of green hair, seafoam in the reflected light of the blue walls, and on the cheeks below was a (probably just alcoholic) flush that made Sanji's face do the same. Zoro's left side was facing him, meaning he could frankly get in a good bit of staring before the mosshead noticed.

Iiiiiif maybe not before someone else noticed, if the titter across from him was any indication. His head whipped around - wait, being silly, of course no one had noticed, that titter wasn't directed at him - ah. But there was Mozu, grinning at him across the living room from under her own cute pink blush, and she fucking winked at him before saluting with her cocktail in the sweetest and most dainty way despite her tipsiness. Sanji returned the grin and salute brightly, shouting something about her sharp and vicious beauty he wouldn't even remember ten seconds later, before pounding down half of whatever was in the red plastic cup he'd been handed. (Shit, that was a lot of tequila.) He did his damnedest not to make a face as he eyed the rest of the contents - jesus fuck, had he been Red-Pilled fifteen seconds after getting in the door? - and then just. Fuck it. Fuck it! Down the hatch.

"OI. FRANKY." He winged the now-empty cup at the "host's" head - ha! bullseye! - and waved his pizza plate in the air. "Top me off, will ya?"

...How the fuck Franky got papercraft rigged up enough to do a thumbs-up he'd never fucking know.

But. Shit. Pizza. Not drinking whatever tonight's variation on sending everyone down the fucking rabbit hole was on an empty stomach.

He blinked halfway through the first bite, though, ticking his gaze back through that cutaway shelf. ...Did he imagine that green head whipping away at the last second?

...Okay. Okay yeah. His next kampai was in fucking allcaps. He'd need to be drunk for this.




The dining room was empty - well, there wasn't any green in it - it was all blue and vastly unimportant in the grand scheme of the now, now that everything more than about six feet out was fuzzy shapes that at the very least were still in color - small victories! - and Sanji was still fairly sure he was the least smashed person here.

(Well aware that was probably the being smashed talking, especially knowing the object of his affec- fuck - intere- shit - search through the damn house and his barbarian tolerance.)

(Why was he bothering to cut off his words when he'd gotten himself nice and blasted for just the very reason of being able to finish those words? Affections. Interests. Oh shit. Oh shit he was doing this.)

(...Oh shit,) there was Roronoa fucking Zoro tucked away in a dark landing hall, leaning back against a cute little side table he was definitely too heavy to be bracing on like that, wrapping maybe too much of his mouth around the lip of the cup that Sanji really abruptly wanted to be (why did he want to be a cup this was the shit you read in bodice rippers (ah that would by why it danced in through his brain right then) - oh the idea of ripping that bodice shirt off those tan fucking pecs), and okay no he was not the least smashed person here but - so much the fucking better for sauntering up the damn stairs now that he'd finally found that splash of fucking green.

(Ohhhhh shit he was doing this.)

Sauntering. He could saunter tipsy sober or in his damn sleep, he was the goddamn Love Cook, and it took no effort at all to saunter, dammit, up the half-flight of stairs and hip-check that little table just enough to rattle the swordsman's root. The snort of surprise and the spluttering sound through liquid was almost a whole victory in its damn self, even before that head whipped around with a snarl already in place.

(Shit he felt that look straight from his throat down into his slacks, passing through his nipples on the way there.)

And the way the snarl darkened in that one hazel eye, the lip curled further with sneer, yeah, that was definitely its own whole victory.

"Damn cook." That growl turned the tide of the French Fucking Revolution.

The marimo had vaguely caramel-colored liquid all over his mouth from that cupid's bow on down, dripping off his chin, and Sanji wished he had the coordination to move forward quickly and gracefully enough to stop the idiot from wiping the back of his hand over all of it and ruining the view.

"Watch where you're fucking going."

"Mm? Oh, sorry, did I make a mess?" Sanji was proud of himself for getting enough words onto his tongue to respond right away, and whoops that maybe meant he'd gone a little too far over the tipsy line (tipsy? don't kid yourself), but hey, that meant he was far enough over that he didn't have to find some smooth bullshit way to justify sliding into the marimo's space and catching that wrist easily -

...Too easily.

He paused for maybe a little too long, blue eye searching hazel, taking in the banked suspicion in that frown.

Oh, fuck it. Stop, just - stop. You second-guess too fucking much just think entirely with the booze (and your dick) for once.

"As the one responsible, and on my honor as a chef and the importance of not wasting even the shit you drink that might be five steps adjacent to food, let me help you clean that up."

God damn he wasn't even slurring. Ten points.

And not slurring meant his tongue was in good enough condition, coordinated enough, to actually lap the alcohol off the back of that hand he lifted to his mouth without slobbering like some virgin teenager, running his tongue over all that skin without bothering to look at the idiot swordsman (without quite having the spine to until he'd finished, lest whatever expression he might find there make him balk), lapping long drags from wrist over hand to knuckle, feeling the strength of the tight bands of sinew connecting those hard bones to nearly as hard muscle, chasing every drop until all that was left would be on that gorgeous goddamn bastard face -

- ahaha, shit, and what a face.

How Zoro could lift his eyebrows to the top of his neanderthal forehead and drive them down over half his eyes at the same time was some feat of caveman physiology (but he was the one who wanted to lick those fucking eyebrows, shit); likewise he wasn't sure how that mouth could form a long line and purse in consternation in the same shape, though maybe the little set of his jaw helped that along. God fucking hell Sanji just wanted to lick all of him but he could start with following through on the little plan he'd concocted on the short trip up those stairs, move from licking those knuckles to licking that jaw, lapping the alcohol off that skin and that stubble (stubble? had the idiot come to this party and not bothered with his like one shave a week?), cleaning off jaw and chin and the corner of that mouth until his tongue slithered over lips -

- and found them still in that tight line. The fuck?

He couldn't keep the scowl (or the pout) off his face when he pulled back, searching the other's good eye.

"Okay, so I don't know if a big green chunk of plantlife like you has ever been hit on or seduced before, but just fyi, that's what's happening now, so if you'd just, you know, maybe shake loose whatever in that head of yours has some primal concept of how to reciprocate -"

"You're absolutely drunk as fuck."

Sanji blinked.

"No shit."

What was the genius going to do next, announce it was dark out?

"Do you know what you're doing?"


On a normal day, Sanji would actually give the marimo credit. Because that sure as fuck wasn't an outright rejection - he hadn't thrown the blond over the banister as soon as his tongue had touched that too-smooth fucking hand - but it was... Chivalrous. Even half-drunk himself, the ~stoic~ swordsman was hardlining consent. His respect for the man kind of jumped an immediate thousandfold.

But it was not a normal day, goddammit, and he wasn't fucking interested in being taken care of right now, no matter how fucking blasted he was, because he'd gotten blasted for this fucking reason and if the fucking cactus ruined his chance at taking lowered inhibitions by the horns and his master plan (master plan uh-huh) and his so-far-smooth seduction attempt and his hard-on he would turn the fucker into nopales.

"Listen." He managed, somehow, to lean into the broader chest without spilling any more of that booze, to snake one arm up to hook behind that neck without punching either of them in the head on the way, to get so close he could feel his own breath bouncing back off of tanned skin, to align his eye with the marimo fuck's and zero in perfectly glass-clear and laser-focused vision (at this distance, anyway), and to speak the next long, vicious sentence without a single hitch or hiss or slur or wobble of any inch of him. "I'm using being drunk as an excuse to lick the shitty booze off of your fucking marimo face, Roronoa Zoro, not because you have any taste or because this swill does, but because your skin does and I'm gonna put my tongue on every fucking inch of it."

Zoro had just enough sense in that manicured-lawn head of his to put his cup down on the table, and that was all the permission Sanji needed to shove him against the nearest wall.

The kiss was immediate and messy and both their mouths were open before their lips even crushed together, tongues tangling and breaths rough and even if he passed out right now in this fucker's arms Sanji would be Napoléon motherfucking Bonaparte except with significantly better hair. He'd hit his mark and passed 'round all the blockades and read every goddamn tell exactly right (okay so maybe this had been a lot of hopeful/wishful thinking and guesswork and even more booze) and now he had Roronoa fucking Zoro pressed against the wall in the dim hallway kissing him back and grabbing at his hair and ass like he wanted to fuck him right here in the open.

A good... eh... 35%? of Sanji wasn't totally sure he would've minded.

But then the kiss was broken, strong hands on hips pushing the blond back, and Sanji responded with a scoff in the back of his throat and a surge forward, one hand dropping between the marimo's legs to give a good firm grope and squeeze to see just how far along he'd managed to get the other already.

...Oh hell it would be bad form to cackle.

But that unfairly gorgeous face turned away, lips pulled back not to kiss but to bare teeth in a snarl or a hiss - silent, whichever - and those strong swordsman's hands tightened down.

"I'm not walling you in the damn hallway -"

Okay, no cackling, but Sanji cut him off with a sharp laugh that was almost a squawk.

"Who the fuck said you were gonna be the one doing the fucking, musclehead?"

It was a test, maybe a tease, but the rush of pink into those sculpted cheeks boded very, very well.

"Whichever, unlike certain ero-cooks I have a little fucking decency."


Oh holy shit.


Yeah make that number 85%.

But Sanji just grinned, leaning around to look into that face directly and leer rather than try to steal a kiss. "Pity~" Don't. Cackle. Don't fucking cackle at that cute fucking shy expression, jesus. "Fine fine fine let's pick a room."




God, if Sanji had been a little more sober he would have been mentally timing how long it took them both to get naked, because it sure was a lot less time than he would have expected (preferred, normally, but shit this desperation between them was just as hot right now as exploration). Shirts were shucked - Sanji's lost a couple buttons and for once in his life he actually didn't care - pants were shoved down and fumbled out of and Sanji had to help Zoro with his boots, which would have been funnier if Zoro hadn't then had to help Sanji out of his fucking work shoes whose laces were considerably fucking shorter and half for show. And if Zoro hadn't then unclipped the garters at the top of his silk trouser socks with his fucking teeth and shit jesus fucking hell why hadn't he jumped this attractive fucker sooner?

Right, the hangups he was Not Thinking About right now because he was just drunk enough not to give a flying fuck.

From there it was all easy and fucking wild how fast they came together, Zoro sitting on the edge of the bed and Sanji straddling him and fucking rocking, and while he'd considered grinding (call it dry humping, honestly), he'd never thought about how good this would feel without clothes in the way, the slip of silken skin on silken skin, that fantastic sensation of the outer sheath of it shifting over the muscle underneath compounded by sliding against another of the same. How electric it would feel when Zoro blindly circled them both without breaking the kiss, slowly stroking both of them together, and Sanji had to pull his tongue out of that hot, whisky-steel mouth to groan.

"Fuck, Marimo." Sober, he could've kissed this bastard for hours - and hell, even drunk as he was right now, he probably could've managed more - but his breath was uneven and he was too far gone in other areas to keep his mouth on that mouth. Instead he kissed back over the swordsman's jaw, down all those muscles in that neck, nipped and sucked strategic little places that earned soft inhales and bitten-back moans from this usually stoic motherfucker, and every sound went straight to his dick. He didn't even care that Zoro would be able to feel that with his hand around them both, not when he could just as easily feel the effect every sharp bite had on the other when the marimo's dick twitched against his. Shit. Shit this was heady - being able to feel the effects this directly, not just in the sounds from that mouth and the arches of that back but in every time he felt the other man's heartbeat stutter in his cock.

Holy shit.

After leaving a good, dark bruise in the hollow beneath the other's collarbone, he caught that hand and coaxed it gently off, slid back out of the other's lap (somehow without falling on his ass, ten more points!) and tugged gently to get Zoro to stand up, follow him. Grabbed those square hips like Zoro had grabbed his, holding the mossy fucking mountain of a man still as his mouth continued down, now without him having to figure out how to contort his spine from the middle of the other's lap, and with their cocks just brushing now instead of threatening to skip ahead way too fast in that way too skilled grip.

(He felt a quick flash of jealousy, then, his suspicions confirmed that Sanji wouldn't be the first guy for Zoro the way Zoro would be for him, but you know what, at least that meant one of them knew what they were doing exactly so there wouldn't be any spectacular fuckups ending in blue balls or the fucking hospital. You know what, ten points to Gryffindor Zoro.)

(...Yeah, fuck it, because right now those callused hands were brushing up and down his back, grabbing his ass and fisting in his hair, and in this moment that was what fucking mattered. He had this. God... he had this.)

His mouth traveled downwards, not with all the grace he'd wanted to do this with but with a lot more than he'd expected from himself about ten minutes ago, dragging his tongue down that magnificent and stupid scar the hothead had earned during a match with live fucking steel, and cheering more goddamn fucking victories to himself as those hands clutched and that breath caught. Teeth joined in, and so did the suction of lips, leaving scrapes and hickeys and an occasional little ellipse of good firm indentations from stronger nips, and sweet jesus he almost collapsed to his knees from his dip into a crouch when one near Zoro's navel earned a full gasp and a hissed oh god.

Sanji's fingers curled at those hips, leaving little pink scratches that would last the hour but fade fast after, and it was all Zoro could do to hold back an nnh in the back of his throat.

Jesus christ how had he gotten here?

He was nowhere near as drunk as Sanji, that was plainly obvious to both of them, but he may as well have been because the blond's enthusiasm was fucking intoxicating. Fuck, it didn't matter how he'd gotten here, because Sanji fucking Black had initiated it, and even with all the sloppiness and overzealous speed afforded by the alcohol, so much of this was exactly what he'd imagined, craved, dreamed about and sworn he'd never be able to have.

So when instead of taking a knee or both, the blond slid hands back up his chest to meet him at full height and whispered in his ear for him to turn around, Zoro didn't give even half a second of balk or bristle. He just did as he was told - much as even that sentence would have ended in a gnash of teeth and a biting insult any other time - and let his fingertips trail the back of Sanji's wrists as the cook wrapped arms around him and brushed skilled fingers around his nipples. Kissed the back of his neck, soft and sweet with just the occasional nip, and Zoro went half boneless against him, leaning back into the other's body, his weight, his touch. Sanji shivered, cock twitching noticeably in a quick tap against the muscled swell of Zoro's ass. His fingers pinched, and fucking fuck the next sound out of Zoro's throat was a whimper, nails digging at the backs of Sanji's hands.


Sanji bit down a little harder as he brushed his mouth down the marimo's shoulder, flicking his thumbs over those firm peaks as he nudged his nose and chin at the top of Zoro's shoulder blade, and the broader man took the hint easily to take his weight back, get his center of gravity back over his own legs instead of leaning into Sanji's warm chest, so that the blond could ease lower, kissing that spine, those shoulders, biting at the muscle drawn tight over ribs. Jesus. Zoro could only pant and clutch, all his focus on keeping upright, trapped and wavering between that mouth and those fingers, both shifting back and forth between sweet and mean, between soft touches and bites or pinches, and once, a good twist that made Zoro growl in the back of his throat and drag much sharper lines over the backs of slim wrists. Holy shit.

God, holy shit and also holy fuck, Sanji was reaching the point himself where he was going to have to start holding onto Zoro to keep himself up, and with their combined intoxication level that didn't seem like the best idea - but there was more than one way to get that back under his mouth. He dragged his tongue back up that spine, bit down on the knob of bone at the base of his neck. Took just a second to glance over that toned shoulder and gauge distance, and then quick as a fucking flash he disentangled himself from the marimo's hold, grabbed him by the hair and shoulders, and slammed him down onto the bed.

Zoro half-yelled, half-gasped in unfettered, honest surprise, buckling under the shove. But instead of fighting or snarling or even the snarky comment he might have made if they were sober, he just adjusted his chest on the comforter, rearranged his arms with elbows cocked out to both sides for leverage, and got his feet back under himself so he could straighten his legs and push his ass up into the air.

Sanji gaped.

Holy fuck.

Holy fuck he'd never seen anything so hot in his entire goddamn life.

One hundred (thousand) points to Gryffindor.

He hadn't exactly planned all the steps here but he sure hadn't planned for this, had expected at least a little tussle or bickering, but goddamn, now that he was here? Oh, now that he was here, fuck planning! The lack of breasts and the presence of a cock didn't matter in this position; right here, Sanji definitely had some experience to bring to the table. It was so easy to grasp that offered-up spread of lean fucking meat, rumsteck instead of collier; slide his thumbs between the sides and spread this fucking animal open, exposing that tan-pink pucker that twitched under the rush of cold air.

Or maybe in anticipation.

Fuck, he couldn't stop himself from licking his lips like some porno cliche before leaning in to lap the wide flat of his tongue over that proffered hole.

Just that earned a quick ah! from the bent-over barbarian, and goddamn Sanji couldn't even tease as much as he wanted when Zoro was making sounds like that. He dragged his tongue through the split a few times, every one meeting a twitch, before shifting the muscle to a point and circling the hole like he'd circled the marimo's nipples - actually, speaking of which, he slid one hand underneath the other man and dragged fingers up his abs, scar, chest, until he found one of those tight little points and matched his own circling there, and fucking shit but it made this stoic bastard whine! He could feel Zoro's body temperature jump, and he wasn't sure if that was arousal or embarrassment, but shit, he liked the ideas of both. Dexterous fingers circled that nub and gave a tweak, just as the tip of his tongue breached that tight hole, and Zoro arched back like a cat, head tilting back all the way to touch his skull to his spine. Both of them shared the same thought in the same hitched breath:

Oh, hell yes.

Fingers pinched and rolled as that skilled tongue pushed in further, slowly but steadily squeezing its way deeper, and Zoro was shivering with pleasure and need. Fuck. It didn't matter anymore that Sanji had never been with a man, not when this gorgeous, masculine, muscled Greek god of one was reacting to this with just as much needy, obvious pleasure as the women he'd done this to. With. He curled his tongue inside, earning another real, deep moan, before easing out, then just as slowly back in, stretching the marimo just that little bit until he could increase his speed, build up to a firm, wet, shallow fucking. Zoro wasn't quite gasping with every thrust but he was definitely breathing hard, fingers clenching and unclenching in the covers, and shit, his thighs were already starting to tremble. Sanji kept that pace for a long minute, feeling those quivers under one hand, then eased all the way out, licking over the pucker once more. Murmured over Zoro's back just loud enough for the marimo to hear:

"You're not gonna come just from this if I keep it up, are you~?"

"Shut up."


"That's not a no~" One finger trailed over that pucker, just the pad scraping down the creases. Zoro's next twitch was more sudden and violent.

"Ah! Shit shit don't go in dry -"

"I'm not, you fucking phytoplankton." What did this idiot take him for! Just for that, he rubbed a little harder, swirling once, just irising the edges open a little without at all pressing in. The hole twitched and Zoro shuddered. "I'm just warming you up."

"Holy shit, idiot, I'm fucking warm enough already."

Sanji's grin cracked audibly with the smack of spit breaking, lips pulling back from teeth.

"Is that begging I hear?"

Zoro's growl was both hot as fuck and significantly tempered by the pink blush high in his cheeks when he turned his head to glare over his right shoulder.

"That's me threatening that if you don't hurry up I'm gonna fold you in half."

Sanji's laugh managed not to sound drunk almost at all.

"Sure sure, Tiger, I get you."

That responding glower sure looked like a pout.

But Sanji paused, frowning himself as he drifted a feather-light touch down over that pucker again, causing that glowering eye to roll back, Zoro's head to drop again to press his cheek to the mattress.

"Where'd you throw my pants? I'm gonna have to rifle in the bathroom or something for -"

"There's lube in the drawer."

Sanji gaped.

"Why the fuck does Usopp have lube in the guest bedroom side table?"

Zoro couldn't help but crack a grin himself along with the snort he gave. "Have you met Franky's high school friends?"

Okay, now it was Sanji's turn to pout. "Second question. How do you know it's in here?"

Oh my god. Zoro rolled his eyes. "I'm the only one who ever finishes these parties half sober, who do you think helps Usopp clean everything up? In the bedrooms? Nami?"

"Shit! Don't say shit like that!"

"Get over yourself then, at least later you know you can ask me where to find a change of sheets." Zoro shifted uncomfortably on the bed, adjusting his back and arms again. (Sanji thought it looked more like a wiggle, which was pretty unfairly cute...)

But! More importantly! "I'm just -"

"Asking how many people I've fucked in this room, I know." Zoro's voice wasn't pissed, or even really exasperated, just... kind of tired. "Like, two. Before I met you."

This time, the pink blush rushed across Sanji's face. "...Okay now I have to ask the other question that fucking begs."

And back to Zoro with the blushing. He glanced away, taking a second. "...Nah. I haven't actually fucked anybody since I met you. Fooled around with Usopp a little, but we've been doing that on and off since like, middle school."

This time Sanji's first response was a splutter. "Isn't he fucking dating Kaya?"

"Officially? Since like April. So nah, been dry since April."

When Sanji licked his lips this time, it wasn't for the same reason as the last. "...So... Were you..."

"Do you really wanna continue this conversation while we're both this drunk?"

"...Point." A very good point.

Zoro grinned again, half-nuzzling his face down into the sheets, comfortable with his alcohol buzz but still working his fingers in the sheets as everything down south (...up south???) complained about the lack of attention. "So are you gonna get that lube or do I have to do this myself?"

The pause was long enough to make Zoro glance up. Holy shit Sanji's face was red.

"Don't... fuckin' say shit like that..."

Zoro gaped for a second, and then let out a bark of a laugh, too loud, a little of that too-drunk fervor showing through. "Are you about to have a fuckin' nosebleed on me?"


"Still saying I'm gonna if you don't get your fucking fingers in my ass."

Sanji went from red to purple and gave Zoro's ass a petulant and completely unsexy smack before grumbling off to rifle through the drawer. Zoro snickered to himself.

The next pause was a little more thoughtful, a silence in the shifting through packets and bottles, and then Sanji's voice reached him, more sober than previous. "D'you want a condom?"

Zoro considered. For maybe about one point five seconds.


He could feel them both turn a little redder.

"You sure?"

"I don't have anything. Long as you don't."

"Nah. Just... double-checking."

Zoro turned his head the other way, looking at the blond across the length of the bed, trying to gauge the reason for his frown.

"If you wanna, I'm not gonna complain. I don't mind either way."

Sanji stared at the stack of variously-colored little square packages in his hand, steeled himself, and tossed them back in the drawer before snapping it shut. "Nah."

Zoro wasn't sure why he felt a flush in his chest. "Alright. Now get back over here and fuck me before my fucking dick falls off." He grinned to himself when Sanji actually laughed instead of bitching about that. Fuck. He would never get anyone drunk, not in a million years, but he kinda wished Sanji'd done it to himself way the fuck before now.

That thought cut off when a stream of fucking COLD!!! dribbled unceremoniously onto his ass, from the top of the crack and sluicing down between, and Zoro choked back a noise that would fucking definitely have been a yelp.

"You fucking psycho!"

Ah, shit, that laugh had no business sounding that hot.

But Zoro didn't have it in him to bitch much further when those thumbs spread him apart again, letting the lube ooze down lower, the chill making him shiver now instead of just jolting a fucking icicle up his spine. It trailed all the way down to the back of his balls before Sanji twisted one too-dexterous hand to catch the stream on two fingertips, smooth it back upward to pool thick over Zoro's pucker. That next shiver was a lot more of a quake, and Zoro didn't even notice that he'd spread his legs further apart until one of Sanji's knees brushed deliberately along the inside of his.

"You really want this."

Zoro scoffed to hide the next burst of red into his face. "I wouldn't be here if I didn't."

But Sanji didn't snap or bitch or tease back, and belatedly Zoro parsed the awe in the cook's declaration, and turned his head to bury his now burning face in the covers. "...Yeah. Yeah I do."

Sanji wetted his lips again. Said nothing else as he pushed those two fingertips forward, easing both at once inside the swordsman.

The base of Zoro's spine tightened for a second, and his pucker twitched around those fingers, before both relaxed, all of him relaxed, the curve of his back smoothing so that his ass pressed up a little more, rocked gently back towards Sanji's hand. Sanji swore under his breath.

The first push in was slow, easy and steady, and while Zoro wanted to bitch that he wasn't gonna break, he held his tongue. Something in the other's mood, something he could just feel in the air, told him this wasn't about Sanji being too careful, being afraid to hurt him. It was exploratory, not cautious but curious, the cook mapping him as he pressed inside. Zoro fought to keep his breathing even. Not to surge back to take the other in. His reward, when Sanji's knuckles bumped up against him, was a deep, careful stretch, those fingers scissoring wide apart, and Zoro clutched hard at the covers and moaned.

The fingers stayed wide for about half an inch of pull-back, until Zoro's body tightened on its own in protest, then slowly came back together as they pulled out, keeping the pucker stretched just a little further apart than the width of the two fingers. The next push in was the reverse, fingers spreading open as they pressed in instead of at the end, and Zoro turned his head to bite at his own hand just for want of something to do, some reaction that wasn't impatiently fucking himself on those too-skilled fingers. Fingers which turned on the next pull-out, ninety degrees, still spreading as much as they could without causing twitches of discomfort, and Zoro had to let go with his teeth to pant an ah! into the air.

"Holy shit. You fucking done this before?"

Sanji blinked. What a question. "Anal? Yeah." He turned his fingers again, this time arcing one forward and one back instead of spreading sideways, and when he pushed all the way in he pressed his knuckles firmly against that hole and gave a twist. Zoro tried to pretend the next sound that broke out of him wasn't tight and high-pitched. "Fucking a guy?" Sanji continued, way too conversationally. "Nah." He turned his hand again, so that those two fingers were in Zoro with the pads toward the bed, toward Zoro's stomach. "There's one thing I'm curious about, come to think of it..." Those fingers curled, dragging slowly and firmly down until the texture of the resistance changed and Zoro's entire body locked up, eye bugging open and focused on nothing.


Holy shit, how could one fucking syllable sound that good? Sanji curled his fingers a little more firmly, rubbing that spot again, and Zoro's knees buckled and bent until they crashed into the side of the mattress, his thighs shaking. Wow.

"Ooh, so that is true." Sanji's voice was a hell of a lot steadier than he suddenly felt, and this time he rubbed upward, and Zoro's teeth clenched so hard sweat started beading on his forehead. Sanji swallowed, forced himself to control his voice again. "Feels good?"

Zoro's growl had a hysterical strangle cinching it halfway through. "Of fucking course it does you've got your fucking fingers on my fucking prostate - ah!"

Sanji clucked his tongue. Okay, banter was easy to do without having to steady himself. "You trying to tell me any-old-one just prodding you here would get this outta you?" He gave those fingers a swirl, firm across as much of the surface as he could find, and the sound that crashed out of Zoro's mouth next was loud and open-throated and chased by a real whine through gritted teeth.


Fuck yes. Sanji curled his fingers and pressed down, and Zoro crashed completely down to the bed, his legs shaking and his hands fisting huge handfuls of fabric. Jesus. "...Or am I doing something right?"

"Fucking shit, Cook, you're doing it right, oh my god..."

Holy shit, that sounded like begging.

Those fingers pulled off and out so fast Zoro was left feeling dizzy from the release of pressure. "Come on," he heard in a raspy growl behind him, hands suddenly tight on his hips and hauling him back up. "Get your feet under you so I can fuck you silly."

You've already got that covered, Zoro mused through swimming thoughts, but managed to find the carpet with his toes, to lock his knees back and find the right curve of his spine. Somehow. Holy shit.

And somehow the drunk blond found his hole with his head in about half a second, pressing forward immediately, pace as slow and steady as his fingers had been, and Zoro crammed his face into the mattress again so he could fucking whimper, fingers released from the covers and hands balled into fists by his head. Holy shit holy shit...

The head pressed in and Sanji let go of his cock, shifting that hand to smooth over Zoro's back instead, spreading fingers and palm across the small of it: bracing them both, holding the larger man down, and soothing him with a firm touch all at once. He swallowed, holding back the urge to just slam in. Probably Zoro could take it if he did, but he wanted to feel this, wanted to ease inside, feel the heat he'd left almost too-tight on purpose, closing down on him, pulling him in. And Zoro wasn't complaining, wasn't shoving back or shit-talking, just breathing too-short breaths and fucking trembling head to toe. Fuck. The broader man twitched around him as he pressed in, tight as hell but still taking him easily, his blood thrumming in the muscles surrounding Sanji's cock and practically jerking him off with his goddamn heartbeat.

"Holy shit, Marimo."

Zoro could only reply with a whine.

At last Sanji's hips met Zoro's hips, muscular thighs tight to muscular ass, and both of them let out a thick breath at once, straight from quaking control to fucking panting, soft involuntary moans swirling in random exhales.

"Holy shit, Cook."

"...You ready?"

Zoro scoffed, despite his arms still quaking. "Don't ask stupid questions."

Alright, then...

Sanji eased himself back, only half as slowly as he'd pushed in, still feeling like Zoro was fucking strangling him, still feeling his heartbeat in his dick and Zoro's in the tight tunnel of his ass and shit were their fucking hearts beating together? - before snapping forward with every ounce of strength in his legs, slamming inside hard and gritting his own teeth in near-pain as Zoro's body squeezed down in some combination of breathless pleasure and involuntary protest. The swordsman's back arched so far Sanji wondered how he didn't snap it, far enough he could see the mosshead's upturned, pinched brows, his good eyelid fluttering as his eyes rolled back as far as they'd go in his skull. Neither of them moaned because neither of them had the breath; Sanji gritted his teeth and pulled out again, faster, slamming back in a second time. This time his lungs spasmed a grunt out through teeth, and Zoro's mouth dropped open in a new, amazingly soft, so needy little ah!

Oh, fuck this, he was a goner.

They both were.

The hand on Zoro's back shifted to his hip, and they both lost all passes at pretense or propriety or sense. Sanji pistoned his hips forward as much as dragged Zoro's back to meet him, Zoro slamming back and falling away just as fervently, the room (and then the hallway outside, and the kitchen underneath) filling with the sounds of gasps and cries and curses and oh god!s. Half the duvet was off the bed from Zoro unconsciously trying to claw his way over the mattress, Sanji's fingers were so tight there was no way Zoro's hips weren't going to have five plum-purple bruises on each side, and soon the slapping sound of skin on skin was almost loud enough to compete with their voices. It was incredible, violent if it had been anyone but them, honed bodies pounding together with all the strength both of them put into everything.

Sanji felt himself getting close not moments before Zoro's voice started to break down into senseless unh! and nnuh! noises, the jerks of his hips more convulsive, and with a sudden violent rush Sanji decided that no, he wasn't going to just let the marimo go, he was going to make him.

How the hell he laid himself down on Zoro's back without just falling on him he had no clue, but he did so and shortened his thrusts, meeting the swordsman's convulsions, and realized as Zoro's voice abruptly choked out and then pitched up that he'd inadvertently found that angle, that he was battering against the other's prostate as he fucked him, and just knowing that almost made him come himself. No, no, the fucking mosshead first -

His hand reached down to wrap around Zoro's cock (and holy fuck the other was wet, (god, wet and huge), a sloppy too-far pull even brushing the backs of his fingers through a drippy puddle of pre on the sheets), working him without a lot of finesse but with a lot of fucking fervor, squeezing the head as often as he jerked the shaft, and Zoro's cries were suddenly so loud and so tight there was no way to describe it as anything else - the marimo was screaming.

He was making Roronoa fucking Zoro scream in bed.

"Ohshitohfuck shit shit I'm gonna -"

Sanji gritted his teeth, managing one more sentence - "I know you are, c'mon, I wanna feel it" - before biting at Zoro's shoulder, driving into the other with all his strength and digging his thumb against the other's cockhead; Zoro choked on the first half of a scream before biting into his forearm, half-muffling the rest of it into his shuddering skin, digging in hard enough to draw blood.

Hips twitched, jerking together, bodies locked close, no space between their hips or torsos; both of their cocks spasmed, Zoro's in Sanji's hand and Sanji's in Zoro's ass, thrumming in almost perfect time, and Sanji loved that they'd forgone a condom almost as much as he loved feeling Zoro spurt past his thumb, evidence of his fucking pleasure right here in his hand. Zoro likewise couldn't get enough of the heat inside him, both the thrum of Sanji's heartbeat and the spreading wet he could feel with how tight and buried the blond was inside, blond bastard filling him up as his own cock emptied itself out. It was as incredible as it was messy, sobriety or lack thereof mattering not at all, because holy shit - holy shit - holy shit they'd fucking come at the same time.

...Holy shit... they'd... they'd fucking come at the same time.

Zoro was almost as red as the blood on his teeth, breathing harshly into his arm, too damn embarrassed to move, to draw attention, to think about this any more deeply than holy shit. Sanji only loosened his own teeth (which hadn't drawn fucking blood, he wasn't a fanged beast like someone) to bury his forehead into Zoro's neck, likewise not examining this, not right now, not yet.

...Holy fucking shit.

It took a few long minutes, between aftershocks, afterglow, and the tension of the unexamined that hadn't relaxed out of them with everything else, before either of them could move. Sanji finally managed it, releasing Zoro's only half-soft cock (...holy shit...) so he could brace both hands on Zoro's hips, slide himself out. Zoro responded with a low groan, satisfied and somehow still a low edge of wanting, lowering his hips and letting his knees unlock so he could just. Become one with the fucking bed.

Sanji took the opportunity to lie on top of him, mostly so he didn't have to move far, and a single breath hitched in Zoro's lungs. Time froze for half a second. Then Zoro blew out a breath, body relaxing like blowing the air out of a bellows, and Sanji followed suit. ...Turned his head, after a few minutes, to drop soft kisses along Zoro's neck, soothing that little spot he'd bitten at. Zoro hummed, the sound managing to be pleased and mildly annoyed at the same time - it felt good, but holy shit, Cook, just give it a rest for a minute.

Sanji had no intention of giving anything a rest.

Not when he had this fucking opportunity, fuck, who fucking knew if he'd have the spine to try this again, even having started something tonight he couldn't just stop?

Nah. Fuck it.

So instead of getting up, rolling off, going for a smoke, any of it, he instead let his weight settle, giving his hips just one slow, languid roll so Zoro could feel against the cleft of his ass that Sanji hadn't gone soft yet, either. The little shiver that rolled down the other's neck boded well, and since the marimo wasn't looking... he let the little smile that stole onto his lips be just as fond as it wanted. Even if only for tonight.

Zoro's smile, too, buried in his folded arms, was fond and a little dopey.

God, they had no idea how deep in it they both were.

But Sanji was willing to pursue it, at least a little further, still spurred on by that liquid courage thrumming pleasantly in his veins, encouraging him to tilt his head and run his tongue behind the shell of Zoro's ear. To catch the loops of his piercings and let them fall back, clinking together pleasantly as the second and third dropped to meet the ones below. Zoro made an mmf noise of neither pleasure nor protest, though goosebumps stood up on the back of his neck. Sanji grinned, taking one of the dangling bars in his teeth and giving a little tug. Zoro shifted, some minute cousin to a wriggle, the sound this time more like a snort. Sanji recognized that one from crashing on floors at parties like this one: a half-conscious, toothless fuck off and let me sleep.

Not tonight, Marimo.

Sanji shifted forward a little further, trailing that tongue-tip over the fronts of the piercings this time, top to bottom, then over the tragus and up through the curves of the lobe... then turned his head to blow, warm, straight into the ear canal.

Zoro's whole body jerked, his left hand almost catching Sanji in the face as it whipped up to clap over his ear. "You fucker!" He couldn't turn enough to glower with his good eye, but he could frown, and Sanji could see the hint of pout in it, and the wash of red from his hairline to his throat.

"Well yeah."

...Zoro really had no response to that.

With a grin, Sanji braced himself on the mattress and hopped back, only wobbling a little when his feet landed on the floor, and grabbed the swordsman unceremoniously by the hip to roll him onto his back. Zoro barely managed a Hey! before the blond was in his lap, straddling his hips, rocking his firming cock down against the other's. Zoro literally bit his tongue.

Sanji snickered, rolling his hips like a wave, like he had no reason whatsoever to be concerned with his major motor functions or why the hell he was still capable of an erection. Zoro grabbed his hips anyway, automatically, noting the slightest of lists to one side, and Sanji responded by leaning forward, bracing his palms on that broad, scarred chest.

"You don't expect me to believe you only had one in you?"

Zoro cursed under his breath, reaching for their cocks, but Sanji beat him to it.

...It was weird, definitely, holding his much girth in his hand at once, but it was nice, too. He'd been too deep in to think about it, really think about it, when he'd reached around to pump the other man's cock until he came; now he had the focus and the time and his gaze dropped from Zoro's eye to their erections, firming quickly in his hand. (Fucking shit, the marimo was thick.) His own cock was a mess of cum and lube, Zoro's less so except the stickiness of his own pre around the head, the line of contact where they now pressed flush and all the evidence of Sanji fucking Zoro into the mattress was smearing onto Zoro's cock. Holy shit, was that a lot to think about. (Holy shit, was that a hell of a sight to see.) Even here their skin tone was different; obviously Zoro's dick didn't have a fucking tan but it seemed like his natural tone was deeper and bronzer than Sanji's all the same. The contrast was slighter but nice - excuse Sanji for thinking about the lighter versus more golden-brown patches of good, well-kneaded baked dough. ...He wasn't going to share that one out loud, too weird, he wasn't that drunk.

While Sanji's gaze was locked on the pair of them, pressed together and firming, Zoro was more interested in watching Sanji watch them both. Watching the little part of his lips shift with their breathing as they both hardened with the strokes; watching that head tilt minutely in too-cute curiosity as he shifted his hand along different parts of the shafts, trailed thumb or fingertips over veins and folds (ah, shit...). Zoro had seen his dick next to other dicks enough; this wasn't the new experience it was for the blond. Not that he didn't appreciate the sight, fuck, that wasn't it by a long shot. But every part of this experience that was new to the cook... Zoro was getting to see that firsthand. ...He'd never not understood the tropes surrounding interest in virgins, but this just hammered home that for him it had nothing to do with bashfulness or innocence or any of that shit. But that exploratory curiosity... goddamn.

The swordsman shifted his hands upward, slowly, trailing them from Sanji's hips up his sides. Tickled a little at ribs, earning a huff and a completely empty glare, which he finally got to be the one answering with a grin for once tonight. Traced up further, and Sanji sat back, still lazily stroking them both, but resting on Zoro's thighs instead of bracing himself on that chest. Giving Zoro more room to move his touch, to trace the less prominent but still toned muscles of that pale abdomen, stomach, chest. To trace his fingers over pectorals, middle fingers circling around the cook's nipples - opposite directions, from the inside up and around, earning a more involuntary shift of hips and another quiet huff.

"Like what you see?"

Zoro glanced up, then back down at their cocks, then back up again. "I could ask you the same."

Instead of bitching, Sanji snickered. "Yeah."

Zoro blinked.

Holy shit?

Sanji caught up a second later, cheeks pink, but rubbed his thumb firmly across both their heads as though that would distract from the matter entirely. (It sure helped, pulling a soft hiss from between Zoro's teeth and making his back arch.) The swordsman cupped his hands around the shallower ribcage, giving his own grip somewhere to brace, and moved to circle those nipples with his thumbs instead, occasionally adding careful flicks back and forth. Sanji's responsive hum was soft, his head tilting back and his hips lifting completely once in the depth of his rock. "Shit, that's good." Zoro sure the hell agreed, lifting his own hips under the blond, shifting under that weight, in that hand. The cook moaned, and Zoro both cut into and elongated the sound by giving both Sanji's nipples a good, firm pinch. "Shit..." His head tilted forward again, gaze meeting Zoro's, and shit, Zoro's dick twitched noticeably in the other's hold at how dark and hungry those blue fucking eyes were. Sanji's mouth twisted an immediate smirk.

"Fucking look at you, Marimo. You might love this more than I do."

Zoro didn't know how the hell to answer that honestly, not without asking a lot of questions of both of them that neither of them was sober enough to answer right now.


The smirk cracked into a grin, and the blond leaned forward, half ignoring Zoro's hands and half pushing one out of the way, to press his chest to the marimo's chest again and meet lips to lips. He didn't consider Zoro's taste still in his mouth until the other's tongue slipped in and didn't shy back, kissed him just as fucking passionately as Sanji kissed the swordsman, and the cook couldn't help but sigh into that fucking mouth. He wasn't sure if Zoro didn't notice or didn't care, but it was nice not to have to remind himself to interrupt the proceedings with mouthwash or whatever before he could kiss his partner again.

(Partner. ...Hell no, not right now; he'd dwell on that later.)

Hell and fuck, Zoro moaned into his goddamn mouth, combing fingers into his bangs and cupping his cheek, and Sanji couldn't not come up for air to comment.

"You like that, huh?"

Zoro didn't need to ask what he meant. The corner of his mouth quirked once before he gave the same answer as his last. "Maybe."

Sanji laughed (did not cackle!), thumbing over Zoro's chin before kissing him again, then holding him still so he could just drag his tongue across the mosshead's mouth. "Bet you do. I will admit you taste good, Marimo... Mm." Another slow drag of his tongue just against the other's lips. "Makes me wanna show you... makes me wanna put my messy cock in your mouth."

There was no way for Zoro to hide the sharpness of the next breath that hitched into his chest, or the way his cock not only twitched but leaked in Sanji's hand.


"You act like I'd stop you."

Sanji's stupid curly brows shot up, a laugh that was more incredulous (and hysterical, and excited) than at Zoro's expense bubbling past his lips. "You really don't mind I just had it in your ass?"

Zoro's tongue pushed out enough to lick Sanji's spit - and whatever else - off his own bottom lip. "Like it'd be the first time."

A shudder ripped down Sanji's spine. "Shit, that's hot." He dove in again, forcing his tongue inside Zoro's mouth this time (not like he had to, but he was rough enough about it they may as well have been fighting all the same). "You're fucking dirty."

"You like it." Zoro's tongue flicked out, getting just a quick swipe over Sanji's lips before the blond pulled up, still holding the other man down.

"Yeah I do." His hand squeezed down, his own hips locked still and prepared for it, but Zoro groaned and jerked his, his own cock thrusting into that grip, rubbing against Sanji's messy one. "Fuck, Marimo, you make me wanna fuck your filthy face."

"Don't just make promises, shit Cook." Shitting fuck, his nipples were hard as hell. "Come around the bed and fucking do it."

Sanji sat up, perked up, the hysterical side of that laugh gone in favor of excitement he was way the hell too drunk to hide. Getting the marimo to suck him off messy would've been one thing, but! "Seriously?"

Zoro laughed, bucking his hips on purpose this time and jostling the blond in his lap. "Get up here and do it before you blow us both in your hand, idiot."

The cook fucking hopped up again, and Zoro was damn surprised (kind of impressed) he didn't trip over himself practically scrambling around the footboard. Zoro managed to get his knees up, hook his heels in the mattress and grab the far edge in both hands, hauling himself across until his head hung off the bed. He managed it just in time for Sanji to come up close, that messy cock totally hard and inches from his face, and Zoro grinned up at him before opening his mouth and lolling out his tongue.

Sanji literally brought his hand up to cover his mouth and cram his index finger under his nostrils. Holy fucking shit if there was ever a sight that was gonna give him a fucking nosebleed - !

God, it took too much of Zoro's drunken effort not to fucking laugh. He managed to keep it down to a smirk twitching one corner of wide-open lips, cocking one eyebrow, and Sanji scoffed under his breath before just grabbing his cock with his free hand and pushing the head right into that infuriatingly sexy mouth.

Zoro exaggerated the mmph in response to Sanji pushing inside, letting the head bump into the inside of his cheek. Slurped Sanji up with his lips immediately, lewd and wet, lolling his tongue around that head to tease, to taste. To lap Sanji's cum and the lube and the taste of his own ass off that heavy cock, barely exaggerating the moan that hummed up his throat and vibrated into Sanji's erection through his breath and lips. The blond swore, loudly, reaching out with his now-free hand (no blood!) to grip the footboard while the other held his cock at the base, helped his drunk ass measure the distance as he rocked a little deeper into that sweet, filthy mouth. He wanted to fuck that infuriating face, not choke the asshole to death.

Not that it seemed like Zoro would have minded, letting go of the mattress to steady them both with hands on Sanji's hips instead, tilting his chin up to take more of that length in through pursed, sucking lips. Sanji dug his teeth hard into his bottom lip and locked his knees. How Zoro managed to smirk up at him from under a mouthful of dick was another goddamn marvel of fucking Cro-Magnon physiology, fuck, and he swore the bastard was mocking him when he opened his lips with a lewd - no, absolutely pornographic pop, letting Sanji's cock bounce up out of his mouth so he could lave his tongue down the underside, lapping at the gunk that had gone half-tacky from being smashed and ground against his own dick.

"Shit, you call me a pervert..."

Zoro snickered, tempering the sound a little by dropping a suckling little kiss just where Sanji's hand still held his shaft. "You're the pervert. I'm just dirty."


This time Zoro laughed outright, and Sanji tried to fight down the hundred-degree flush in his face by smacking his dick down onto the marimo's nose and chin. Zoro did blink, looking absolutely flabbergasted for a second, ha! -

- ah shit, and then tilted his head up again to nuzzle his face over the underside, side of his nose stroking its way along the flesh, half-pursed lips pressing kisses without suction, looking too fucking sultry and almost goddamn apologetic and Sanji unthinkingly let go of the footboard to brush the back of his hand under his nose. Shit.

...Okay, shit, still no blood, okay. He glanced down again past his knuckles, but Zoro wasn't smirking or giving him one of those knowing looks that was frankly rude as hell on the face of such a blockheaded idiot - oh, no, his eyes were both shut as he smoothed his lips over the underside again, tilted his head to one side and lapped up around the edge of Sanji's dick, catching another swipe of mingled fluids on his tongue, and Sanji abruptly lost all patience.

"Tilt your fucking head back you - you unabashed slut, shit, Marimo, you're gonna kill me."

Rather than protesting the swordsman fucking groaned at that insult, letting his head drop and adjusting his hold on Sanji's hips, loose and easy but steady enough to be able to clamp down if Sanji overdid it. Shit, Sanji hadn't met many women with this much obvious know-how for deep-throating. (Or they hadn't been so goddamn shameless about it.) It was goddamn unfair and it was hot and at least if he had to fall for a man he fell for one who wanted him this bad and knew exactly what to do.

- Whoa, WHOA, no, hold on, back up, rewind, this was not the place or time for fell for, ctrl+z, do-over.

You're drunk, you're drunk, ignore it, you're drunk.

Thankfully he was drunk enough to be able to take that advice at a run, to grasp the footboard again and bend his knees, slide his cock forward into the hot mouth that erased unwanted words not just from his thoughts but from his vocabulary. Zoro obviously had practice with this, stroking his tongue over the length of Sanji's cock as it slid in, pursing his lips and sealing them around the skin without closing his teeth at all. The head bumped the back of his throat and the plush flesh opened around him, controlled, no fucking gag reflex fucking christ, and it took all of the cook's limited, addled, drunk as shit concentration to ease himself in steadily instead of thrusting straight inside.

Zoro swallowed around him when he got deep enough, muscles of his throat squeezing around the head, and Sanji's eyes rolled back. Mother of fuck. He kept sinking, hearing the thin scrape of Zoro's breath steady and loud through his nose - jesus, that was skill, that meant the angle was perfect - until Zoro's chin scraped into the dirty-blond hair above Sanji's cock and the latter's scrotum bumped into the mosshead's nose and brow.

Holy fuck.

Sanji took a second, shuddering, marveling, and adjusted his stance a little so his knees braced on the firm edge of the box spring. Pulled back, slowly, until his cock almost slipped out of that throat but didn't, and then eased just as slowly back inside. Zoro fucking shuddered. Goddamn.

With one hand still white-knuckled on the wood of the footboard, Sanji slid his sticky one down the expanse of that torso, exploring chiseled goddamn muscle, and back up to brace the heel of it on the other's sternum. Then he started to rock.

Zoro's hands twitched once in their soft hold on his hips but didn't clench, and his cock wasn't so much standing up between his legs as lying on his fucking stomach, heavy and thick and flushed bronze-red, but it twitched obviously, too - hell, more obviously like this, jerking away from his body an inch or so before slapping quietly back to his skin, and Sanji found himself goddamn salivating.

It was a fucking lot to take in, especially with the tight heat of Zoro's mouth and throat closed around his cock and addling his thoughts even more than the fucking alcohol, being attracted to another man's dick. He'd been attracted to Zoro well before he'd admitted it to himself, wrestled with that - was still wrestling with it sober - but he'd carefully sidestepped thinking too much about Zoro's cock. ...Okay that wasn't true, he'd spent way way way too much time thinking about Zoro's cock, largely for the reason that he had one and that was half the problem, but he'd neatly avoided thinking about staring at it. Admiring it. Wanting it, as much as he wanted the rest of the unfairly sexy bastard.


He took a deep breath, sped up his rocking (earned a thick, mostly-muffled moan and a little momentary clench of fingers, the former rattling through his own dick and making him hiss a breath in through his teeth), and shifted his hand from the footboard to the mattress so he could lean in and wrap his still-sticky one around that thick cock, give a few slow, careful strokes -

you're drunk, you're drunk, ignore it, you're drunk!

- and lower his head to drag his tongue across the tip.

Zoro's whole body bucked underneath him, a thick mmh! blowing out through his nose, and pre beaded up from the slit immediately. Sanji's whole face lit red. Jesus christ...

Jesus christ, don't be a chickenshit, it's just a cock.

He closed his eyes this time, not quite ready to see himself lap that pre up off the head, taking it into his mouth and rolling the taste around on his tongue without thinking, cook's instinct even while drunk as shit and sixty-nineing another man.

...He didn't hate it.

It was kind of bitter and he was pretty sure he wasn't getting any of the nuance he'd be able to taste when he wasn't drunk - if, shit, if he tasted this again when he wasn't drunk - but it wasn't. What had he expected? Bad? Too manly or some shit? For fuck's sake women only tasted "feminine" because that's what his head associated, it's not like they tasted like flowers and Zoro was supposed to taste like fucking aftershave or something. Fuck.

When he opened his eyes there was already another bead to try, more, thicker, and Zoro's hips were trembling, little enough for the motion not to transfer to his cock or through the mattress but enough to see, and that was really the last push Sanji needed. (Thank god for alcohol.) With the matter of flavor out of the way, he lowered himself onto his elbows, one on the bed and one forearm across the marimo's hip, and took as much of the swordsman's length as wasn't wrapped up by his fist into his mouth.

Zoro shuddered from his toes to his lips, back and neck arching, meaning Sanji's next thrust went forward what he would have considered too far, too deep, half-crushing his pelvis against the other's face. The marimo didn't seem to mind, or at least didn't push his hips back. Hell, he just made an nngh kind of noise in his throat, readjusting himself so that the next thrust didn't push as hard against him, and curled his fingers against the blond's hips, leaving little scratches. Sanji sighed at the touch. He didn't mind a little pain in bed - a little, enough to let you know you were doing it right, that your partner couldn't fucking help themselves.

Zoro sure as shit couldn't help himself.

He was good at this, drunk or sober; Sanji's thrusts were smooth and kept steady by the brace of his knees but still occasionally lazy, the edge of sloppy, but Zoro's need for air had nothing to do with Sanji's angle fucking up the edge of the path between his nose and his lungs. Fuck, he loved a good face-fucking just about any day, the thick fill of a cock in his throat, but this? Holy shit, Sanji fucking Black drunkenly thrusting into him, and now pulling his cock into that mouth. He had not expected that last part, not at fucking all. Fucking a man's ass or throat wasn't significantly different than fucking a woman's, Zoro had considered that in a few hazy moments after Sanji'd told him to turn around. But worshiping a vulva and worshiping a penis were two very different actions, motions, concepts. Having Sanji's mouth on him... fuck, this wasn't fair, he was already close.

Instead of the push Sanji had expected eventually, Zoro gave the other's hips a tug, and the blond pulled his mouth off his careful but lazy exploration - a few inches wasn't too much of a strange sensation, not too far off in at least concept from sucking on fingers, or at least that's what he'd been holding in his head as he quietly compared the thickness, the heft, the heady fucking taste - to glance back, taking in the red flush on the side of Zoro's throat, up onto his jaw, the earlobes he could just see - and god he fought the urge to wipe at his nose again, watching his cock sink in and out of that mouth, watching Zoro's fingers clench and unclench. His hips jerked faster than he intended, once, but instead of protest Zoro moaned with the little bit of air he could get, his hands trailing up from hips to the small of Sanji's back, pulling again. ...Shit.


Sanji kept himself turned for the first minute or so, watching for any signals of protest, as he sped up, tightened the muscles of his stomach and fucked in harder, and Zoro started to lose his fucking mind. His hands scrabbled for purchase, now digging half-moon indentations into Sanji's ass, now scraping pink (and slightly red) scratches into his lower back, but never once pushing or trying to get away. Sanji could feel his balls slapping the swordsman in the fucking face with each thrust and the immature part of him took a lot of stupid pleasure from the idea (the only slightly more mature part of him took a lot of filthy pleasure from the idea, the obscenity of it), but rather than protesting Zoro was thrusting his hips up into Sanji's hand, moaning and fucking whimpering around Sanji's cock, and the blond groaned low in his throat as his eyes rolled back, dropping his head and closing his eyes to take a breather from how hot all this was to watch, even as his wrist twisted to match those jerks and his own hips thrust with further and further abandon.

This might have been the hottest thing he'd ever done.

He refused to dwell on that, let the thought flit through and then stepped around it instead of giving it the same hand-flapping denial as some previous (and boy wouldn't that be its own thing to examine later), and turned his head back to suck his mouth down around that cockhead again. An indeterminate noise strangled in Zoro's chest, and those scrabbling hands seemed to transform into fucking claws, digging way too hard into his lower back and dragging fucking furrows into it (okay slight exaggeration but not by much!), but Sanji was just drunk enough that while his nose wrinkled and he fought himself not to bite down on the idiot's dick, he couldn't - fuck, he couldn't say he minded, because it was just more evidence of how much the fucker wanted this. How damn much Sanji was doing it right.

God, he had to shift his hand from the mattress to Zoro's hip to keep the bastard from fucking all the way up into his mouth; he was apparently doing enough right.

Zoro's breath was getting thinner and tighter, his face blood red from arousal and lack of oxygen and ridiculous formless embarrassment, instinctive more than deeply felt, getting off so hard like this on the blond bastard face-fucking him that he had to claw up the other's back to keep from clenching convulsive fists into hips, keep from using all his strength to hold the bastard deep in his throat, keep from pushing him off for air, keep from doing any of a thousand instinctive but senseless things and oh fuck this was unfair, Sanji's hand was too skilled and his mouth too good and wet, licking around his head like a fucking lollipop and fucking into his throat and shit, shit!, his hips bucked and one of his hands snapped from Sanji's back to his shoulder, giving a shove, he was gonna come right in that mouth if Sanji didn't pull back -

but Sanji ignored him, grabbing him by the wrist and relocating his hand back where it came from, so all Zoro could do was hold on and claw and arch and fucking convulse as he came, hard, and Sanji kept his mouth right where it was until the last possible second, until that telltale twitch. Barely got out of the way as Zoro came apart, spurting thick and abundantly even with this being the second time, catching the edge of Sanji's cheek and jaw before Sanji could shift him entirely, jerking the last of it out of him onto his stomach, up as high as his chest; and god it was maybe ten or fifteen seconds before his own hips switched abruptly from fucking to jerking, coming in that mouth and down that throat, and still Zoro didn't push him away, just clawed the shit out of his fucking back and rolled his own like the tide. Sanji held in deep until he was completely done, pressed against that handsome, red, sweaty face and gritting his teeth as he throbbed, until his cock stopped twitching - Zoro's heartbeat still thrumming in the cock in his hand, even after his own twitches had slowed - and then pulled completely out to let Zoro come up gasping and sucking for air.

Jesus christ.

Sanji just fucking collapsed onto his side, impressed with himself he had the energy to roll that far off of the mosshead instead of falling onto his damn face and breaking his neck. Zoro was similarly boneless next to him, quaking, head still dangling over the side of the bed as he breathed and breathed and twitched and breathed some more.

Holy shit.

Holy fucking shit.

Did it count as sucking another man off if you took your mouth off before he came? If he probably came from your dick in his throat as much as or more than your mouth on his cock?

...Was he still fucking thinking about that two rounds and probably half a bottle of tequila in?

"...Come on," Sanji finally managed after a long few minutes, when his breathing had settled down but Zoro's was still deep and shaky, grabbing the mossman by the arm and hauling him up toward something like the correct orientation in bed. Zoro grumbled in his throat and shifted with all the coordination of a drunk fish, but managed to kick himself up into the space Sanji wanted him in, cram the side of his sweaty head into one of the pillows. Breathing was easier without his head still dangling, but his breath was still heavy, his throat sore and swollen, every muscle in his body made of overcooked noodles as he just lay there and panted and tried not to die.

It was weirdly fucking cute from Sanji's angle, sitting up next to the idiot with his shoulders slumped far enough over his lap he was almost bent double. The swordsman obviously couldn't keep his eye open, and Sanji expected he'd start to hear snores as soon as the lunkhead's breathing slowed down enough. He'd be doing the same in a minute, he just had to find something to clean off his damn hand -

But as he shifted to get out of the bed, holding that hand up to try not to touch much of anything, the seemingly half-dead algae snapped his own hand up like fucking lightning, catching Sanji by the wrist. The blond was drunk and tired enough to actually startle, to stop without snapping something shitty or incredulous, as Zoro gave a soft, surprisingly cute little tug. Sanji shifted back towards the other, curious, and when he was close enough Zoro tugged that filthy hand down to his face and drew his tongue over it, lapping off both their cum and sweat and everything else, sucking on the fingers, cleaning it up like Sanji had started all this by cleaning the alcohol off Zoro's. The blond felt his face heating up but didn't protest, watching, half awed by the sweet, lazy expression, Zoro barely opening his eye as he cleaned Sanji like a cat, slow and thorough and gentle. Didn't slobber on him like Sanji half-expected, either, swallowing whenever his mouth got too wet, actually just... getting everything off him.

Once there were no traces left, Zoro looked up at Sanji's face, tugged that wrist again, wordlessly. At any other time Sanji would have told him to use his damn words, stop being a grunting neanderthal, but now he shifted closer still, curious, and Zoro dropped Sanji's wrist to reach up and cup the side of his neck, gently, tugging again.

Sanji's mouth almost dropped open. But he leaned down, and Zoro tilted his head up to lick just as sweetly over Sanji's cheek, his jaw, the side of his mouth, cleaning his own cum from the blond's face. It wasn't sexual and almost wasn't even sensual, bordered on plainly utilitarian, except for the soft flutter of Zoro's breath and the little nuzzle of his nose against Sanji's jaw.

Once he was satisfied, Zoro flopped right back down into the pillow, letting his eye drift totally shut and his body relax entirely. Sanji realized that now he really had no reason to get out of bed, that that was probably the point, and lay down next to the swordsman, watching him with a newfound fascination. The big ridiculous cat of a man relaxed further and further, and Sanji listened to his breath steady and deepen until the predicted soft snores started up. Just like that. They'd fucked like they were both going to die if they didn't and then Zoro cleaned him up with his mouth like he was something precious and went to sleep, at ease and unbothered to be covered in cum himself and sharing a messy bed.


Fuck him, Sanji was in so far over his head.

The blond reached out without thinking, trailing now-clean ("clean") fingers over the left side of the swordsman's face, tracing that slice through his forehead, over his ruined eye, down onto his cheek. He hadn't been there for this one - an accident during a demo, Zoro'd said. Hell of an accident, to happen during an event hosted by that lunatic "Hawk Eyes," some huge deal out in Hokkaido while Zoro'd been there on an internship. God, that had been a long two years.

...Jesus, Zoro really hadn't fallen for or sought after or even fooled around with any Harajuku girls (or boys) in the two fucking years he'd been in Japan?

Had he been that fucking... Buddhist bushido monastically devoted to his fucking studies, or... had he...

"Do you really wanna continue this conversation while we're both this drunk?"

Had the marimo fucking waited for him?

(Had he been waiting for the marimo, all this time, just using the long hours and the company of the weird-ass clientele in Ivan's club as an excuse for why he didn't have the energy to pursue anything? Anyone?)

God, did he wanna continue this line of thought while he was this fucking drunk?


Nah. Fuck it. He could think about all that tomorrow. He could - maybe - do something about it (have that conversation?) tomorrow.

Right now he was way more interested in the way Zoro's breaths continued to smooth easily in and out through parted lips even with Sanji's fingers tracing his immobile eyelid, rasping through a sore throat and puffing an occasional snore. Even his other eye didn't twitch, no flutter of lashes. Sanji could touch him like this, intimately, and Zoro just... slept. Let him. Relaxed.

Oh holy shit he was out of his fucking depth, now, tomorrow, and for all time.

Sanji shook his head, trying to rattle those thoughts the hell out for now, and ended up rattling himself instead, ho, that was nnnnnot a good idea with this many alcohol fumes swirling in his brain. His eyes crossed before slamming shut, and his nose wrinkled up as he pulled in a deep breath, pushing that down his throat instead of letting even the idea of anything come up. (At least Franky's crew knew by now that he didn't do party drinking with anything carbonated, beer or soda-mixers or anything, so it was a lot less likely he'd end up belching anything up the back of his throat.) A second breath. A third. He removed his hand from Zoro's face to press it against his own forehead. A fourth breath. ...Okay.

...Not okay.

He'd opened his eyes and it was like he'd stepped into a museum. This fucking sculpture laid out in front of him, muscled and tawny like a goddamn lion, just-glossy with a fine sheen of drying sweat. All power and steel and firm lines and strong bulges, gone supple and liquid in sleep. Was he looking at Adonis or Venus? God. The fucking mosshead managed to look so... innocent, almost, in sleep, lazy and feline and trusting. In sharp fucking contrast to that, though, he could see marks of red and pink and just little edges of purple starting to darken on that throat, those pecs, that scar... and then there was that puddle of slick running sideways down his abs, thinning clear instead of thick and white, and suddenly all Sanji could do was wonder if that changed the taste.

This goddamn algae was going to be the death of him.

With a curse under his breath he pressed a hand to Zoro's left shoulder, pushing him over, and the marimo just flopped onto his back with a soft mmf, head rolling a little on the pillow and left arm flopping almost off the edge of the bed, but the rest of him stayed where it landed, crashed out and boneless. And not giving a fuck that he was being manhandled. God. God, it was taking everything in him not to just jump the fucker again. It wasn't fucking fair; how the hell could one guy be more fucking attractive than most of the women he'd chased and praised and charmed and bedded put together? He had to be, for Sanji to be eyeing that slick all over that stomach and. Fucking steeling himself. Shit.


Shit, he gave his head a (much less violent) little shake and braced one hand on the marimo's hip, leaning down and lapping his tongue in a long line through the cooling cum, nose preemptively wrinkled from expecting - what, again, he didn't know, but he figured it probably wouldn't be terribly pleasant cool.

...He still didn't hate it.

And he hated less how the muscles there jumped, the soft huff through the marimo's nose. ...Was he ticklish? Sanji blinked up at him, then lapped up another line, slowly, eyes on that slumbering face. No. No, not ticklish; that chin tipped up, neck stretching out, exposed, as Zoro rocked his head back, a soft sigh passing his lips, and Sanji wanted to fucking kill him. His breath was a little raspy, still, from having Sanji's cock down his throat, and his lips were pink and barely-swollen from the same, and when Sanji furiously lapped up most of the rest of that cooling cum in one good swipe, Zoro groaned just barely in the depths of his chest and Sanji bit down on one of the sculpted fucking muscles under his mouth in frustration.

The sound as the swordsman jerked awake managed to be a grunt and a snort both at once, and of fucking course his hand snapped immediately into Sanji's hair, threading strands and giving a sharp tug, and Sanji bit down again and kept his teeth there when the other man hissed and gave an automatic tug.

"Whff- wha- huh?" He looked so stupid and so goddamned adorable, blinking down with one bleary eye, brow smooth and the line of his mouth relaxed, not even scowling to be woken up like this.

"It's not fucking fair," Sanji snarled, nipping one more time before dragging his tongue, hard, down the bastard's stomach from his diaphragm to the top of his pelvis, dipping through the navel as he went. The muscles all jumped and the fingers in the cook's hair clenched once before loosening, letting him go.


"Don't play dumb with me!" Even if okay he was being the drunk kind of nonsensical and bafflement was probably a completely appropriate reaction to having the guy who just fucked you silly be pissed off while licking your stomach until you woke up. Zoro looked like he was trying to wake up enough to find the words to communicate more or less that, but Sanji saved him the trouble. "How are you still so fucking attractive?"

Zoro stared. Blinked. Stared some more, his mouth slightly open, gears almost audibly turning in his head as he tried to process everything the blond had said, the glower on his face, the flush in his stupid pretty cheeks, and the little thumps in his own gut as his heartbeat thrummed through fresh pinches and bites.

Then he burst out laughing, only not drunk-loud because his voice was still half raw. Sanji didn't appreciate the fucker's grin, but that didn't deter Zoro any.

"Animal magnetism?"


Fine! Sanji just dipped a hand between those knees, lifted the marimo's right leg like a goddamn hatch door, and ducked under it to plant himself between those stupid muscular legs, shoving one of Zoro's knees up to his chest and watching that one hazel eye bug, knotted hands scramble for purchase in the sheets.

"Guess I'll just have to fuck you like an animal, huh, Tiger?"

The spluttering noise from Zoro's mouth was finally something more satisfying than infuriating.

"Shit - shit holy shit what the fuck is your libido?" Zoro was trying to shove himself higher up the bed, more onto the pillows, but Sanji grabbed the other leg and crammed both the bastard's knees into his chest, earning a whine and sending those hands flying up to clutch at the headboard instead. Glancing down, he noticed with more than a little amusement that Zoro was barely hard if at all, compared to his own (irritating!) half-erection... but definitely twitching.

"Guess I'm that attracted to mossy green cat monsters."

The marimo appeared to be trapped somewhere between exhaustion and panic, his eyelid as heavy as his breath, brilliant red streaked across his throat and cheekbones and ears, staring down himself at Sanji's firm hands and firming cock as if they were weapons trained on him.

"Oh, what the fuck..."

Sanji couldn't help but laugh, annoyed as he was with this particular situation.

"Fine, fine, okay, you worn-out cat. Tell you what." He loosened his push at the backs of those thighs, scooting himself closer and hooking the swordsman's knees at his hips instead. "You don't have to do shit, lazy Marimo. Just cross your ankles behind my back. Lemme take care of you."

Zoro let out a groan, but it sounded like it was more complaint than arousal, the ungrateful bastard! And sure enough, the son of a bitch eyed Sanji's cock again, clenching his fists on the bars of the headboard, but not doing as he was goddamn told already, lolling his head back and forth on the pillow like he was the drunker one here.

"Oh my god oh my god holy shit you're drunk how the fuck is a lightweight like you still going?"

But that voice was getting breathy, and Sanji felt himself grinning like the fucking devil.

"Just 'cause I got no inhibitions and I'm missing half my vocabulary doesn't mean my blood doesn't work." To emphasize, Sanji gave a rock, pressing his now well more than half-hard cock against the crack of that ass, the backs of those balls. Zoro made a sound like choking on his own tongue as his back arched up.

"Your blood's half alcohol!"

"You saying I should stop?" The cook trailed one finger over the underside of Zoro's - now very nearly half-hard - cock, watching it jump under the touch.

"Ah!" The headboard creaked under tightening fists. "Fuck you!"

"Nuh-uh." That finger trailed down, down, over root and balls and taint and then swirled against that still-messy hole half-lifted off the bed. Zoro's eyes rolled back, the right lid fluttering shut, and Sanji finally felt those ankles cross behind his back. "'m fucking you tonight in case you haven't noticed."

"Fuck - I c-" Sanji raised an eyebrow. You can't? Seriously? Don't you say that, don't you dare - "Shit, you bastard, I - at - at least use more lube, shit, I'm too drunk to tell if I'm still wet enough."

Ho-ly shit it would be bad form to fucking cackle.

...Sanji kinda did anyway. Quietly. Ish. While turning to search the bed and finally finding the tube halfway buried in the duvet, ignoring the pissed-off growls from the half-unconscious tiger while he worked the cap open. Licked his bottom lip and then just turned the thing over, dribbling (shit shit cold!!!) lube directly onto his dick because he was goddamn tired of smearing shit on and off his hands all night. (No matter how cute Zoro had been about it. He was gonna leave the mosshead too boneless to do it again anyway.) Leaned forward while he clenched his thigh muscles and waited for it to heat up to body temperature, dropping more nips and bites and slow, firm drags of his tongue over this big cat's ridiculously large pecs to match the ones dotting his stomach. Zoro half-whined under his breath, letting his head loll to one side, obviously barely functional - but, judging by the little bump of something tapping against the cook's stomach in this position, fully operational. Sanji snickered to himself, still paying those muscles deep and thorough attention with his mouth as he adjusted his hips, grabbed himself at the (momentarily) dry base, and lined himself up to push inside one more time. All the apprehension fell out of the marimo's voice in that moment, replaced by a low, long - if definitely still overwhelmed and exhausted - open-throated moan. He opened up so easily, soft and warm, and Sanji couldn't keep all the pornographic words in his head out of his mouth anymore.

"Holy shit," he breathed, keeping the pace steady, releasing his cock as soon as he was in far enough. "You're drinking me right in..."

The bright-pink flush and the lopsided grin both stole onto Zoro's face at the same moment, and he seemed like he was half trying to hide his face in his arm as he turned his head, squeezed his hands tighter on the headboard. "You know all my muscles are fucking jelly from the last two orgasms, right?" But that wasn't a denial.

God. Sinking inside like this was much easier than the first time, not requiring pressure so much as positioning, taking only moments for Sanji to root himself entirely in the heat that gave way like Zoro wanted to swallow him whole. As soon as hips met hips again, the swordsman's entire body trembled with a shiver, face still half-pressed into the skin of his arm.

"Mmnnnnn, holy shit..."

Sanji glanced down. Zoro wasn't fully hard, but he was bright pink and close to, his tip leaking thin, clear pre. Yeah, neither of them was gonna have a four in them, if Zoro even really had a three. But no, fuck that; even if Zoro didn't ejaculate again, Sanji was gonna figure out how to make him come. He wasn't the kind of man who'd let his partner finish a night anything but completely fucking satisfied. Maybe he was making a run at a third round more for his own libido than for Zoro's, but he knew himself. Drunk or not, he'd have stopped if the too-sexy bastard had actually protested, would have shut his own cock up with his hand while just kissing that stomach and that chest and that neck.

But now he was here, and Zoro's body was pliant and needy under his, and while this bore none of the raw, violent passion of the first time, the way Zoro's eyes rolled back when Sanji started to move was so unbelievably fucking sexy that Sanji really didn't give a shit if the marimo spent this entire round lying there panting. He looked so good, both so turned on and already utterly sated. The phrase was never bullshit in Sanji's mouth regardless, hadn't been when he'd spoken it moments before, but god, the way the marimo looked right now really did make Sanji just want to take care of him. To fucking worship him like this, every inch; to pleasure him until he fell asleep and then wake him in the morning with breakfast in bed.

Over and over again.

...Shit, he needed to start talking again so he could stop thinking so much.

"C'mon, shitty swordsman." Sanji rolled his hips carefully, or as carefully as he could while still this drunk and half his brain wondering why he wasn't half-asleep like the mosshead, his pace slow and sweet for now but deep, firm enough to rock the other body against the mattress. "Talk to me."

Zoro laughed, but it was half a shivering breath, still rushing across the skin of his arm, as his hands squeezed softly around the wooden bars of the headboard. "What do you want me to say?"

"I don't know, spill your drunken hopes and dreams or some shit." Sanji couldn't stop himself from grinning when Zoro snickered. "Tell me all the sweet nothings you wanna hear outta me if you're too braindead for your own."

"Pfft. I don't want nothings and I'm not gonna make any up for you either." Zoro's voice was lazy, blissful, but strikingly honest, and Sanji found himself forcing down a thick swallow to remind himself to breathe. "Mm. What, you can't tell if you're doing it right if I'm not babbling oh, Sanji, right there~ or some shit?" He pitched his voice up for that, snickering, intending to sound ridiculous - and he did! But the blond still found himself biting his lip, willing his fucking sinuses not to rupture instead of clapping a hand over his nose, because right now he wasn't willing to move his hands off the other's hips.

"Fuck off. Your body's telling me everything I need to know." He rolled his own hips a little harder, pushed in a little deeper, and Zoro's face finally came unglued from his bicep so his head could throw back on the pillow, a loud ah! raw in his throat. Sanji shivered, repeated that firmer thrust, and the lazy cat-plant's hips lifted completely off the mattress to meet him. Shit. "See?" Zoro muttered something formless, his head rolling the other way - so much the better, because now Sanji could see the right side of his face, all the little movements of the eyelid that still worked, the flutters of lashes that made his stomach quiver. He licked his lips, once, easing back into the more languid pace for a few thrusts. Swallowed. "...But I do want you to keep saying my name like that."

Yeah, that eyelid still worked; it snapped open and snapped open wide. The hazel rim of the iris was barely visible around the blown-out pupil, still looking all the richer a brown next to the rush of brilliant red into the swordsman's entire face.

"Bh- what."

It was more a splutter than a question, and jesus christ this would have been such a perfect opportunity to mock the bastard relentlessly, but. Nah. No. Sanji was serious, both about taking care of the idiot like not an asshole - and about what he'd said.

"I think that's literally the first time I've heard you call me by name instead of hey you or damn cook, you know?" He repeated that almost-too-hard thrust a third time, grateful that it made that eye squint shut when Zoro's head threw back again, so he could grit his own teeth for a second without being seen. "C'mon, Zoro. I wanna hear it."

"God, you really are such a fucking cliche..." The swordsman's voice was a rasp; one of his hands had finally let go of the headboard so he could lay his forearm across his face, over his eyes, doing absolutely nothing to actually hide the color in his cheeks, all the way across both ears and turning his nose so red Sanji wondered if Zoro would end the night with a nosebleed. "Romantic cook..."

Sanji grinned, and this time when he gave that deep thrust it was fast, hard, and that arm jerked up off Zoro's face to clutch fingers in his own choppy green hair, exposing that embarrassed, needy fucking face and the fresh roll-back of eyes under one still and one fluttering lid.

"Well, that's one better than perverted cook, I guess." One of his hands finally shifted from Zoro's thigh, bracing on the mattress by the swordsman's ribcage so that Sanji could lean forward, slightly changing the angle of his slow, (mostly) smooth thrusts; letting him lean in and drift lips over that bright-red neck up to that bright-red ear, breathing soft, wet breaths over the hot skin, nibbling the earlobe around those three piercings. "Come on. Talk to me."

The next shiver through that strong, muscled torso was something almost delicate, a tremble more than a shudder, something shaking loose as the second hand eased off the headboard, drifted shaking fingers into blond strands, wordlessly asking the cook to stay right where the hell he was. The swordsman's breath was heavy, thick, hips half-heartedly meeting Sanji's slow thrusts, needy and pleasured and too goddamn exhausted and drunk to keep up. God. How the fuck.


It was a whisper, a rasp, and the flush in the swordsman's face redoubled so violently when Sanji froze above him it was a wonder they didn't both catch on fire. The fingers in his own hair drifted to the scraggly wisps that fell forward from the rest like bangs, palm pressed against his forehead, and he bit both lips into his mouth before speaking again.

"Fuck, Sanji, c'mon already, I'm losing my shit, just fuck me..."

Zoro didn't know what he expected, but both hands clamping around his jaw so Sanji could hold him fucking hostage in a bruising kiss wasn't it. He literally couldn't blush any redder at this point. But he could move both his hands into all that blond hair, grabbing fistfuls of it and scratching nails at the cook's scalp when Sanji nipped his lips and pressed forward. Zoro's mouth was already open, and he didn't have to think about tangling his tongue with the one searching his out, about panting so hard his breath both mingled with Sanji's in his mouth and blew out his nose across those devouring lips. About arching his back and trying that much harder to meet those continued, easy thrusts, losing his damn mind at the sweet way Sanji was fucking him like he was something precious.

Shit, don't think about that.

"C'mon," he tried again, the sound muffled under Sanji's lips, and when the blond kept kissing him he bit carefully at that searching tongue, hoping that drunk and half-conscious as he was at this point he could balance sharp enough to get attention against actually drawing blood. Sanji muffled an angry noise in his mouth but pulled back, and Zoro didn't taste copper, so he guessed he'd found the right pressure. "Come on." Once more, before the blond could bitch or scold or cram that tongue back in his mouth. "Fuck me. You told me to talk to you so listen, you asshole, I'm losing my fucking shit would you fuck me already?"

Sanji scoffed, and Zoro couldn't tell if the sound was just petulant or actually upset. "So what do you call what I'm doing?"

"Sex." That was an easier and simpler answer than the first thing that popped into Zoro's head. "But if you want me to be here for the rest of this before fucking whisky dick kicks in I need you to actually fuck me."

...Okay. Sanji at least had the grace to admit that was definitely on him; he'd woken the jerk up for this. As nice as the slow and easy was, the musclehead wasn't lying about fading. ...So yeah, fine, he'd just have to ensure that the marimo couldn't fade out if he tried.

"C'mere," he murmured, grabbing those hips again and lifting them a little higher; he felt Zoro's ankles readjust higher up his back, not even questioning. Good. He kissed that stupid mouth again - brief, chaste - before trailing his lips down the swordsman's jaw, neck, nibbling that earlobe again and earning an annoyed growl, a petulant jerk of hips. That was fine, just meant he was successfully disguising the total repositioning of his body, lying his torso down completely on top of this half-drunk brute with his forearms braced on the mattress, knees shifting forward completely behind those hips...


There we go.

"Ohmygod, Sanji -"

Fuck, the marimo had no right to sound that good saying his name. Had no right to sound that good at all. But getting the angle right on that prostate on the first try was damn sure something worth praising, and the drop of muscled hands from threaded in his hair to clutching at his shoulders had him cheering another quiet victory in the center of his chest.

"There we go." He kissed the side of that thick neck; thrust again and earned a sound that was probably supposed to be a word or three but just came out as noise. "Don't worry about it, just hold onto me."

"SHIT - !" Well, Zoro managed a word that time. His hands tightened on the shoulders above his, fingers curling and digging in. Fuck, oh no - "Shit, fuck, I'm gonna claw you up -"

"Fucking do it."

Zoro reeled, feeling like he was losing his mind - and probably was, because the next thrust blew everything in his head out into white noise, and he missed the actual movement that dragged his hands from shoulders halfway down Sanji's ribcage, probably leaving fucking claw marks in their wake. "Shit - I can't - You don't know what the fuck you're in for I'm not sober enough for half-measures -"

"I said fucking do it," Sanji ground out, the pain in his voice only half as clear as the lust. "You think you clawing at me while I fucked your damn brains out through your throat wasn't hot?"

Zoro choked on his tongue before managing to speak again between continued, steadier, unfair fucking thrusts, trying to hold himself still, trying to find his breath and his head and his sense. "Y- shit, that's the point, that was nothing and you're bleeding already you fucking moron -"

"Eh." How the hell the blond could sound conversational was beyond Zoro's capacity to even consider. "It's half alcohol at this point anyway, right?"

"AH SHIT - !"

The next thrusts were hard, targeted, and Zoro gave up on speaking. Gave up on arguing, on thinking, and on trying to keep any goddamn control of himself because he fucking couldn't, like this, and if Sanji somehow hadn't believed him he was gonna now. Zoro's breaths blew out loud and rough with every slam inside him, cries and pleas and formless noise, hands scrabbling at the cook's back with all his strength and no control. His voice only quieted when he found the meat of the blond's shoulder and dug in with his teeth, biting down to the blood and trying to ground himself there while the blond fucking fucked him apart. But quieted, not silenced; the sounds turned from hollers to whimpers, curses to sharp high breaths, and god he wasn't even matching Sanji's movements anymore, just clutching and keening and letting the blond fuck him into the mattress.

Maybe sober (or more likely hungover) Sanji would be pissed about the state of his skin in the morning, but right now this was the hottest thing current Sanji had ever done, drunk or sober. He didn't consider himself a masochist really, but holy shit, if this was how Zoro communicated that he was in over his head? He'd just have to figure out where Usopp kept the first aid kit here. (And maybe his fucking nail clippers.) God - and maybe he could talk this fucking cat into a muzzle. But later, later, all that was for fucking later, because now was for continuing to blow this mosshead's fucking mind and getting his own blown in the fucking process. He nipped under the other's ear, working his way down that neck, nosing in under the marimo's jaw until - aha! - he managed to get Zoro to let go with his mouth, head lolling to one side as he panted. God, his blood was bright red all over those fucking teeth, and maybe he shouldn't have found that as hot as he did, but he probably shouldn't have found this fucking weretiger attractive in the goddamn first place.

And hell, he didn't even mind Zoro clamping down on his shoulder, per se; he just needed him to let go for now so he could brace his palms on the mattress just under the marimo's arms and lever himself up, get into a better position to really let the bastard have it -

"Wh-! Fuck!"

- Except that sound wasn't quite right.

"No no Sanji wait - "

Sanji froze dead immediately, panic shooting through his heart and his brain like lances of ice. No? Shit, fuck, what had he -

"Nngh! Fuck! Dammit, why'd you stop?"



Sanji boggled, feeling like he was stuck halfway in a fucking pushup while trying to make sense of the writhing - fucking - algae cat underneath him.

"You said 'no,' are you okay? Should I pull out?"

Said algae cat went from grimacing and glowering to staring up at him with his mouth open, like Sanji'd suddenly grown five heads. And then like his goddamn heart was breaking as he gritted his teeth and tugged on both of Sanji's shoulders.

"Wh - shit, I didn't mean - don't stop just come back don't lean away like that -"

Sanji, for his part, might have been having a heart attack. "What?"

"Shut up and get back down here -"

Sanji was reminded, abruptly, that this tiger had been letting Sanji fuck him silly, had maybe been gentle with those fucking claws, because now one hundred percent of his strength was bearing down on Sanji's shoulders like a vice and if he didn't just unlock his elbows and let himself crash back to that muscled chest, he probably would have gotten both arms broken or his lungs caved in.

But as soon as he did crash down, chest to chest and each with their chin hooked over the other's shoulder, all that strength wrapped around him in a... a fucking bear hug... and Zoro held him like he'd fucking drown if Sanji tried to get back up again.

"Like this... lemme hold you..."

Sanji didn't remember ever feeling this hot in the face without a nosebleed following along. But fuck him if he was going to try to stop one or check, not with that giant fucking heart, huge and strong as every other muscle in the marimo's body, thundering against his through his chest. It took him a second to find his voice, and he was half impressed with himself that only the first word out had a crack in it.

"...Fuck, Marimo, I thought I was the romantic here..."

The sound in his ear might have been a grunt of disapproval or a fucking... a fucking whimper, something thick and choked and... lonely? God, was he drunker than he thought? - and Zoro just wrapped those arms all the tighter around him, nosing against his ear.

"Shut up..."

It was Sanji's turn, this time, to hide his face in Zoro's neck, feeling a hell of a lot less like a casanova and a lot more like a total greenhorn, a thousand claxons in his head screaming what the fuck now?? Jesus.

Jesus christ.

There was only one answer to this, wasn't there? No matter how much some clamoring voice in the back of his head tried to remind him what he was gonna think about this sober, the only correct thing to do right now was to ease his own arms under that muscled back, smoothing his palms and spread fingers out over the marimo's shoulder blades, and hold him like that as his hips went back to rocking. The next soft sound in his ear was just as tight as that last whimper, but this time it didn't sound like something about to break.


"I'm here."


But he was. He was right fucking here and he wasn't going anywhere.

Those arms clutched a little tighter, the breath by his ear hitching on about the third easy, firm thrust. "I can't... I can't do this like this, come on..." Those hips jerked under his, edges of nails scratching at his shoulder, and Sanji huffed in soft disbelief.

"Not everything has to be so rough, you barbarian -"

"No, you idiot, I'm gonna pass out before I come, jesus, I can't, please..."


Oh, holy shit.

"Sanji Sanji come on I'm gonna die -"

Sanji didn't give him a chance to say more than that.

His own nails left much softer scratches on the marimo's shoulder blades as his fingers curled; his own teeth left nips on the tip of Zoro's ear, the side of his throat, the corner of his jaw; every muscle in, around, and hooking out from his pelvis coiled and released like he was going to kick the shit out of this bastard instead of fuck his brains out. Zoro might have thought Sanji was fucking him into the mattress before, but now he held nothing back, aiming every thrust right at that sensitive spot and slamming into him hard enough to knock the fucking headboard against the wall.

God, if he thought he'd made Zoro scream before...

Sanji had half a second to wonder if the idiot was going to wake the fucking neighbors, much less the drunks probably (hopefully!!) passed out all over the house by now, before Zoro turned his head to dig his teeth into Sanji's bicep instead, not as hard or as deep as the fucking chomp into his shoulder but still - "Ow! Fuck, I'm gonna file the points off your teeth, you damn cat."

Zoro didn't respond, just clutched and arched and sucked on his arm and ground out low, rolling groans in lieu of screaming, and fuck, Sanji almost wanted him to wake the neighbors instead. Wanted to hear that voice, crying out like that every time Sanji pounded into him, hit that spot that made the marimo quiver and twitch.

"Nnghgod... nnfuck..." Muttered against his skin, those stupid green brows pinched so tight together it looked like the swordsman was having the shit beat out of him rather than the daylights fucked out of him. "Nnh... so close..."

Sanji might have been drunk, and this might have been his first time fucking another man, but he could tell real desperation from fake any minute of the day, and - god! - yeah, with the southerly wind blowing them both into the fucking wall over and over he knew a hawk from a fucking handjob.

"'ve got you," he growled, moving to slide one of his arms from under the other and slip it between them, but the marimo's hand snapped down to clamp around his other bicep, keep him from even wiggling his hand away from the mattress, much less get his bird in the hand -

"Just fuck me."

That, too, was muttered against his skin, but the teeth had finally let go, and Zoro's forehead mashed against Sanji's shoulder instead. The way he spoke, Sanji knew exactly what he meant, and there was something about two herons in the bush trying to work its way through his mouth but god fucking shit he was officially too drunk and too close himself for this shit. Fuck it, drop the weird metaphors, you drunk.

"You sure, Marimo~?" He put a breath of tease on the end of the question, fucking emphasizing the tilde, and for them it was fine, it was a taunt instead of Sanji coming out and asking if Zoro was really sure he didn't need Sanji's hand on his cock, because even like this he wasn't sure if either of them was ready for that question in those words.

"Don't fucking - nnh!" Zoro bit down on his shoulder again but not hard enough to draw blood; just a brace while he let go of Sanji's arm near the elbow, wrapped both of his around shoulders again and found some middle ground between the bear hug and digging in with those fucking talons. "Fuck - fuck you don't ask me that just fuck me holy shit - !" His head threw back and it took all of Sanji's self control not to bite down right on the bulge of that Adam's apple, bobbing in the moron's throat like it was Halloween already - "Holy shit I'm gonna come like this c'mon c'mon don't stop..."

"Shit, Marimo..." Sanji had never seen anything so fucking erotic in his life. And to be perfectly honest, he'd never gotten to bang a fucking headboard into the wall, either; at this point his concern with not jerking the other off was less if Zoro was gonna come and more if he was gonna come first, if Sanji was gonna be able to fuck him over that edge before coming and losing the erection that was doing it -

"C'mon, c'mon, c'mon, holy shit -" Holy fuck but the high pitch of that breath knocked that concern right out of him, heels digging into his back and the thighs around him shaking - "I can't hold it, wanna come with you, c'mon, so close..."

I wanna come with you.

Oh, fuck me.

It was just a slow seep, a tickle at the back of his nostril, but Sanji's nose was definitely bleeding. "Shit..." The banging of wood on drywall lost any sense of rhythm as Sanji's thrusts shortened, "thought I was supposed to be the sappy one between the two of us - nnh," his hips jerking more than thrusting, only every second or third stroke long enough to even move the bed that far in the first place -

"Shut up, fuck, Sanji -"

Oh god, his name like that -

"Fuck, Zoro -"

"You don't have to say it I'll feel it just please -"


Gritting his teeth and slamming in one, two, three hard final strokes, Sanji let himself let go. The gasp sucking in past his ear was immediate, the arch up against him convulsive, the hips under him quaking. They didn't part again but they didn't stop moving, rolling together, the throb of Sanji's cock and the clench of Zoro's body around him beautifully in sync. Neither of them screamed, didn't have the breath. Their voices gasped and shivered past each other's ears instead, now a formless breath, now a broken half-note of a moan, now a barely-intelligible murmur of the other's name. They held on and held to each other until the convulsions stopped for them both, riding the wave, feeling their heartbeats match, until in the same breath they both collapsed, boneless, immobile except the heaving breaths rising and falling in both their chests.

Fuck. First night they'd fucked, third round of it, and already the second time they'd come together. Nothing had ever been like this before.

Sanji thought about saying something. About what kind of pillow talk was appropriate for this. For drunkenly fucking the absolute hell out of the guy who before you'd only touched when one of you was half-seriously trying to kill the other. But nothing felt right, everything sounded... insincere. (Or too sincere.) Not enough or too much. But then, a hell of a lot between them was unspoken anyway, right? Like how neither of them actually hated each other despite all their bitching. (Apparently, how fucking attracted to each other they were, completely sidestepped until tonight.) Maybe nothing was most appropriate for them.

Besides... this time, unlike the last, Zoro's breathing evened out well before his. Sanji shifted enough to slip out, and while those arms tightened around him, it was instinctive more than conscious: a lift of his head, a shift of his weight, found both those eyes shut, that angular face fully relaxed with lips parted. Sanji let that fond smile steal back, pressed a soft, not-too-drunken kiss to the edge of that jaw. The arms around him eased. Still, Sanji wasn't going much of anywhere, just retrieving his hands before they fell asleep under both their weight, shifting to pillow his head on the other's body instead of dangling it off that square shoulder into the mangled pillow.

Maybe he'd had to be drunk for this, but any hangover in the morning would be worth it.




A buzz-buzz from a foot or so from his head was the first thing to wake Zoro in the morning. Text message, that was easy enough to parse. Way harder was figuring out not only where he was but how he'd gotten there, and most importantly which way was up.

He rolled over, a thump and automatic, painless "ow" announcing the smack of the back of his wrist into the door of a cabinet. Ah. Kitchen floor. Why the fuck he usually ended up here instead of in his damn bed after parties he'd never figure out, except - yeah, a glance up showed him a cup of coffee perched on the edge of the counter. Probably still full. One of these days he'd actually drink the damn thing before laying down on the cool tile and conking the fuck out.

At least he didn't get hangovers like most people got - just the edge of a headache, a feeling like his brain was moving through booze and molasses, none of the aches or migraine or nausea. Absently he reached for his phone - same damn spot on the floor as usual, at least drunk Zoro was predictable - and squinted at the message pop-up on the lock screen.

And then gaped like a hooked fish, expression unchanging long after the lock backlight timed out and the screen went back to dark in his hand.




> I don't know what happened to me last night, but the scratches on my back indicate that I had sex with a Bengal tiger last night.

The marimo was usually still sober at the end of these things, right? Ugh.

Sanji's head was pounding and his back was worse. Ugh god. He'd be concerned about whose bed he was in, but the décor was consistent with the rest of Usopp's lovely late mother's house, bless her for having an adult woman's sense of taste and style. So he'd gotten riproaring drunk at the party. Dammit. Hopefully Zoro'd at least have some idea who the fuck he'd gone to bed with, because right now, in addition to feeling like he'd been skillfully done up for côtes de bakolo, he kind of felt like an asshole. Who didn't remember who they'd fucked with enough vigor to get said partner to leave claw marks?

More importantly, who got fucked with enough vigor to leave claw marks and then fucked off before morning? Holy shit, had he embarrassed somebody else more than he'd probably embarrassed himself? That was fucking unforgivable. Shit.

He flopped his hand, phone and all, onto the back of his neck as he buried his face back into the pillow. Maybe that way he'd actually notice when it buzzed again, because right now he was probably gonna pass back out until the marimo woke up from his own drunken stupor and texted him back. There was no telling how long that would be, not when he barely remembered last night at all, much less who else had been doing what and where and when. Why the hell would he remember what that jerk and his seafoam-colored hair were up to specifically anyway? Pfft.


When the hell would he have called that hair color seafoam? It wasn't blue enough for -

- wait a second.




Shit shit fucking shit, shit, fuck, fucking shit fuck shit, shit.



He knew the asshole had been drunk, but he hadn't thought he was blackout drunk.

The fuck was he supposed to say?

Oh yeah, that was me, you don't remember reaming me into the mattress? Like hell!

"Ugh god."

Zoro pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes and rolled over again, just laying his back out on a new stretch of cool tile and trying to function. Hissed quietly as he moved, glancing down - oh. Oh he'd rolled his weight over the fingerprints bruised into his hip.

Holy shit what was he supposed to say?

Nothing wasn't an acceptable answer. Last night was blurry on the edges for him but he remembered it, holy shit did he ever, and Sanji was probably the only person in that house right now who didn't know exactly who he'd fucked. Goddammit he couldn't remember ever being that loud before and it had to be when Sanji was too out of it to even remember Zoro screaming his goddamn name.

...Fuck, this time he rolled over to cram his face against cool tile before it caught on fire.

Give him a minute.




Seafoam. That marimo hair and a hint of blue. The reflected blue off the deep, lovely paint of the dining room walls. Finding that idiot sitting literally on the antique dining table with Luffy. But only after he himself had had enough to drink that deciding to match drinks with the mosshead seemed like a good idea.


The phone still sitting on the back of his neck buzzed, and he unlocked it without looking as he brought it down to -

- to -

> Whoops.

Oh what the fuck.




> Is that all you have to say?

No. No, that was not all Zoro had to say by a long shot, but it had seemed like the answer least likely to get him killed or give the blond an immediate fucking heart attack. Keeping in line with their usual tone, their banter, their bullshitting one-upsmanship. The fights that were always fun more than furious, even when they were bad at admitting it.

The fact that he got an answer at all told him he'd said precisely the right thing.

But now? Now, how to continue it? More bullshit was the easy answer, more teasing, starting off with calling the other a lightweight, turning this into one of their most bullshit of bullshit arguments until the thread of it got lost, until what they were arguing no longer mattered, until it was just nonsense in the ether and no details were shared or talked about or confronted either until later, or at all. Until they'd actually had time to process some of this.

Maybe until Sanji remembered some of it.

But he couldn't ever remember a time the blond had been completely blackout shitfaced before this, so he had no way of knowing if the idiot would remember. Ever.


Could he handle that?

Could he handle knowing fucking everything and having to explain it to the blond?

He dragged himself, hazily, into the living room, collapsing onto the futon so his bones could start to unclench. Jesus. Jesus how had he gotten home when he could barely walk?

He knew why, remembered Usopp being basically mid-panic attack when he woke Zoro up at three in the goddamn morning and practically begged him to clear out before Sanji regained consciousness. All the engineer had been able to picture, from the sound of his rambling, had been broken furniture and broken windows and broken noses. Especially since at least some people in the house - even some people besides Usopp - had still been conscious when the cook and the swordsman had, as Usopp had so-politely put it, "gotten into it."


He dug a knuckle into his inner thigh, then at his lower back. He definitely hadn't torn anything but holy shit he was gonna be sore for days. ...Jesus, who the hell was gonna clean up the blond's entire fucking back?


Could he handle that?

Could he handle knowing fucking everything, how he'd bent over under the cook without a single second of protest, how the bastard even drunk out of his mind had given him the fucking of his life, how they'd clung to each other in the aftermath until Zoro passed out... and having Sanji not?


He unlocked his phone again, and when he typed his response, he hit send before he could even reread it, before he could chicken out.

> No, here's another: It's a shame you don't remember. It was fantastic.