Tin Lover - arcticka, riotoftime (2024)

Chapter 1

Chapter Text

Prologue

Z
5.1 miles away
Today

Z: wanna suck this?
3:48 PM
Sam: Well hello there, big guy. 😋
Sam: I'm definitely tempted.
4:16 PM
Z: yeah? a pretty twink that likes to get on his knees tempts me.
Sam: Oh yeah? Well isn't that convenient. What else tempts you?
Z: depends. how much can you handle?
Sam: Whatever you can dish out. 😈😈
Z: doubt it
Sam: You're as co*cky as they come. 🙄
Z: profile says i'm packin'. wasn't lying.
Z: so what do you say? meet up and see what you can handle?
4:45 PM
Sam: You tested?
5:10 PMZ: yeah. all clean. can send you the results.

5:51 PMSam: Thanks
Sam: I'm free tonight if you are. Preference on place/time?
Z: i'm free. my place, your place, or somewhere neutral?
Sam: Somewhere neutral
Z: i'm in lakeview. you?
Sam: Not far from you...
Sam: Meet at the Lincoln Park Hyatt at 11?
Z: 11 works. see you there.
6:37 PMSam: Got a room. 214. Let's see what you can do, huh? 🤞
Read 10:52 PMSam: Still on your way?
Delivered 11:11 PMSam: Hello?
Delivered 11:25 PMSam: Are you standing me up?
Sam: You get 10 mins before I walk
Delivered 11:42 PM

Un-f*cking-believable, Sanji thinks as he puts his phone away and angrily slips on his boots. This douchebag strings him along all afternoon and night just to prove to be one giant f*cking dud. Sanji sighs. His Grindr pics were too good to be true, anyway. Striking looks, jacked body, and a big co*ck? Very rarely do all three get tied up in a neat little package like that. Also, who the f*ck in their right mind goes by ‘Z’? Some dickwad trying on an edgy costume that doesn’t fit, that’s who.

Sanji shakes his head, deeming the deceiver not worth sticking to his promise of ten minutes. It’s not even midnight yet, maybe if he leaves now he can still get a refund for the room. Grabbing his small duffel and the room’s key card, Sanji is just approaching the door when someone raps on it three times.

“Seriously?” he mumbles, miffed as he peers through the hole and sees nothing but black. Confused and annoyed, he opens the door and sees his very late Grindr hookup, standing outside with an infuriatingly amused expression; the guy is clearly proud of his little prank as he pulls his hand back from the peephole.

Sanji blinks. “What the f*ck?”

“You Sam?” Zoro asks with a smirk, shamelessly checking out the man in front of him as he leans against the door frame. The blond-haired, blue-eyed sex pot. Slim, pretty, legs for days. Exactly what he was hoping to find, all put together and waiting to be undone.

Sanji puts one hand on his hip, scanning the man over briefly and zeroing in on his left arm. That chrysanthemum sleeve tattoo that he’d noticed on the man’s Grindr profile looks amazingly intricate in person and increases his hotness factor about a hundredfold. Perhaps that, alongside his smoldering eyes, explains why he looks even better than his photos – and there was nothing unimpressive about them to begin with.

“You ‘Z’?”

“Zoro. You gonna let me in?”

“You’re late, Zoro,” Sanji says tersely, readjusting the strap over his shoulder. “And I was on my way out.” Yet, Sanji knows there’s no f*cking way he’s stepping foot outside the door after being treated to this guy in the flesh. He’s also surprised and intrigued by the stranger’s accent – something southern for sure, but Sanji can’t pinpoint from where just yet.

“It’s still 11ish,” Zoro says, quickly checking the time on his phone, entertained by Sam’s impatience. “Can’t ‘handle’ a couple minutes of waitin’?”

Sanji laughs briefly at the callback to their messages. “Oh, I can handle plenty. But ‘a couple minutes’?” he points out, stepping aside from the doorframe. “It’s almost midnight. I mean, come on. ‘Don’t waste my time’?”

Zoro quirks an eyebrow. “It won’t be wasted.”

“No, you – your profile?”

“Huh?”

“You don’t even remember what you put on there, do you?”

“No? Made it a while ago.” Zoro strides into the room, tossing aside his coat and boots as he makes his way towards the bed. The door clicks shut behind him, its implication sending a shiver across his skin. He’s been waiting for this moment all damn afternoon, his body set ablaze ever since he saw Sam’s photos. Glancing back at the other man, his gaze hones in on thin lips curved in a smirk, and he playfully teases, “Remember what’s on yours though.”

His initial excitement returning full force, Sanji puts his bag back down, slipping back out of his boots as he plays coy, “Do you now?”

“That I do,” Zoro says, tugging off his t-shirt and enjoying the lust that pools in Sam’s eyes as he stares at his bare chest. Even the gnarled flesh of the scar running across his torso does little to deter the man, his eyes only widening for a brief moment before dripping with want again. Zoro smirks. “Somethin’ ‘bout using that pretty little mouth.”

Sanji approaches the man until they’re face to face, his eyes scanning, digesting and just taking in all of Zoro’s essence and intensity. His unbelievable looks more than make up for his tardiness, that’s for damn sure. Most shockingly, there’s a gnarly-looking scar which spans diagonally from his upper chest, to his abdomen, all the way down to his hip bone – an accident or a surgery of the past, it seems. Very intriguing.

“Oh, I think I remember. Something to the effect of…” Sanji leans in further, a hot wave of lust rising as he watches dark eyes turn black when he whispers, “‘I like sucking co*ck’?”

Zoro reaches out, hand tracing along Sam’s cheek, skin soft beneath his rugged palm. His stare hardens, locking onto the round eyes of his companion, a palpable tension igniting between them that thickens the air in the room. A smug grin forms on Zoro’s lips as his fingers entwine in a fistful of blond strands, using his grip to forcefully push Sam down to his knees.

“Then suck it.”

Excitement stirring from deep within at the command, Sanji loops his fingers around the waistband of Zoro’s sweats and, finding no other garment beneath, he tugs them halfway down the man’s semi-erection and gives a teasing lick up the shaft. Making eye contact with the man above, Sanji lets out a soft groan and smiles as he tucks the troublesome waistband out of the way, delighted to see this part of Zoro is just as advertised: big, thick and uncut. Then he takes every inch of the man into his mouth with practiced ease, sliding him right up to the back of his throat.

“Goddamn,” Zoro mutters under his breath, his chest heaving with the rapturous feeling of being taken wholly into a hungry, hot mouth. A greedy whor*, bobbing up and down his shaft, sucking, licking. Tight, wet, and – f*ck – so f*cking hot. He watches as Sam works his co*ck with his tongue, unable to tear his eyes away. Both hands now grasp fists of hair and he uses his hold to thrust his hips forward, relishing in the strangled moan the motion unleashes from the man beneath him. Messy and shameless. Just how he likes it.

Sanji takes one thrust, then two, then three, then four. Eventually, he takes so many that he’s lost count, which doesn’t take long the way the horny f*cker is getting more and more excited, making it harder and harder for him to recover and breathe. Tears spring into his eyes and he begins to choke slightly; his hair is grabbed and all of a sudden he’s pulled off of Zoro’s co*ck with a wild pull, forced to look up into the man’s overzealous eyes.

“Good?” Sanji asks with a labored breath and a cheeky smile.

“Maybe,” Zoro says in a low rumble, gently swiping a thumb across Sam’s abused, wet lips. An almost violent desire bubbles up from his gut, pulse raging. Maybe it’s been too long since he got laid but he’s riled up more than ever, a hot spark of lust-fuelled electricity jolting through him anytime his gaze connects with that sea of blue. His body screams at him, desperate for more. With a harsh tug, he pulls Sam up by his hair, crashing their lips together in a ravenous kiss, free hand sliding around that pale slender neck and squeezing tight.

“Oh, f*ck,” Sanji moans between kisses, through the pressure increasing on his throat. He never thought he’d turn his opinion around, but this guy is worth the wait. He’s teased and choked, grabbed, manhandled and shoved onto the bed, a dangerous growl emanating from Zoro’s chest. His hookup’s energy is turning him on like never before and he lets out an exhilarated gasp of pleasure.

“I’m gonna wreck you,” Zoro snarls, a feral grin etched across his face as he deftly strips Sam of his sweater and jeans. Layer after layer is snatched away until the other man’s slender, bare body is pressed up against Zoro’s nude form, their skin melding. They dive into each other’s mouths, hungry, needy, desperate, hands exploring every available inch. Zoro seizes a firm handful of Sam’s ass, squeezing it tightly before delivering a forceful smack.

Tender flesh blissfully stinging with fire, Sanji spills over with flirtatious mirth: “Mm. I like you.”

“Ass up,” Zoro commands, rough palm pushing Sam back on the mattress.

“Or what?” Sanji challenges, staying still and smirking as his bed partner begins to seethe. It’s unbelievable how every point in their dynamic thus far has a counterpoint; for every move, there is the appropriate response – it’s downright thrilling and he never expected to be met with such an enticing surprise based on their brief bout of messaging. There is a sexual compatibility here that feels as natural as lightning in a thunderstorm, and it has Sanji’s spirits infinitely high for what’s to come.

Zoro’s scowl deepens at the disobedient little f*cker. He strokes himself lazily as he continues to glare into tantalizing eyes, burning with desire to be buried deep inside the body splayed before him. “I’ll come down your throat and end this right here,” he threatens, looming forward and boxing Sam in between his arms. He leans closer, repeating his command in a low growl, “Ass up. I want to rip you apart.”

Like he’s been injected with a pure dose of adrenaline, Sanji crashes into Zoro’s mouth with a searing kiss, capturing his bottom lip between teeth and dragging it as he parts. Wriggling beneath the larger man’s form, Sanji goads: “So then rip me apart.”

Zoro springs into action, hoisting Sam up by the shoulder and pinning him facedown on the bed. His hands move to narrow hips, and he licks his lips at the sight of soft, unmarred flesh. That strong current of lust courses through him again, and he uses his much larger form to shove apart Sam’s legs, lifting his ass, just as he commanded. Unrelenting, he spreads his companion’s cheeks and spits on his hole before thrusting in two fingers. Sam writhes and moans beneath him, Zoro’s co*ck throbbing immediately at the sound.

“Pants pocket,” he barks, punctuating his order with another harsh smack to Sam’s ass. “Lube. Now.”

As Zoro gives him space to obey, Sanji curses under his breath and, like a man under a spell, maneuvers and haphazardly reaches beyond the edge of the bed for Zoro’s sweatpants, pulling them over. His search within their pockets is a quick success and, a small bottle of lube in hand, he passes it to Zoro and gets himself back into position. He looks over his shoulder to see the man at the side of his hip, working up that beautiful co*ck with fervor; a feral grin transforms his face as he turns his attention to Sanji and penetrates him with slickened fingers, smacking his ass torturously throughout.

It’s only when Sanji turns to face forward that something much bigger is thrust inside him without warning. Sanji swears, clenches his teeth and groans, crumbling to his elbows as Zoro pulls out completely and savagely thrusts back in.

A dam breaks within Zoro, flooding every sense with pleasure as he hastily finds a rapid rhythm. He’s wrapped up in ecstasy beyond measure -- it’s all so good, so f*cking good , the way Sam seems to fit him like a glove, propelling him to fire off on all cylinders and give it everything he’s got. Wild and primal and visceral and impossible to control. He pummels deeper, his body rabid to fuse them as one.

“f*ck, Sam,” he grunts, his fingers finding their home in sweat-soaked strands once again as he ensnares Sam’s hair. “So f*cking good.”

Hearing the man's husky grumbles in the throes of sex is enough to make Sanji want to come on the spot. But he's annoyed to hear his fake name: he wants to hear his real name in that dangerously sexy voice as he’s f*cked within an inch of his life. “Sanji, not Sam,” he says breathily, turning his head slightly when the thrusts slow. “f*ck it, call me Sanji.”

“Huh?” Zoro says, puzzled, lust clouding his brain. ‘Sam’ was a fake name, he realizes slowly before he’s overtaken by his desire again. He seizes the opportunity to adjust their positions, stretching over Sam - Sanji’s - back and wrapping an arm tightly around his collar. He smirks, releasing a deep chuckle as he presses Sanji against his chest and snaps his hips. “Fine,” he says, finding his tempo again, the flames engulfing them once more.

“Goddamnit, Sanji . ”

“Mm – f*ck me harder!”

“sh*t.”

“Oh f*ck, I’m gonna come!”

Zoro grunts, his release following quickly behind. “sh*t.”

Panting heavily, Sanji rolls onto his back, dazedly wiping the sweat from his forehead as he stares at the blurry ceiling of the hotel room. It’s as if he’s floating on a cloud, a testament to how powerful an org*sm it was, and he never wants to come down. His body weirdly doesn’t seem to know how to, either, as it feels like he lays in a blissful trance for hours before he’s able to muster the strength to look beside him. He’s met with his hookup’s self-satisfied expression, the man half-sitting up against the headboard with an arm folded behind his head.

“Shower?” Sanji offers.

Zoro grins. “Only if that means round two.”

Sanji softly pokes the small tattoo of a cross on the exposed side of Zoro’s midsection. “Shower it is.”

As hot water rains down on them both and they quickly clean up, Sanji can’t help but be transfixed by more tattoos and other nuances that are revealed of his hookup’s body now that the fog of sex is, arguably, over. He takes note of two bold Chinese characters stacked behind Zoro’s neck, more similar-looking characters on his lower abdomen, a sneaky rose behind his right ear, and three golden cuff earrings on his left lobe. He even seizes a moment to graze his fingers across that terribly brutal scar. Amidst their shower, Sanji feels an inexplicable pull to the man, and he has to consciously hold himself back from kissing him – outside of sex it could be weird, and he’s usually good about compartmentalizing these things with his Grindr hookups, yet he’s simply magnetized to this one.

Sanji’s thoughts are laid to rest when Zoro leans forward beneath the stream and steals his lips in a fiery kiss. Surprised, he kisses back. As they make out, it’s like their bodies are the conduits to an electrical surge, and Sanji can’t deny that there is some real f*cking chemistry going on here. He wonders, briefly, just how much the man might be into this based on the way he’s being kissed. He sort of wants to test that theory.

Sanji hears the valve creak shut and the water stops; he parts their lips and is met with dark, hungry irises on him, perhaps speaking the same language as his own.

“Reloaded?”

“f*ck yeah,” Sanji answers. “Show me what you got.”

1.

Sam
5.1 miles away
Sunday, January 1, 2023
Sam: You get 10 mins before I walk
11:42 PM
Today
Sam: Hey big guy 😉
7:44 PM
Z: hey tight ass
9:32 PM
Sam: Well I'm flattered. Did you enjoy it?
9:38 PM
Z: why you askin’? lookin’ for round 4?
9:56 PM
Sam: Just interested in knowing if I have a product worth selling... 😇
9:59 PM
Z: i’ve sampled your wares
Z: mighty fine
10:15 PM
Sam: Oh yeah?
Sam: Have I earned a loyal customer? 😮
10:17 PM
Z: takes a lot to earn my loyalty
Z: might need another taste or 2
10:20 PM
Sam: Hard sell, huh?
Sam: Fine. I'll give you another sample
10:23 PM
Z: i'll consider it 😉
Read 10:46 PM
Sam: 🙄
10:46 PM

The Belfry

An oddball and eccentric corner bar boasting a semi-gothic aesthetic. Classy and full of character, much like the pompous owner himself. Wrought-iron details and vintage paintings adorn the space, basking in the warm glow of dim sconces peppered in between. Macabre yet modern, dark wood finishes and red leather barstools illuminate in a blue neon glow. A juxtaposition of Heaven and Hell, the bar draws an eclectic nightly crowd served by an even more offbeat motley crew of employees.

Annoying little sh*ts.

Zoro releases a low growl, massaging his throbbing temple with frustration as Perona slams a tumbler on the bar. The resounding thunk sends another pulsing ache through his head. Fatigue is wearing him down, a random bout of insomnia kicking his ass for the second day in a row, pinching his nerves, and leaving little room for patience with immature bartenders and their piss-poor attitudes. He scowls at Perona through his fingers and is met with a childish stick of her tongue in return.

“You’re being so obnoxious tonight, Zoro!”

“Yeah, well, you’re being a dumb bitch,” he retorts, crossing his arms over his chest and watching Perona’s hands shake as she sets down her patron’s drink.

“Excuse me?!” she screeches as she twists back to face him, her pitchy, obnoxious voice threatening to burst a blood vessel in his brain. “You rude jerk! How dare you –”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Johnny cuts in, a look of concern plastered across his face as he glances between Zoro and Perona. “Don’t go nuclear on the boss man, ‘Rona.”

“Yeah, girlie,” Yosaku says in agreement from where he’s pouring a beer. “Relax. It’s a chill Tuesday.”

“He’s a giant whiny baby,” Perona chides, pointedly turning her back on Zoro and pretending he’s not there. “If he’s so tired, he should go upstairs and leave us alone! I can’t work in these conditions!”

“Yeah, right,” Zoro says, jerking his head toward a waiting customer and sending Johnny to handle the order with a silent command of his eyes. He returns his attention to Perona, acid on his tongue as he spits, “If I left, you wouldn’t f*cking work at all.”

“What the hell are you talking about? I’m the best one you got in this place.”

“You’ve been sloppy all night.”

“Don’t try to get all Mr. Big Shot with me. I’ll go home.”

“You go home and you’re fired.”

“You can’t fire me!"

“I can and I f*cking will,” Zoro threatens, looming across the bar and delivering the harshest glare he can muster. Having been her boss for the last three years, Perona ought to know he’s good on his word. He waits for her response but her red lips remain pursed, the fire in her round eyes extinguishing quickly in defeat.

“Fine,” she says, turning on her heel and tossing her pink curls over shoulder. “Just stay out of my way.”

“Don’t give me a reason to get in it.”

Zoro stares as she storms away, creating a wide berth between herself and the corner of the bar he currently occupies. Fine by him. Means less of a headache, her shrill laugh and offensively pink hair now far from his space. He takes the time to survey the rest of the room, relieved to see Yosaku’s right: the crowd is thinner than usual. Depending on how the next hour or so goes, he might actually take Perona’s advice and commute his one-flight journey home to his apartment overhead.

“You’re riding her hard tonight, bossman.”

Zoro’s gaze shifts, catching Johnny’s imploring eyes turned his way. He shrugs.

“She f*cked up my counts and pissed me off.”

Johnny offers a sheepish grin. “Oh, yeah, that…”

Zoro pushes his empty glass forward, signaling for another drink. Johnny complies, seizing the chance to put some distance between himself and whatever it is he’s about to admit. It must be bad, considering he pours a double.

“Alright, so,” Johnny says as he slides over the gin and soda, avoiding Zoro’s stare. “Don’t get too mad, bro, but I think Yosaku and me f*cked that up. We might’ve… broken a few bottles of Jose last week.”

Zoro feels his eye twitch in disbelief. “How the hell does that happen?”

Johnny hesitates, his dark eyes darting around the room as if seeking an escape route. “We were… drunk?”

Zoro’s anger flares, his tone cutting through the air like a blade.

“How many f*cking times do I gotta tell y’all not to do that sh*t?” he chides, snatching his glass from the bar and slamming the entire drink back. “f*ck. At least tell me when that happens. I was tryin’ to figure it out for hours.”

“Sorry, bro. But, hey, at least Yosaku didn’t eat all the limes again?”

“Christ,” Zoro mutters, watching as Johnny ducks away under the pretense of helping a customer. puss*. He shakes his head, briefly wondering what kind of shenanigans led those morons to ‘break’ six bottles of tequila. A myriad of possible scenarios flood his brain and, after a few moments of reflection, he suddenly finds himself jealous of what was most likely a grand ol’ time.

A soft buzz emits from his phone resting on the bar, stealing his attention from his frustrating thoughts. A new kind of annoyance prods his nerves as he reads the name on the screen.

He’s yanked away from his phone by a loud commotion and the unmistakable sound of shattering glass. Irritated, he cranes his neck and searches the surrounding area, a scowl forming when he spots a surly customer clearly stirring up a fight. Zoro sighs, standing from his stool with a loud scrape and cracking his neck. Full-time manager, part-time bouncer. There ain’t a job around these parts he’s free from.

“Settle down,” Zoro commands as he approaches two men engaged in a heated exchange, his eyes immediately focusing on the bigger of the two – a brawny blond bastard with a hyena grin. Apparently, his beef with the other guy isn’t too important because he’s quick to drop the argument and instead turn his attention directly on Zoro, releasing a sardonic laugh.

“Oh, yeah? What’s a chump like you gonna do?”

“Whatever I gotta do,” Zoro deadpans.

“Oh, so scary!” The dumb bastard feigns fear, pretending to be shaking in his boots and drawing a bout of laughter from his small group of lackeys. For the second time, Zoro feels his eye twitch as ol’ hyena-face continues, “Make yourself useful and go tell that pink pair of tit* behind the bar to bring us a round of shots.”

The thumping in Zoro’s head returns with a vengeance, disrupting all logic and firing signals to the wrong parts of his brain. Maybe Perona’s voice did pop a blood vessel because suddenly he’s seeing red, the rude customer’s grin begging to be rearranged.

Zoro’s reaction is swift and wordless as he swings his arm back, delivering a powerful punch square to the guy’s ugly mug. The crack of fist against skull resonates through the bar and chaos ensues. The blond troublemaker is briefly stunned before his hand flies in retaliation, managing to land a blow of his own. Zoro seizes the man by the middle, hauling him away from the table, and they spill out the door, their scuffle continuing into the snowy streets.

“What the f*ck is your problem, man?” the guy yells, shoving Zoro away as they slip on ice, his friends thundering out of The Belfry to join the fray.

“Get the f*ck outta my bar!” Zoro snarls, chest heaving with seething rage. Fortunately, hyena-face's friends seem to be smarter than he is, tugging him away without so much as a second glance.

Johnny appears at his side, looking wildly up and down the street as the small crowd parts.

“Bro! What the hell was that?!”

“Coupl’a dumb f*cks,” Zoro answers as he spits onto the sidewalk, frowning when he sees a tinge of blood. “Bastard got a lucky punch in.”

“Dude, f*ck him. He was being a sh*thead all night.”

“Good riddance then,” Zoro says, shooting one last scowl toward the man’s disappearing form as he rounds the corner and out of sight. Adrenaline decreases and reality sets in as he turns back to the bar’s entrance. “What’s the damage?

“Not much. Couple of beer bottles. Perona’s ego. She heard the tit* comment.”

“I’m not dealin’ with that,” Zoro says, shaking his head. “Headin’ up. Clean up for me and we’ll be squared away on the Jose.”

“Yes, sir!”

Zoro’s glad his walk home is short. The side entrance to the building is only a few yards away from The Belfry’s front door and his apartment is just one flight of stairs beyond that. Perks of working for the building owner.

Thirty minutes later and he’s got the sh*tty night at work rinsed from his skin and a butterfly stitch applied to a small cut over his eyebrow. A trophy from the dumb f*cker at the bar. A fluffy black cat greets him in the kitchen, daring him to deny her a late-night snack as she mewls next to an empty bowl.

“C’mon, cat,” Zoro says, grabbing a beer, salami, and some celery from the fridge. “Let’s go see what’s on TV.”

Settling on the couch, Zoro takes note of the noise outside of his window, happy patrons entering and exiting the bar below. He reclines his head against the back of his seat, jaw shredding a piece of celery with irritation, still pumped up after that brawl. Not an uncommon occurrence at The Belfry – Zoro’s job as manager is to keep sh*t under control. Sometimes that involves knocking out a rude asshole here and there. He’s sure his boss won’t take the news too lightly when he hears about it in the morning. If he hears, Zoro thinks as he takes a long swallow of beer, sharp little teeth suddenly nipping at his fingertips and reminding him of the promise he made in the kitchen.

“Alright, alright, damn cat,” he says, returning Dragon’s dirty look with one of his own. He pacifies her with a piece of salami and a pat on the back, realizing he doesn’t have it in him to grab the remote from the table he’d left it on across the room. Instead, he sips his beer and eats his snack, mind wandering, not for the first time, to his recent meet-up at the Hyatt.

The mouthy blond. Sanji. A hot little firecracker, so deliciously disobedient and yet so desperate to get his back blown out. Not to mention insatiable – they’d f*cked three times before Zoro had to tap out, totally spent and sucked dry. Truly, both of them had to wave the white flag. He’d left Sanji a puddle of pure bliss stretched out on the hotel bed, eyes closed and a self-satisfied smile etched on his face. It was hot as hell, probably the best sex of his life, which interests him deeply. So much so, he’s contemplating breaking his cardinal rule of Grindr hookups and possibly meeting up with ol’ blondie again. Maybe.

Beer drained, Zoro rises to grab another when he hears a knock at his apartment door. He doesn’t bother putting on pants; anyone who dares interrupt him at this hour is likely accustomed to seeing him in his full boxer-briefed glory. He thinks he knows who it is anyway, his suspicions confirmed when a familiar wide smile beams at him as soon as he tugs open the door.

“Zoro! Johnny said you got into a fight!”

“That so?” Zoro asks, stepping aside as Luffy wheels his bike into the apartment and leans it against the wall.

“Hell yeah, man. Why didn’t you wait for me? I wanna kick some ass!” Luffy laughs, shedding his winter gear and flinging it all to the floor, not a care in the world where it lands. “Dude, I’ve been pedaling like a madman tonight. Slumber party?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Cool!”

Zoro resumes his mission of grabbing a beer, adding a second to his lot along with more salami. He finds Luffy in the living room, sprawled out on the couch and tickling Dragon behind her ears, happy to accept the drink and even happier for the deli meat. Zoro plops into the brown leather recliner, taking a long swallow of Miller Lite before offering, “Take my bed if you want. Ain’t like I’m usin’ it.”

“Yeah? Not sleeping again?” Luffy asks through a mouthful of salami, snatching away a piece Dragon’s eyeing and stuffing it into his gullet. Nicest guy in the world but selfish as all hell when it comes to food. Been this way ever since they were kids. Twenty years of friendship and some things never change.

“Nope,” Zoro explains with a shrug. “Haven’t in two days.”

“Holy sh*t, dude! Two days? That’s like me not eating for two hours!”

“Tell me about it.”

“What’s causing that? Did you watch a scary movie or somethin’?” Luffy inquires, salami dangling between his teeth as he rubs his calves. It’s hard biking around the city in the ice and snow, carefully dodging people on the sidewalk while delivering food. The glamorous life of an Uber Eats delivery boy.

“A scary movie?” Zoro repeats, his foggy brain catching up to Luffy’s inquiry. “You think a scary movie would keep me up for two goddamn days?”

“I mean, one time, Nami and I watched this one where this girl fell down a well and – oh, sh*t! I gotta text Nami.” Luffy frantically pats his pockets, a triumphant grin sprouting on his face when he finds his phone, only to be replaced with disappointment when the screen doesn’t light up. “Boo, it’s dead. Can you text her for me? She’s probably pissed.”

“You text her,” Zoro says, reclining his chair and settling in. “Phone’s on the kitchen counter.”

“Got it!”

Zoro closes his eyes, listening to the echo of Luffy’s socked feet bounding across the apartment to the kitchen and then jumping back on the couch with a thump. The telltale sound of tapping fills his ears, then a quiet pause, before a buzzing response. “She pissed?” he asks after a moment, a small chuckle resounding from his friend.

“Oh, yeah, totally.”

Zoro snorts. “She’ll get over it.”

“She always does.”

Zoro keeps his eyes shut, absorbing the soothing sounds of the plastic bag of salami crinkling and Luffy talking to Dragon in a teasing voice. The shuffle of feet again. Two cans are clinking into the trash can. The sound of the TV clicking on, a talk show host’s booming voice fills up the small apartment before a few random spurts of sound as Luffy flips through channels.

“Damn, man! American Pie’s on. Wanna watch it?”

“Go for it,” Zoro mutters, his mind finally swimming with the desire to sleep.

***

“Two slices of pepperoni deep dish, my good man! That extra greasy one right there, if you could.”

“Would you like a candle with that, sir? They’re on sale.”

“Uh, no.”

“Some tea, perhaps?”

“Actually, you know what? Yeah.”

Sanji looks over to Usopp in amusem*nt before waving off the convenience store owner’s inquisitive eyes. “Oh, none for me today. Thank you.” As Mr. Galdino gets started on his friend’s order, Sanji stands with his hands in his jean pockets, leaning over and poking fun, “Tea with your pizza?”

Usopp playfully shoves him away from his space. “What? It sounded nice! And it’s freezing out!”

“And how do you take your tea?” Galdino asks.

“Oh – two sugars, two milks, please!”

Sanji laughs, shaking his head. Usopp Gibson’s been his best friend since high school and his loveable quirks haven’t changed one bit. He may be a bit of a dork and a character but he’s got a soulful, infectious spirit, is always down for some fun, and has a sensitivity about him which Sanji has always found uniquely comforting.

It’s why he’s stuck around this dork for so long.

Galdino’s is a convenience store they frequent around the block from their shared apartment; the owner’s a bit of an oddball, always trying to upsell them candles and tea – Sanji is quite certain he’s gay – but the place is clean, well-stocked, typically safe at all hours and, best of all, closeby. They make their purchases, Sanji buying his usual pack of Marlboros and Usopp, at the last minute, grabbing some junk food on top of his dinner for his night of gaming in store.

“You sure you didn’t want to grab any dinner before work?” Usopp asks, stopping outside the door Sanji is holding for him to reassess his balancing act between the bag of goodies, his tea and his pizza.

“Oh, no. I’m good. I had a late lunch,” Sanji responds, letting the door handle go, bells ringing as it closes. As he bemusedly watches Usopp try to Tetris his way out of his overencumbered situation, Sanji unravels the plastic wrapping of his Marlboros and opens it up. He chuckles and extends a hand, “Bit off more than you can chew, huh? Here, gimme the pizza.”

“Oh, thanks!”

“No problem,” Sanji says as they begin walking. The deep-dish is keeping his hands warm at least, as it starts to snow. He one-handedly fumbles around in his coat pocket for a smoke and his lighter. “Yeah, sorry, I was gonna make something to cover you for dinner tonight, but –”

“Yo, Mr. G!”

Usopp perks up with a wide smile when he sees who’s greeting him on the sidewalk. “Oh, Reggie! What’re you up to?”

“Just gettin’ some grub, you know, hanging out.”

“Don’t slack too much; you’ve got an essay due tomorrow. Have you started?”

“Nah, not yet,” the teen says with a sheepish laugh. “But I’ll bang it out tonight, you’ll see.”

“I have faith, my man,” Usopp says, fist-bumping with Reggie as he moves past him. “Don’t stay out late. You got this.”

“I know, I know. I won’t. See ya, Mr. G!”

“See ya, Reggie!”

As they continue on their way, Sanji takes a puff from the cigarette he’d managed to light during the brief exchange between Usopp and his student. A newer high school teacher, Usopp has already managed to create strong bonds between himself and his students, from what he can tell. He talks about them all the time, especially while grading papers in their shared apartment. His best friend is very dedicated to each and every one of them and the passion and energy that he puts into them comes back out in spades. That’s that sensitivity at play, inspiring and bettering his students.

“I don’t miss being a student,” Sanji comments idly with a laugh.

Usopp chuckles. “Hey, sometimes I feel like I still am. Still stuck in a classroom, grading papers is teacher’s homework, dodgeballs still get thrown at my head… but at least I get those sweet summers off.”

“Lucky bastard,” Sanji comments with a scoff.

“Well, you know – I don’t deny it’s a good perk!”

As they chat and make their way back home, Sanji looks around at all of the downtown Chicago shops and homes. A lot of them still have their Christmas lights up; after all, it hasn’t even been close to a week since New Year’s. He always finds it cute how, as the January days go on, many businesses and residences hang on to the festive magic as long as they can.

They make it back to their building, through the lobby, up the stairs, and into their loft apartment: number 210. Usopp kicks off his boots and shakes out of his coat, immediately setting himself up in front of the TV to roll a joint and pig out on the goods.

Not interested in smelling like pot before his shift, Sanji settles into his room to relax; in other words, laying in bed scrolling on his phone. Mind wandering to Sunday night with his recent score – his recent potential score, he reminds himself – he brings up his Grindr app, checking his chat history with the hot commodity. Not a lot of guys on Grindr are so memorable or so easy for him to return fire.

And sh*t, does Sanji ever want to return fire. Zoro was, certainly, very memorable. He got Sanji’s blood pumping for many rounds, something that’s rare for him. Per session, he’s usually very one-and-done with hookups. Return visits are always a possibility, with the right incentive, of course. Where he’s sitting with Zoro is more of a bargaining stage.

As he looks over their history, he’s tempted to shoot another text. He’d left things with an eye roll emoji, hoping Zoro would stay enticed and message him. But it’s been nearly a day and yet – nothing.

He’ll wait it out longer than this. He wants Zoro to be thirsty for it, not the other way around. Still, Sanji can’t deny that he’s not used to being on the hungering side of the fence, but if there’s one thing on his mind, it’s being in another hotel room with the stranger all to himself. The guy knows how to use his dick – ironically rare for a guy of that size – and he has a menacing presence that’s hard to find in an authentic, non-costumed form. It’s one of his biggest turn ons. f*ck, he’s getting hard just thinking about the energy Zoro exuded.

Kissing him in the shower hadn’t been so bad, either. Sanji could even describe it as kind of tender and nice – almost affectionate, in a way. He felt very connected to him at that moment. He’s still curious if the man got a little attached himself, not to mention whether or not there’s a chance he’s a candidate for one of Sanji’s absolute favorite games.

Suddenly, Sanji’s phone dings in his hands and a text pops up on the screen.

Sanji puts his phone away before his dad finishes texting; he has to get ready for work. He gets out of bed with a smirk painted on his face. His adoptive father Zeff is a crusty old bird, but damn if it isn’t cute the funny little ways he shows his affection and dependence on his son for certain tasks. Food was always a main staple growing up in his dad’s household. He learned how to cook from a decorated chef and even considered pursuing it as a career in honor of everything Zeff had done for him, but Zeff was very adamant that his son choose his own life path.

Sanji thinks he could have been happy as a chef. He could have had success with all of Zeff’s connections in Chicago and simply by way of being the reputable chef’s son, but there was something that drew him towards helping people in a very direct way. That’s why he chose a profession for himself in healthcare. Cooking remains one of his main passions outside of his career, anyhow.

Dressed in his blue scrubs, his long blond hair in a low bun, Sanji makes sure he has everything he needs in his backpack for his twelve hour night shift and heads out to the front of their loft apartment. His joint spent in the ashtray on the table, Usopp is already all plugged in on the couch in front of his PS5, which is displaying the title screen of God of War Ragnarök.

“I’m heading out. Have fun exploring your secret desire to dismember people.”

“Oh, come on. Are you worried I’ll unleash Kratos’s violence upon the general public? What are you, a mom?”

Sanji finishes zipping up his jacket and gets to work on his boots. He starts counting with his fingers. “Let's see: I clean up after you, I feed you, I make sure you get up on time, I remind you to go to bed so you can get up in the morning, I often do your laundry…”

“So maybe you’re a little momish. Well, I fix things around here, don’t I? It’s symbiotic, right? I’m like a dad! We have a good thing going. Let’s not fuss over small details,” Usopp dismisses, his hand in the air. “Oh! Tell Law I’m gonna be leveling up like a psycho tonight in Overwatch. He’s in trouble.”

“You’ll never beat him. He doesn’t sleep, you know.” Sanji pauses a beat, pondering. “I don’t even know that he’s human.”

“Oh, he’s human. Definitely human: this one time we were playing Call of Duty and he had to pause to pee.”

“Wow. What a deduction. You should be a detective, you know?”

“Damn straight I should’ve! Chi-town streets would never be cleaner. Criminals would be shaking in their boots!”

“Okay, you axe-murdering psycho,” Sanji incessantly jokes as he finishes winding a scarf around his neck. “See ya tomorrow. I’m making a French soup you’ll like.”

“Ooh, sounds awesome! Have a good shift!”

“You too,” Sanji says as he closes and locks the door, not really sure which shift of Usopp’s he’d been referring to: clocking in his hours with his video games or teaching high schoolers English in the morning.

Sanji spins his car keys around, clasping them in a firm grip before stuffing them in his pocket.

7 p.m. to 7 a.m.

His typical schedule for over a year now. Like living on the dark side of the moon. Oddly, most of the time he finds it’s not such a bad place to live.

***

Z
5.1 miles away
Tuesday, January 3, 2023
Sam: 🙄
10:46 PM
Thursday, January 5, 2023
Z: so we doin this?
11:34 AM
Sam: Look who rose from the dead
Sam: You want another sample do you?
1:14 PM
Z: don't really feel like dancin around it
Z: i wanna f*ck
1:24 PM
Sam: Well I can't tonight. I'm working
1:26 PM
Z: when you free?
1:30 PM
Sam: I'm off tomorrow night
1:31 PM
Z: i work
Z: you ok with late nights?
2:07 PM
Sam: Yep
Sam: Same place/time?
Sam: But you pay for the room this time, deal?
2:10 PM
Z: sure but around 2? gotta close and don’t need your bitchin again
3:13 PM
Sam: Soo 2:30 then?? See you then lol
Sam: 🍆😜
3:41 PM
Today
Z: 421
2:10 AM
Sam: Just got to the lobby
Sam: Be there in a few.
Read 2:23 AM

Nodding curtly to the man at the front desk, Sanji smirks at the read receipt and slips his phone away as he crosses the lobby toward the elevator. Based on limited data, Zoro doesn’t seem like the type to have his phone glued to his palm; he must be eager if he’s hanging onto Sanji’s every word. Also, he showed up almost on time. Very suspicious behavior indeed.

It seems his surly hookup has caught a very tempting glimmer from his lure.

The elevator dings, the doors open, and Sanji presses button number four on the panel. Running a hand through his long, shower-damp strands, he stares at his hazy figure’s reflection in the stainless steel of the doors ahead, hoping he looks as enticing as he did in the mirror before he left his apartment. Usopp never heard a thing – Sanji always knows it’ll be easy when he has a joint before bed.

Skin buzzing as the elevator doors open, Sanji steps out onto the fourth floor, an eagerness coursing through his veins. It’s more zest than normal – he hasn’t been able to help thinking about it all week. It’s not often that Sanji gets to indulge in a genuine sexual connection with someone. Typically, his meetings with men in the night turn out to be pretty mediocre. Many of them don’t have that dangerous glint in their eyes – the one that wants to swallow him whole, the one that has him feeling kind of addicted.

No. Zoro seems anything but mediocre in that department.

Sanji halts. Room 421, door ajar and a dim darkness peeking from within. Even with the door propped open, Sanji raps gently on it as he slips inside. He puts his bag down and, not seeing Zoro anywhere in the room, tentatively calls out, “Here I am.” No answer, other than the hum of the heating unit by the window. He steps inside further. “Hello? – You in here?”

Rapid footsteps thunder to his left and the next thing Sanji knows, he’s body-slammed into the wall with a force strong enough to nearly wind him. Before he can so much as gasp, a hand wraps around his throat, its grip blazing and tenacious, before the weight of his assailant’s body presses him into the wall, trapping him further. He stares into the hungry dark abyss and, with slight trepidation blissfully layering over excitement, he instantly knows who he’s dealing with.

Zoro clamps his hand, fingers digging into the sides of Sanji’s neck, watching with interest the way those blue eyes light up in a delicious mix of shock and awe. And desire. Flames of lust dance across deep pools as the color drains from his cheeks due to lack of oxygen. Zoro presses a knee firmly between Sanji’s legs, smirking when he confirms just exactly where that blood flow is going. It’s not enough – the way that denim rubs roughly against his bare skin, already down to his boxers while Sanji’s still covered head to toe. One final squeeze and he releases, shoving his partner towards the bed instead.

“Strip.”

Rubbing his neck, Sanji hums, impressed – he can feel his heartbeat thudding in his ears from the delicious shock of what felt like a near-mauling. He sheds his coat and shoes and then gets to work on his clothes, keeping his eye on Zoro the entire time. He then shoots him his most charming grin. “Not f*cking around tonight, are you, big guy?”

“I know what I want.”

“Oh yeah?” Sanji asks, tilting his head as he stretches the band on the last article of clothing to be removed: his boxer-briefs. “What is it that you want?”

Control. Power. Authority. Zoro unleashes a feral grin as Sanji’s underwear drops. “To f*ck you up.”

He doesn’t give Sanji the chance to reply, instead pushing him back onto the bed, mattress dipping beneath his knee as he looms over. He slicks his fingers with spit, hand forcing its way between Sanji’s cheeks and violating his squirming body with harsh prodding at his waiting hole. Leaning forward, Zoro clamps sharp teeth on the soft flesh of Sanji’s shoulder as two fingers drive in deep, co*ck throbbing at the noise that escape’s the other man’s lips.

Amidst the besiegement of pain and pleasure, Sanji realizes he’s meeting firsthand with this man’s inner beast. His mind can’t help but briefly wander to their first interaction: How much can you handle? So that’s what he meant. Luckily for Zoro, it’s precisely what Sanji had hoped for, and what he can handle is quite a lot. For him, pushing these limits is as hot as it gets.

Gasping as teeth press harder into his skin, Sanji jerks against the mattress as Zoro ups the ante, all but f*cking him with his hand; he doesn’t know how many fingers are inside at this point. Teeth are lifted from indentations of skin and it’s then that he hears a low, primal noise from behind, and Sanji swears he can hear his own blood violently rushing south, it sounds so f*cking hot. Rough hands squeeze and gnash the flesh of his ass, hungrily inspecting, before dishing out a ruthless smack – and another – and another – and another.

Inevitably, Sanji cries out and the barragement stops, and he has a chance to take a breath. “You like hurting me, you sick f*ck?”

The sound of another brutal slap cracks against the walls. “You like it too.”

“What clued you in?” Sanji asks with a sultry laugh, squirming a bit beneath Zoro’s wandering hands. He twists onto his side, looking back at the man and ghosting his fingers along the underside of his rock-hard erection. “I also like this.”

“Yeah?” Zoro’s thumb presses against Sanji’s entrance again in teasing strokes as he delivers a smoldering glare. “How bad do you want it?”

“Really f*cking bad,” Sanji entices and moans. He gently caresses up and down the front of Zoro’s thigh, encouraging further, “Been waiting for it all week.”

Zoro finds the lube he’d stashed at the edge of the bed earlier, making quick work of slicking his co*ck in preparation. Of course Sanji wanted it, he’s been wanting it too, not much else preoccupying his mind over the last several days. It’s got his dick heavy and his mind spinning with more desire than he’s ever felt before. A cool drink of water in a blazing desert, withered and parched, he’s desperate to take what he needs. What’s owed to him. Sanji.

With a bruising hold, Zoro grips Sanji’s thighs and yanks his ass to the edge of the bed, long limber legs thrown over his shoulders. He tilts forward, nearly folding Sanji in half, as he pushes the tip against his partner’s hole, their faces merely inches apart.

“I said, tell me how bad.”

Sanji clasps the back of Zoro’s neck, closing the gap between them so that their mouths graze. As if desperately famished, he murmurs his need huskily against his lips, “I need you to f*ck me so hard I scream. So – gonna fill me up with your big co*ck?”

Barely a breath is shared between them before Sanji gets his wish – Zoro’s hips snapping hard and deep, filling him to the brim.

A week’s worth of thirst is satiated, drenching Zoro in waves of pure bliss. The hotel room hosts a chorus of moans, groans, and slaps of skin against skin, keeping in rhythm with the merciless tempo of their frenzied f*cking. The best he’s ever had. An erotic mix of sex and sweat hovers in the air, sticking to him like a new cologne and triggering something deeply primal within him. It’s overwhelming, the way Sanji screams in his ear, the way salt hits his tongue as he bites anywhere his teeth can land. Debauched and depraved, rapidly spiraling out of control.

Zoro reins it in with two powerful hands squeezing around that slender throat. Disciplining Sanji – disciplining himself – to stay grounded in the moment. Sanji’s fingers fly to his forearms, scratching and tugging, his round blue eyes rolling back in euphoria. The sight alone is enough to force Zoro’s hand, to lose the battle, and he finds himself toppling over the edge of his climax with one final vigorous thrust.

“f*ck.”

The hands on his throat slacken and Sanji gasps for breath, filling his lungs while he feasts his eyes on the magnificent sight of Zoro coming. He grips himself and begins pumping vigorously to the man’s face, so taut with ecstasy, so lost in lust – utterly different from what little he knows of his faces, the faces of stoicism and of animalistic intensity – and Sanji imagines this bliss all from him. He imagines that Zoro has never come as hard as he has while inside of him, and that he’d never dream of coming this hard with anyone again. And as Zoro releases a final satiated sigh, Sanji thinks about how badly, perhaps, the man had needed him and, promptly and blissfully, he overflows, brims and spills over.

The sheets are cool against Zoro’s back as he crashes onto the bed, breathless and body still tingling. Glancing over, he eyes Sanji’s equally wrecked form, a surge of pride swelling in his chest, fully aware he’s the creator of such a tasty image. “sh*t,” he says after a beat, flexing his cramped hands. “I needed that.”

“Yeah?” Sanji asks, swallowing thickly and finally opening his eyes. The words course through him like electricity through his veins. Sounds to him like the man might be hooked. “Was it good?”

“What d’you think?” Zoro asks, a low laugh rumbling from within his chest as he gestures at the mess between them.

“Yeah, yeah, you got off. That part’s obvious,” Sanji says distractedly, glancing and grabbing the towel on the nightstand near him, handing it over to Zoro first before it’s passed back to him. He wipes himself down and stands up to rummage through his discarded coat, retrieving a cigarette and lighter. He gives Zoro a sidelong, mischievous look, “Was it good enough to pay for?”

“You really like that joke, huh?”

“Well, one has to wonder,” Sanji says mysteriously as he takes a seat by the window, cracking the glass pane open and lighting up. “Maybe there’s a reason I like that joke.”

“Yeah?” Zoro hoists himself up to partially lean against the headboard, eyebrow raised. “What’s the reason, blondie?”

Frowning in annoyance at the nickname, Sanji exhales a stream of smoke out the window before turning back to Zoro with a mysterious grin. “Maybe I want you to tell me it’s that good. You know – to boost my ego.”

Resting his arms behind his head, Zoro studies his bed partner for a brief moment. “I’ve f*cked you twice. Should be boosted plenty.”

Sanji tilts his head back and laughs, swinging one leg over the other, his foot dancing as he analyzes Zoro laying in bed like a king in his birthday suit. He takes a long drag of his cigarette and comments, “My, my, you are co*cky. Could be I’m just insatiable, hotshot.”

“Greedy little f*cker, huh?” Zoro grins, hand absently scratching at the tattooed skin of his lower abdomen. “You tryin’ to make this a regular thing?”

Sanji laughs, standing up and putting his cigarette out in a coffee mug. “Would that interest you?”

“Maybe.”

“Well, here’s the deal,” he says, tantalizingly coy as he stalks over to the bed and swings his leg across Zoro’s midsection, settling in on his lap with his palms on the man’s broad chest. “Turns out, I’ve got a little side gig, and you’ve used up all your free samples. But, lucky you, I’ve got a proposition.”

Zoro’s body ignites, skin ablaze beneath Sanji’s tender touch, their sudden closeness beckoning him for another round. His gaze traverses a canvas of marred skin – his handiwork – from teeth imprints to delicate bruises to the dark blush of abused flesh. The thinly veiled suggestion in Sanji’s words doesn’t elude Zoro as their eyes lock, the deep blue burning right through him. Seized with interest, he discovers himself more intrigued than he cares to admit.

“And what’s that?”

“You want me?” A roll of Sanji’s hips against his potential client’s groin. He takes the man’s hand, bringing it up to the curve of his hip and onwards to the swell of his ass. “Want to keep f*cking this? You pay me money, and you can keep having me however you want me, big guy. What do you think?”

“How much?” Zoro asks, squeezing a palmful of Sanji’s firm backside and using his grip to grind their hips together again.

“Hm, look at you,” Sanji hums, somewhat shocked at how well this is going – very well, judging from the twitch he feels from underneath. f*cker’s turned on by this – not that he’s one to talk, so’s he. “Normally I charge more… but I kinda like you. Hundred an hour sounds good?”

Zoro’s mouth finds the enticing curve of Sanji’s neck, teasing with tongue and teeth as he carefully considers what’s being presented. It’d be a hell of a lot cheaper and easier to continue finding ass through his usual means but there’s something about this specific arrangement that’s got him hooked. It’s easy – clear lines, defined boundaries, and mutually agreed-upon expectations. And maybe, it’s not only the arrangement that captivates him. He likes the way Sanji becomes putty in his hands, willing to unravel and eager to embrace all that he can offer.

“Hundred bucks,” Zoro rumbles, lips hot against wet skin. “And I can do anything I want?”

“Anything you want.”

“I ain’t payin’ this on top of hotel rooms. Where we gonna meet?”

“I’ll pay for rooms.” Sanji smiles naughtily. “Business expense. I also do outcalls or incalls; your place or mine. Whichever works for you.”

Zoro lifts his head, connecting their stares once more. It seems simple enough after peeling away the layers of formality. He nods, accepting. “You better make time for me. I don’t like to wait.”

“I told you, it’s a side gig. I know you’re horny as hell, but I do have a real job and a life,” Sanji says with jest, inwardly on cloud nine to have the man so enticed, hooked and, hopefully one day, addicted entirely. He pats Zoro’s chest spiritedly. “But I am good at managing my time, so don’t worry about it.”

A wild grin spreads across Zoro’s face as he gives Sanji’s ass another hard squeeze. “Hope you’re ready then, blondie. I like to get my money’s worth.”

Sanji smiles and narrows his eyes playfully, wrapping his arm around to envelope Zoro’s grip on him. What the hell. He’s hard now anyway, and so is his client. “You know what? One more freebee. How’s that for your money’s worth?”

“Whose ego’s boosted now?”

Chapter 2

Chapter Text

2.

“So who are we keeping an eye out for?”

“Shut it,” Zoro mutters, eyes tracking to the waterfall of blue-highlighted hair turned their direction. He’s not sure if his newest employee can be trusted with his endeavors just yet, especially with how friendly she seems to be with the bane of his existence, Perona. Shifting his gaze back to Yosaku, he instructs, “‘Who’ don’t matter. Just tell me if you see a blond guy walk in.”

“A blond guy.” Yosaku rubs his chin in thought. “That’s kind of vague.”

“He’ll look like he’s got a stick up his ass.”

A nod of understanding as he returns to setting up. “You got it, bro.”

The Belfry opened its doors an hour ago but for now it’s mostly dead – just a couple of regulars occupying their usual stools. But Zoro knows it’ll liven up later. Mondays bring trivia night and it’s oddly popular, thanks in part to the eccentric host, Buggy. An old friend of the owner, Buggy’s a total clown, a fact that surprises Zoro considering his boss’ prim and proper nature. Trivia nights always seem to end up a sh*tshow, a circus orchestrated, more often than not, by the host himself. Still, the guy’s a stellar MC, drawing a crowd that turns a profit and ultimately, that’s all that matters in the end.

Zoro’s in the backroom for all of five minutes when a commotion erupts from up front, curiosity piqued as he listens intently and swears he hears the call of a dying crow. A racket he’s come across before, vaguely familiar in the depths of his mind. A warning signal. His blood freezes. Yosaku .

He’s back in the main room in a flash, giving his employee the meanest glare he has in his arsenal as he catches the bald bastard mid-caw. A solid reminder to never entrust Yosaku with something discreet again. Zoro pointedly looks around the bar, neck craning to catch sight of Sanji but his field of vision comes up empty.

“Where is he?”

“That guy,” Yosaku indicates with a nod of his head. “Blond? Stick up his ass?”

Zoro’s scowl deepens “Duval? He’s up here every goddamn week.”

“I thought he looked familiar…”

“And the hell was with the bird call?”

Yosaku gives him a beaming grin. “Pretty good, right?”

Zoro sticks around up front after that, no longer confident in Yosaku’s tact. Luckily he doesn’t have to wait too long, a recognizable figure slipping through the entrance just a little after four. Right on time. His blood’s already pumping as he crosses the room, approaching Sanji with a subtle grin.

“Goldie.”

“Goldie? That’s a new one,” Sanji says, inspecting Zoro who is dressed in a black button-down, half-unbuttoned, with a white wife beater underneath and an appetizing tease of his toned chest. He takes in the spot Zoro has chosen, vocalizing his confusion which sat with him the entire drive here, “So, riddle me this, why are we at a bar?”

“I live here,” Zoro explains with a shrug, grabbing the gray knit material of Sanji’s coat sleeve and tugging him towards the door. “C’mon. I ain’t wastin’ my hour at work.”

“Whoa!” Sanji exclaims as he’s guided out of the bar. “You work here?” He glances between the back of Zoro’s head and the hand clutching the material of his sweater. “What’re you, the bouncer of this place?”

“Sorta,” Zoro says as he leads them to the building’s side entrance, swift to open the door and get them back inside. He gives Sanji a sidelong look as they head for the stairs. “I’m the manager.”

“You’re the manager?” Sanji whistles, impressed, as they ascend toward the second floor. Interesting. He never expected Zoro to be in the business of managing a bar, but it makes a weird kind of sense. “You know, honestly, that suits you.”

“Yeah? I like bein’ in charge,” Zoro comments with a smirk, sending a wink Sanji’s way as he jiggles the lock of his apartment door. He steps aside, placing a hand on Sanji’s lower back as he guides him through.

“Control freak,” Sanji mutters under his breath as he takes in the place, or rather what he can immediately see of it. There’s a room to his left and a spacious living area ahead, with a curved nook and many cleanly trimmed windows letting in plenty of natural light – or at least what’s left of it this late in the afternoon. The walls are painted an unassuming gray, making the hardwood flooring stand out, and the decor and furniture are predominantly minimalist in style.

Sanji looks to his right from where he’s untying his boots, his eyes following a hallway stretching down a fair ways, revealing the apartment’s true, impressive size. There are many doors – too many for one person. He can’t imagine Zoro living here all by himself; it’s bound to be lonely. As if to answer his question, a black fluffy cat emerges from a door in the hallway, trilling and quickly trotting over to make an impression. And does the kitty ever make a good impression.

“Hey, cutie-cat,” Sanji greets, crouching down to let the cat sniff his hand. “Aww. Yours?”

“Yeah, I’m the only one here,” Zoro answers as he kicks off his shoes and studies the way Dragon seems to instantly latch onto Sanji. Rude bitch. “Watch yourself. She’s vicious.”

“This sweet girl? No,” Sanji disbelieves, reaching to stroke the fluffy fur on her head before she dodges his hand, swatting temperamentally and trotting towards her owner instead. He laughs, standing up and whistling. “Yeah, guess she’s a bit testy...”

Zoro can’t help but be entranced as Sanji’s laughter gradually fades into a small, knowing smile. He’s acutely aware of the true reason why the man is standing in his apartment, and the recollection of how good that mouth feels makes his co*ck twitch in anticipation. But still, there’s one clear line that must be crossed first: the transaction.

With a grunt, he extracts his wallet from his back pocket and reveals a crisp hundred-dollar bill from its folds. The sensation of the cash between his fingers ignites a fire in his veins – hunger, power, control, complete ownership over the next sixty minutes of their time. His pulse increases, the idea turning him on even more than memories of Sanji’s mouth.

“Here,” he says, putting the cash on the table near the door and tapping it with a heavy finger. “We’ll make it easy. I’ll always have this here. Got it?”

“Mhm. I do like easy,” Sanji murmurs, slipping out of his coat while under Zoro’s heavy stare. He glances at the money on the table and takes ambling steps toward his client. “I’m all yours. So what’ll you have me do?”

“Be a good whor* and get on your knees.”

***

The chime of the door announces Zoro’s entrance into Tangerine, where the subtle scent of citrus envelopes him immediately. The warm, vibrant atmosphere greets him with a burst of energy, its inhabitants hustling and bustling amongst the hum of blow dryers and the rhythmic buzz of electric clippers. The faint sound of pop music can be heard playing over the speakers, drowned out by clatter and chatter, the popular hair salon busy for a Wednesday afternoon. He’s almost tempted to take his leave but he’s unfortunately spotted all too quickly by the squat woman sitting behind the front desk.

“Well, look who decided to drop in!” Lola squeals, rising from her chair and rushing over to accost Zoro with a red-lipped kiss on the cheek. “You here to propose to me, handsome?”

“Still lookin’ for the right ring, Lola,” Zoro retorts with a teasing grin, earning himself a brilliant smile from the hair salon’s owner.

“Oh, you charmer,” Lola coos as she returns to her position behind the desk. “I think Nami has an opening in fifteen if you want to wait.”

Zoro grimaces, craning his neck to assess who’s on staff today. “What about Camie? Monet?”

“Sorry, sugar, it says very clearly on your profile that you’re Nami’s client only. She’s staked her claim.”

With a sigh of defeat, Zoro nods as he plops into one of the orange plastic chairs in the lobby, arms crossed and eyes already closed. “Fine. Tell her to wake me when she’s ready.”

The harmonious blend of sounds and distinct artificial aroma of hair products provide an odd sense of comfort, blanketing him with warmth. In an instant, his mind is transported back nearly a decade, reminiscent of a time when a certain young cosmetology student was using his head as her personal mannequin. Memories of hack jobs, mullets, green hair dye, and a scalp burn or two flood in, his gut lurching with unease. Back then, he was totally convinced he’d end up bald by the time Nami graduated school. Yet, enduring twelve months of bad haircuts and chemical experiments was a small price to pay to provide undying love and support to someone who may as well be kin.

He’s barely drifted off into a decent nap when he feels a sharp poke in the cheek, a manicured nail signaling his appointment has finally arrived.

“Hello, Earth to Zoro,” Nami says in a huff, poking him again when he’s not quick to rise. “Get your ass in my chair before I charge you a late cancelation fee.”

“f*ck off,” Zoro mutters as he stirs. “Don’t get your panties in a wad.”

“You have no business talking about my panties.”

Rolling his eyes, Zoro does as he’s told and follows Nami towards her station – third seat on the left. He shrugs off his coat and plunks down in the salon chair unceremoniously, immediately crossing his arms and shooting a glare at his reflection in the mirror. Stray wisps of dark hair dangle over his forehead, unruly and tickling his skin, much longer than he likes to keep it. He silently hopes whatever Nami’s got in store for him will keep it short this time, having resigned a long ago that he’s lost control over what happens to his hair.

“Why’d you wait so damn long?” Nami asks, her question accompanied by the rustle of the bright orange cape being shaken out. She wraps it around Zoro’s neck in one smooth motion and clasps it way too tightly, much to his chagrin.

“Loosen this thing,” Zoro demands with a scowl, flexing his neck muscles to emphasize his complaint. Observing her actions in the mirror, he grumbles as Nami pointedly ignores him. “Can’t answer your stupid questions if I’m choking.”

“Fine, you big baby,” Nami retorts with a scoff, yet he’s grateful to feel the tight fabric at his throat relenting. The relief doesn’t last long. Nami’s next onslaught of abuse comes as a sharp tug on his hair, her fingers snagging a pinch and pulling to measure. “You look like a bum. What’s it been, like, three months since you last came here?”

“Probably.”

“Terrible,” Nami says, shaking her head. “No wonder you’re single.”

“Shut up.”

“Tsk, tsk, Zoro. I trained you better than this,” Nami admonishes, yanking his hair again. “Remember the cardinal rules of getting a haircut: always be nice to your stylist and tip incredibly well.”

“Quit f*ckin’ with me.” Zoro wrenches himself from her grasp, twisting to glare at her directly in the eye. “And I ain’t tipping you.”

“Enjoy being bald then.”

“Oh, Nami, don’t you dare make him bald!” a lilted voice calls from the right. An unexpected but welcome ally.

“Jay, dear, I’m his stylist,” Nami says sickly sweet, tossing a look over her shoulder to her seat neighbor. “I know what’s best.”

Zoro turns his gaze past her, finding Nami’s least favorite co-worker smirking back at him. Flowing blond locks, striking blue eyes, seated regally in his own chair with a fashion magazine held delicately in his grip. Dainty, classically beautiful, and oozing charm – presenting himself in perfect pretense. The truth is cold, calculating, and ruthlessly catty, all bundled up and concealed behind this pretty little mask. One Zoro’s personally pulled off a time or two in bed.

Zoro grins. “Got any room on your client list? I’m firin’ my so-called stylist.”

“Oh, stop.”

“For you, tiger?” Jay Cavendish flashes a wide smile, perfect teeth shimmering in the bright lights. “I’ll take you anytime, anywhere.”

“Works for me.”

“Ugh, gross.” Nami pretends to gag, slapping Zoro on the back of the head. “Keep it in your pants, you jerk.” She faces her coworker again, this time with a frown. “You too, mister. I will not be subjected to listening to the two of you for the next half hour.”

“What’re you thinking, Nami, dear?” Jay asks with curiosity, discarding his magazine in favor of watching Nami work. “Undercut? Quiff? Fade? Oh, tiger, you’d be so handsome with a pompadour fade.”

Nami takes a step back, fist to her chin as she scrutinizes what she’s working with, Zoro watching them both again in the mirror. Like a goddamn puppet show. “That’s too much maintenance. He’s too lazy to keep it that long on top, aren’t you, tiger?”

He simply shrugs, shameless. “Yep.”

“I’m thinking…” Nami pauses, tongue between her lips as she walks around the chair, nodding in self-satisfaction as she meets his eyes at the front, “Trim the top, medium texture, low tapered fade?”

Jay claps his hands together, nodding in approval. “You’re a genius, darling. Absolutely genius.”

“I know.”

“Do I get any say in this?” Zoro asks ritualistically, even though he already knows the answer. It comes in a chorus of two, Jay f*cking Cavendish switching teams at the very last second.

“Absolutely not!”

Without another word, Zoro settles in, eyes drooping closed as soon as a spray of water hits the strands of his hair. Nami’s skilled hands work their magic, jerking and tugging his head as needed. Time initially passes in silence, Nami concentrating on bringing her vision to life, only breaking the quiet when satisfied with the chosen course.

“So,” she says innocently, her hair clippers buzzing by his ear. “Been on any dates lately?”

The corners of Zoro’s lips turn in a frown. “Ain’t none of your business.”

“Uh, yes it is,” Nami quips with a laugh, flicking the lobe of his ear. “I’m deeply invested in your love life. Or, at least, your lack thereof.”

“There ain’t one,” Zoro drawls, peeking an eye open and glaring at her in the mirror once again. “I’m not interested.”

“Well, why not?” Hazel eyes meet his peripheral gaze. They soften, Nami’s voice lowering as she continues, “We worry about you, you know? You’re all alone in that apartment, all you do is work –”

“I’m fine,” Zoro insists, closing his eyes again, not interested in hashing out this same old song and dance. Leave it to Nami to wait until he’s stuck, literally, under a blade to bring up this line of questioning. “I like workin’ and bein’ alone. It’s what I’m good at.”

“Zoro… come on. Live a little. Aren’t you lonely?”

“I got the boys down at the bar.” He can feel the lines in his forehead deepen. “I got y’all. You and Luf.”

“You can take me on a date, tiger,” Jay interjects with a light chuckle, unabashedly eavesdropping. “I like red roses, romantic dinners, and reverse cowgirl.”

“Stop, stop, stop!” Nami exclaims, her voice piercing enough to jolt Zoro’s eyes wide open just in time to witness her brandishing the hair clippers threateningly in Jay’s direction. “Get out of here, Cavendish, or I swear those waves are history.”

“Ugh, whatever,” Jay concedes, uncrossing his legs and tossing a teasing wink Zoro’s way. “You’re so uptight, Nami. Jesus Christ.”

Hands on her hips, Nami watches him retreat, scowl not leaving her face until he’s disappeared into the backrooms. Turning her attention back to Zoro, she pokes him again on the cheek, capturing his focus to give him a stern look.

“Stay far away from that one. No dates, no f*cks, no nothing with Jay Cavendish. Understood?”

Eyebrow raised, Zoro tucks this threat into his back pocket, confident he’ll be able to use it to torture her later. He feigns ignorance. “Hey, he’s the one who asked me out. Thought you wanted me to go out?”

The clippers are back in his ear, agile hands yanking his head once more. “I will destroy you.”

“Goddamnit,” Zoro growls, sure he’ll have a pain in his neck tomorrow. He caves, for now.

“Fine.”

Sanji exits his messages and opens up UberEats, checking on the delayed status of their dinner. With a sigh, he places his phone on the kitchen counter and peers into the living room; Usopp and Law are right where he left them, their hands glued to controllers and their eyes fixated on Mario Kart.

“Not sure what our driver’s doing. I think he might be lost, so the food’ll be another fifteen, it says.”

“Man, really?” Usopp practically whines. “I was hungry like an hour ago!”

“Yes, and my blood sugar is dropping rapidly,” Law adds gruffly.

“Do you want me to make you a snack?”

“No.”

“So you just wanted to bitch about your blood sugar.”

“Essentially.”

“Sounds about right,” Sanji concurs with a nod. That’s just like Law. He pulls the same sh*t at the hospital, and Sanji typically gets him something to shut him up despite his protests.

“It’s ‘cause you subsist off of co*ke Zero,” Usopp jokes, jerking suddenly in his seat to avoid a racer sneaking up from behind with star power. “Can’t you have a regular co*ke once in a while?”

Law sighs, sparing a glance Usopp’s way. “I’ve told you countless times – that’s too much sugar. I’d spike and then inevitably crash and I don’t like to deal with that.”

“Speaking of crash,” Usopp says with an impish grin, lobbing a red shell at Toad.

“You absolute monster.” Law’s scowl deepens as he returns his attention back to the game.

“And Princess Peach takes first place!” Usopp shouts, waving his controller victoriously in the air with a maniacal cackle. “I hope you learned your lesson, never underestimate the King, especially not at the end of the race.”

“Cheap shot,” Law complains with a roll of his eyes. “You used my weakened, hungry state against me.”

Clutching his grumbling belly, Usopp laments, “Aw, man. Don’t say ‘hungry’. I want my burrito…”

Sanji makes his way over to the living room slowly, watching the map tracker carefully as his starved friends complain. “Jeez, this guy’s going the wrong way. Or, wait – wow, I have no idea what he’s doing. Is he lost?”

“My burrito’s gonna get cold – I mean, uh, all of our food, but mostly my burrito…”

Law rises from his position on the couch, making his way to where Sanji stands and looming over shoulder to peer at the phone screen. “What on Earth…?” he mutters after a moment, jostling Sanji with his elbow. “You should call and complain.”

“Well, hold on, I think he’s figured it out. Er, maybe.”

“Give me that.”

“I mean, it looks like he’s – oh, fine,” Sanji reluctantly hands his phone, knowing he’s just passed a baton into his friend’s hand, giving him ample opportunity to create a sh*tstorm. He watches on with a brow raised as Law dramatically presses the app’s call button to speak to their driver directly and see what the f*ck is holding up their order. Speakerphone is selected and anticipatory ringing fills the apartment, right up to its lofted ceilings.

“Hello?!”

“You’re fifteen minutes past the recommended delivery time and your path on the map is chaotic. What the hell is going on?”

“Oh! Hello, customer!” A pause. “Yeah, I’m trying to find somewhere to pee!”

Sanji makes eye contact between his two friends, all of them simultaneously giving each other pure expressions of undistilled what-the-f*ck.

“You’re looking for a public toilet? Couldn’t you deliver the food first and then pee at your next restaurant?”

“I mean, yeah, sure, but I gotta go now.”

Sanji waves to get Law’s attention, saying quietly, “Tell him he can use our bathroom.”

Law frowns. “That’s unsanitary.”

“So is our food in a public sh*tter.”

“Good point.” Law clears his throat, speaking into the phone receiver. “Are you close to the delivery address? We’ll allow you to urinate here if you bring the food expeditiously.”

“Uhh…”

“Get here fast and we’ll let you piss.”

“Ooh, okay! Thanks, customer! I’m about to pee my –”

Law hangs up and hands Sanji’s phone back over to him. Silence.

Then Usopp and Sanji burst out laughing.

“Oh my god, what the f*ck!”

“What the hell was that?”

“Do we complain – like? What do we even do?”

“I don’t know! It’s my first time! I have no idea!”

“I think I’ll take that co*ke now,” Law says, stunned. “With whiskey.”

“So you want to die after that experience?” Sanji asks, barely keeping it together.

“Essentially.”

Sanji shrugs, perching his hands on his knees to stand up from the couch. “Do you actually want a drink or are you just being dramatic?”

“Well…” Law fiddles with the sleeve of his sweater, apparently contemplating his response. “Both.”

“Whiskey co*ke Zero?”

“Yes.”

“Poor guy,” Usopp comments as Sanji stalks into the kitchen. “It must be annoying to spend your whole shift on-the-go like that.”

Sanji laughs, pulling out a short glass from the cabinet and heading for the fridge. “Maybe he should try wearing diapers or something.”

“Eww, that’s nasty to think about,” Usopp says, shaking his head as he loads up another tournament on the screen.

“Just a suggestion,” Sanji replies with a shrug as he slides Law’s drink across the counter after the man had drifted over to collect it. “Hey, I guess since you’re drinking, Dr. Kureha’s on-call this weekend?”

Law nods, taking a sip from his glass. “Yes. We swapped this month. I’ll be on-call next weekend.”

“Kureha on-call is hilarious. She’s just going to come in, requested or not, and bug the sh*t out of us.”

“She and I are very similar.”

As Law turns around to head into the living room, Sanji hears a notification on his phone and picks it up from the counter with anticipation.

Sanji makes a face at his phone, now resting on the couch while Law and Usopp continue to play video games. Suddenly, loud and frenetic rapping from the door signals that their delivery man is here. All too f*cking aware of the guy’s predicament, he gets up and quickly makes his way over, opening the door and being greeted with a plastic bag full of Chipotle shoved into his face.

“Bathroom, bathroom, bathroom,” the delivery driver chants, shuffling from foot-to-foot. “Gotta go, gotta go now!”

Sanji steps aside from the dark-haired young man, allowing him in. “It’s this way –” he sighs when the stranger looks around, distracted. “Here, let me show you.”

“Thanks, customer! Whoa, what a nice place – hey, is that Smash?”

“You bet it is!” Usopp confirms in the background.

“Cool! I kick ass in Smash! You should let me play!”

Usopp glances back incredulously. “I thought you really had to pee, dude?”

“Oh yeah! Holy smokes!” the strange guy exclaims before he begins dancing again.

After placing their order down on the kitchen counter, Sanji glares pointedly at the loud guy’s antics, slightly perturbed, and again gestures for the delivery man to follow him down the hallway. As soon as he points the small room out, there’s a blur at his side and the delivery man doesn’t even swing the door shut fully before positioning himself in front of the toilet.

“I’m just gonna, um – yeah,” Sanji murmurs as he steps forward to pull the door closed before walking away, his hands in the air in shock.

“Did he just leave the door open?” Law asks, bewildered, from the kitchen where he’s warming up his burrito bowl in the microwave.

“Yes,” Sanji answers with a calm nod. “Yes, he did. I don’t know what’s happening.”

“I don’t even care,” Usopp comments, getting up and flocking to the intoxicating scent of food. “All I care about is pigging out on sweet, delicious Chipotle. Man, I am starving!”

“Alright!” A voice sounds from the bathroom, the door banging open as the delivery guy emerges, seemingly relieved. He looks around the room, nodding at the three men gawking his direction, and raises a hand. “So, I’m Luffy! Which one of you weirdos ordered the burrito bowl with no rice and no cheese? Yuck.”

Law practically chokes mid-bite, fork still poised at his lips. “I beg your pardon?” he manages to cough out, a scowl rapidly overtaking his dark features. “Weirdo?”

“Uh, yeah,” Luffy says with a vigorous nod, slinking over to join Usopp at the kitchen counter and very obviously stealing one of his tortilla chips. “Dude, the rice and the cheese is like… the best part. Other than the meat, duh.”

“I’ve been telling him that for years,” Usopp agrees with a loud laugh. His chuckles quiet when he notices Luffy stealing another chip. “Hey! Back off, man. I’ve been starving waiting for you to get here!”

“Sorry.”

“The rice is just filler and the cheese at Chipotle is disgusting,” Law defends his choices, violently poking his fork back into his bowl. His eyes narrow. “Why do you know my order?”

Luffy beams a bright grin. “I read the tickets! It’s fun. If I see something that looks tasty, I take a picture of it to order in the future.”

“That’s actually pretty smart,” Usopp says thoughtfully, mid-chew.

Incredulous that Luffy is just making himself at home while on the job, Sanji decides to inquire, “Don’t you have to get back to work?”

“Nah,” Luffy answers with a shrug, his wide eyes landing on Sanji’s bag of tortilla chips. “You guys just invited me to play Smash and everything! Why would I wanna work more?”

Relinquishing his tortilla chips over to the clearly ravenous delivery guy, Sanji raises a brow at his friends. “Well, I mean, we let you in to use the bathroom...”

Luffy shoves a handful of chips in his mouth, earning a disgusted glare from Law when crumbs spill from his lips as he speaks, “Thanks for that! I almost pissed myself. And now I’m gonna eat chips and kick your asses at Smash. What’s your name?”

“Sanji. And this is Usopp and Law,” he introduces. At this point, he accepts that this guy truly might be sticking around, evidenced by his lack of work ethic and the bond he’s already developing with Usopp; both of them have a clear and useless passion for Super Smash Bros. May as well make the guy comfortable, then. “Do you want something more filling to eat?”

“Are you really – ” Law begins, his face falling to a frown when the excited stranger interrupts him.

“Yes, yes, yes!” Luffy accepts exuberantly, plopping himself right on the floor and untying his boots. “Something warm! It’s cold out there.”

“Sure. Something warm, coming up.”

By this point, Usopp is almost done eating his lukewarm burrito. “So you think you can kick my ass at Smash, huh? So naive. Who do you play with?”

“Anyone,” Luffy says, peeling off his coat and tossing it on top of his abandoned boots. “I’ll win with any character.”

“Oh-ho-ho, quite the claim, my friend,” Usopp points out with a dramatic chuckle as he waves Luffy over to the couches. “It looks like we’ll have to test how much bite you have to your bark! Have a seat and pick a contestant, if you dare!”

“Is this really happening?” Law hisses in Sanji’s direction, eyes never leaving Luffy as he follows Usopp to the living room couch, Sanji’s bag of tortilla chips tugged under a gangly, red-sweater clad arm. “Are you really allowing a complete and total stranger - a moron of one, at that - to hang out in your home?”

“Listen up, Doc. I’m just here for the ride. He may be a moron, but he’s obviously harmless. See?” Sanji chides, pointing at him aggressively with a paring knife, “This is why you have no friends. Plus, let me just say, it’s nice to cook for someone who isn’t so damn picky all the time.”

“When he attacks us all, I’ll be the first to say ‘I told you so.’”

“Yeah, yeah. Go join Uber-Dahmer over there; he’s calling you over to play.”

Just thirteen minutes later, Sanji successfully whips up a plate of pork fried rice for their guest and serves it to him with a napkin and fork. Luffy is ecstatic, so enamored with the hot meal in front of him that he abandons the Super Smash ship to aggressively dig in. After putting his burrito bowl in the fridge for later – somehow in all the excitement he had lost his appetite for dinner – Sanji steps out onto the balcony for a much overdue smoke break. Knowing Zoro is awaiting a text back – his response delayed by the whirlwind currently mauling rice on his couch – he lights up a cigarette and pulls out his phone to respond.

With a dumbfounded sigh, Sanji rolls his eyes and stretches over the couch’s armrest to put his phone face down on the side table. This client is turning out to be extremely insufferable – not to mention, extremely entertaining. His incessant demands are enticing, and fill him up in all the right places. Smirk etched upon his face, Sanji sits back with his head tilted into his hand as he watches Usopp, Law and their new friend Luffy beat the crap out of each other in Smash. His mind, however, is completely elsewhere, a temptation gnawing at him from deep within, screaming at him to pay attention.

“Damn you,” Law huffs, aggressively smashing buttons and frowning. “That stupid mushroom has me all backward and my controls don’t make sense and –” he watches in horror as Lucario topples off the arena ledge for the third time in a row. “Nope! I’m officially done. f*ck this round.”

While laughing maniacally, Usopp taunts Lucario with Ganondorf. “What’s the matter? Rage quitting already? Can’t handle some spores?”

“Yeah, tall guy! Jeez!” Luffy chimes in with a cackle, fingers moving rapidly to make Diddy Kong bounce all over the stage.

“I have a name and it is not ‘tall guy.’”

“Oh yeah! What’s your name again?”

Law crosses his arms over his chest, apparently moody that the stranger’s forgotten so soon. “Since you’ve already forgotten my first name, you may call me Dr. Trafalgar.”

“Whoa-ho, a doctor. Big shot! Do you do gross stuff like cut people up?” Luffy asks, eyes wide.

“Sometimes,” Law answers with a sigh. “I work in trauma. It happens.”

“That’s pretty cool, Traffy.”

Law balks. “Traffy?”

“What about you, Luffy? Is UberEats a full-time thing for you, or a part-time thing…?” Sanji asks, curious.

Luffy nods, his laughter at Law’s expense withering as he glances Sanji’s way. “I do Doordash and GrubHub sometimes too but Uber’s more popular here.”

“Are you an Uber driver too?” Sanji inquires.

“Nah. I don’t have a car.”

“You don’t have a car!?” Usopp exclaims, astounded. “How do you deliver around the city? A motorcycle?”

“Close! I ride my bike.”

As Usopp and Law balk at the absurdity, Sanji chuckles, thinking back to his view from the balcony not long ago. “No sh*t? Was that your bike laying face down on the sidewalk then?” he asks, gesturing toward the street.

“Oh, yeah,” Luffy says, finding a random grain of rice on his pants leg and eating it. “Maybe I should’ve locked it up… Nami will kill me if I lose another one.”

“People steal bikes like crazy. You should’ve locked it up…” Usopp comments quietly, stating the obvious.

“Pretty sure I saw someone eying it down there while I was out smoking.”

“Ah! My bike!” Luffy hops to his feet and rushes to the balcony door, yanking it open much more vigorously than needed. He nearly topples over the ledge with all his fumbling, craning his neck to find his bike on the streets below.

It takes no time for him to burst back inside, Sanji taking in the stink eye he gives him with amusem*nt. This guy is hilarious. “Well?”

“You’re evil, Sanji! It’s still there!” Luffy says much too loudly, waving his hands in the air as he returns to his seat.

Law’s back straightens. “Why did you remember his name?”

“What? It’s not like I lied. Someone was there,” Sanji says, feeling playful all of a sudden as he watches Usopp pick a new character. He reaches out for a controller. “Hey, let me join you guys for a round.”

“Good!” Luffy expresses, selecting Jigglypuff. “I’m gonna kick your ass!”

Sanji picks his tried and true favorite: Zero Suit Samus. “We’ll see about that.”

Turns out Luffy didn’t see much of anything after many rounds of Sanji getting his ass kicked. He’s not bad at Smash, living with Usopp has given him much practice, but he hasn’t nearly plateaued on the mountain of nerdom like these three have. Accepting defeat, Sanji gets up and starts cleaning up a bit as they play something else. He thinks it’s nice his two best friends have met a proper nerd to dick around with, and he can already tell this won’t be the last he sees of Luffy.

Later on, while outside on the balcony, Sanji scrolls through his text messages with his client, pondering his pressing temptations with a lit cigarette. He smiles crookedly, fingers hovering over the keyboard. But after a pause and some thought, instead of messaging the man back, he locks his phone and puts it away.

Maybe he’ll pay him a visit tonight. He’ll see.

Stepping back in, Usopp, Law and Luffy are in some kind of debate about a show or a movie – he can’t tell which. “Hey,” he grabs their attention, standing outside of the seating area. “I might be going out tonight. Are you staying over, Luffy? I can get some bedding and towels ready for you.”

“Hell yeah, I’ll crash here tonight! Thanks!”

“A mysterious late-night rendezvous?” Usopp asks, a teasing glint in his dark eyes. “Who’s the lucky guy?”

Sanji grabs Usopp’s shoulder, giving it a playful shake as he leans in to menacingly say, “None of your business, ‘Sopp.”

“I’m quite curious myself,” Law adds, giving Sanji a searching look.

“Oh, so you like guys?” Luffy confirms suddenly, head tilted as he studies Sanji with imploring eyes and a soft smile. “I have a friend! I was thinking he’d like you.”

“Oh, yeah?” Sanji says distractedly, pulling out his phone to shoot his client a couple of quick texts. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Zoro can’t help but feel a balloon of pride inflating in his chest, having officially scored a win. He pours himself a celebratory shot of tequila, savoring its smoothness as he swallows it down. f*ck that other guy, whoever he may be, totally undeserving of even a shred of attention from the sexy escort. His sexy escort, come the next thirty minutes, and he’s determined to make sure Sanji knows it.

Biding his time, Zoro half-assed straightens up his space, tossing out empty beer cans and making sure the sheets on the bed are at least somewhat clean. He scowls at the hum of music emanating from the floor below him, cranking up his own radio to drown out whatever the hell is going on downstairs. He prefers not to dwell on it.

Most importantly, he ensures the promise he made last visit is fulfilled: right in the same spot on the side table rests another hundred-dollar bill. Ready and waiting, his dues paid.

Not bothering to check his phone as it chimes in the adjacent room, Zoro descends the stairs two at a time. He spots the familiar head of blond hair waiting through the glass at the front entrance. With a predatory smirk, Zoro forcefully pushes the door open, grabbing his visitor by the sleeve and hauling him inside. Without a word, he slams Sanji against the wall, their lips colliding in an immediate and feral kiss. Raw and intense, an unbridled desire, forging a connection so volatile it borders on the wild.

“Well now I see –” Sanji says with a surprised gasp, using the gaps between their furious liplocking to speak, “– why you were so eager to see me, hm?”

Zoro’s hand finds the nape of Sanji’s neck, squeezing firmly. “You’re the one who canceled on a client.”

The increasing pressure sending a shiver down his spine, Sanji winces and chuckles, enthralled as he gives Zoro a daring look. “I never canceled sh*t,” he claims, caressing his client’s forearm and biting his lower lip. “But if it turns you on believing it, go on, believe away.”

Zoro tilts his head, teeth grazing Sanji’s earlobe as he mutters, “I think you’re a lyin’ whor*.”

Feeling his blood rush south at being talked to that way, Sanji reaches down and strokes the growing bulge hidden beneath Zoro’s sweats. “You know what I think?” he retaliates. “You don’t like me getting f*cked by other guys.”

“Maybe I don’t,” Zoro returns with a low growl, hand lowering to Sanji’s ass and giving it a rough smack. He uses his body to steer Sanji towards the stairs, his hardened stare gazing into a storm of blue. “Get up there and I’ll show you why you don’t need ‘em.”

Damn. Sanji feels pinned in place despite the command. This f*cker is showing no signs of stopping when it comes to his addictive intensity; it’s like an animal is sizing him up for the kill. Turns Sanji the f*ck on. It’s more than he can say for his other clients, where money and other factors are the main motivation. This is – well, Sanji doesn’t even know how to describe it. Unique. An arrangement with sexual chemistry way off the f*cking charts, and he can’t help but enjoy the sh*t out of it.

Sanji follows his orders, heading upstairs with Zoro’s presence lurking directly behind; he knows, with mountainous pleasure, that once he passes the threshold of the door upstairs, the man will destroy him. It’s only a matter of time. He just needs to say or do something to make Zoro lose control – his favorite game.

As soon as the latch clicks, Zoro pounces, tearing away Sanji’s coat and tossing it to the side. Hands, fingers, tongues, skin, teeth – they’re a mess of mouths and limbs, pressed hard into each other with Sanji’s back against the door, Zoro setting their pace. Frenzied but composed, every move’s intent to pull sweet moans and gasps from Sanji’s lips. He cups a firm palm at Sanji’s crotch, enjoying the shudder of his partner beneath his hands.

“Oh, ” Sanji moans breathlessly, going ramrod straight against the door, courtesy of the savage touch. “f*ck: you did miss me.”

“Feels like you’re the one that missed me,” Zoro teases in return, putting more pressure on his partner’s hardening length. “You want it bad.”

Sanji groans through clenched teeth. “You’re the one who couldn’t wait until tomorrow.”

“Yet here you are.”

“And you’re lucky I am. You should thank the guy.”

Zoro scowls, his grip tightening. “Shut up about him.”

Head tilting back against the door, Sanji gasps, satisfied to have hit a sore spot as he strainfully taunts further, “Want to know his name?”

“f*ck no,” Zoro snarls, adrenaline coursing through his veins. “I said shut up about it.”

“It’s a shame, too. He really knows how to f*ck me up.”

Zoro withdraws his hand for a split second, recoiling before returning with violent vengeance, his palm forcefully melding against cheek.

It’s like Sanji is struck by a lightning bolt, cornered by a blazing forest, tugged seabound by a forceful riptide; wild and unpredictable forces of nature but when met with perfect conditions, calamity is sure to ensue. Face stinging with fire, he smiles widely.

Just what he wanted.

Chapter 3

Chapter Text

3.

Alone in the aftermath, Zoro remains rooted, his eyes fixed on the floor, unfazed by the sound of cash sliding across the table or the resolute click of the front door. Transaction complete. He exhales, his fingers aimlessly tracing along his tattooed forearm, the fleeting encounter etched into his skin as profoundly as the ink. A momentary respite. A release of pressure. A volcanic eruption temporarily subdued and awaiting the next rumble. Reveling in the weightlessness, his once overflowing cup now emptied, Zoro willingly embraces the vast comfort of the void, a contented smile painting his lips.

Exactly what he needed.

Footsteps echo across wood flooring as he ambles to the kitchen, his eyes gleaming at the sight of a cold Bud Light and a styrofoam container of leftover lo mein waiting for him in the fridge. Hoisting himself onto the counter top, he digs in, the afternoon’s activities leaving him starving. Pure f*cking bliss.

“What d’you want?” he asks, a fuzzy little head pokes around the corner, Dragon making her presence known at the mere suggestion of food. A chuckle escapes him as he tosses a shrimp her way and, for the umpteenth time, contemplates just how much that damn cat reminds him of Luffy.

His gaze drifts out the kitchen window to the bustling city street below, the busy corner teeming with life even on a random Friday afternoon – a sight he still hasn’t gotten used to even in almost a decade of living in Chicago. Countless cars and people littering the streets without a damn place to be. Then again, he realizes he might be one of those lost souls too, if he really thinks about it.

So he doesn’t.

Besides, it’s not like he has nowhere to go. The Belfry needs him – it always does, those rat bastards barely capable of changing a keg without bombarding him with a million questions. Which reminds him, a couple kegs actually do need changing, and Perona’s scheduled to hold down the fort alone until six when Vivi’s classes end. Not an ideal setup for a Friday night. He nods to himself, sacrificing his last shrimp to Dragon as he pushes off the counter. Might as well get cleaned up and head on down.

Worst case, if the bar’s dead, he’ll just have another beer.

For the second time that month, Sanji enters The Belfry, greeted by a near-empty interior. No surprise there, given the time of day. He’s sure the place will soon fill up for happy hour. As he looks around for Zoro, he hears cawing noises coming from the bar. Odd – the same thing happened the last time he was here. Either the spot has a tendency to get crows stuck in their vents, or some dumbass drunkard at the bar needs to call a cab. He smirks when he sees a familiar face, and makes quick strides around a maze of high-top tables; the good news is, the call has brought his attention to the bar, where he finds Zoro looking hilariously irked with an employee.

“Goddamnit,” Zoro mutters, crossing his arms over his chest as he watches Sanji approach the bar, Yosaku practically giddy at his side.

“That’s him, right?” he asks, enthusiasm building when Zoro remains silent. “I thought so last time too! You said it, bro, he’s really got a stick right up his –”

“Yo.” Zoro interrupts Yosaku and raises a hand to Sanji, silently thankful that Perona’s running late for her shift. The bird calls are about all the bullsh*t he can handle.

“Hey,” Sanji acknowledges, staring between the constipated-looking duo. “In for a fun night?”

“Maybe.”

“Name’s Yosaku. You’re a friend of the bossman’s, right?” Yosaku asks, nodding towards the rows of liquor bottles waiting to be poured. “Want a drink?”

“Hi. It’s Sanji. And no drink, thank you,” Sanji declines, looking at Zoro briefly as the gears turn in his mind to find the most accurate way to describe their relationship. “We do business together.”

Zoro can’t help but snort. Business. Sure. He nods towards the door. “Yeah, well, I got your business waitin’ upstairs if you wanna come up.”

“Oh.” Yosaku rubs his chin in apparent thought, the wheels spinning. “Ohh. My buddy and I do ‘business’ too… if you ever need anything, you know who to ask for.”

“Keep your wheelin’ and dealin’ outta my bar,” Zoro admonishes, jostling Yosaku with a shove to his shoulder. “Go wipe down tables or somethin’. I’ll be back.”

Sanji follows Zoro outside, the grin never leaving his face as he points with his thumb behind him. “He thinks I’m a drug dealer, and I’m pretty sure he just offered to supply?”

“He offers to supply everyone.”

“I’m telling.”

“A narc whor*,” Zoro teases in return, holding the side door open and blatantly checking Sanji out as he walks through. “Hypocrite.”

“Oh yeah?” Sanji twists around to scratch his head, feigning bewilderment as he walks backwards. “Is paying for sex illegal? I can’t remember.”

“I don’t pay for sex. I just keep losin’ hundred dollar bills.”

Hands in his pockets, Sanji leans forward. “And somehow, I just keep finding them.”

“A narc whor* and a thief.” Zoro shakes his head as they ascend, boots echoing in the emptystairwell. “How’d you get a job at a hospital? The world’s gone to sh*t.”

“A financially incompetent bar manager with dope-slinging staff. Oh, the humanity,” Sanji quips, an eye for an eye, waiting as Zoro unlocks the door to his apartment.

“Says the man who left his work badge here.”

“Get a good eyeful of it? Now you know too much.”

Zoro pauses in his foyer, hand on the back of his neck as he glances around the living room. “Yeah…” he says distractedly, tapping into the depths of his memory, unable to recall just exactly where he’d left that pesky little piece of plastic. “Somethin’ like that.”

“I feel like I’m owed information, you know. I don’t even know your last name. Now you know where I work, what I do, what I look like in sh*t lighting,” Sanji rambles before cluing into Zoro’s confused behavior as the man looks around. “Are you – do you seriously not remember where you put it?”

“I’ll figure it out,” Zoro mutters, making his way towards the bedroom to take a look around. He glances at Sanji over his shoulder. “And you know where I work and my address, dumbass.”

“That’s relevant to our business. I can’t help but feel my personal life has been violated.”

Zoro shakes the blanket off his bed, frowning when the badge doesn’t appear from its folds. “Then don’t leave your sh*t in other people’s houses, Savage.”

Sanji scowls, unamused that Zoro just fired his surname at him like a bullet. “My brain was probably oxygen-deprived from you.” He waves his hand up and down. “You’re a damn choking hazard, you freak. Also,” he pauses, laughing, “why are you looking there?”

Zoro shoots a glare over from where he’s rummaging inside his dresser drawers. “Just seems like somewhere it might be, alright? Jackass.”

“You’re the jackass, jackass,” Sanji retorts childishly. He sighs. “Should I start looking at this point?”

“You wanna dig through my sh*t?” Zoro questions with a smirk, shoving the last drawer closed and leaving the room to head to the kitchen. “After all that bitchin’ about your personal life?”

“Oh, please. What is there to find that I haven’t already seen? Seven million cans of Bud Light and the five half-empty 3-in-1s in your shower?”

“Maybe I got some skeletons in those closets,” Zoro says, nodding at the extra bedroom doors as he wanders past. He stalls when he spies two green eyes staring at him from the dark, acknowledging Dragon with a grin. “Hey, cat. You seen this moron’s badge? It’s got his ugly mug on it.”

“The lighting was sh*t!” Sanji uselessly defends himself to the cat. She stares up at him, her tail flicking and thumping against the hardwood suspiciously fast. “Don’t you dare attack my feet, missy.”

Zoro scrutinizes the countertops as he scratches his head. No sight of the prize. He ponders, trying to recall where exactly he had tossed the damn thing, stirring up old thoughts in an effort to remember. “What d’you do anyway? A doctor? Janitor?”

“Did you not see ‘RN’ written on there?”

“No?”

Sanji puts a hand to his hip, waiting for a beat. “I’m a nurse, idiot.”

“Look, I didn’t scrutinize the damn thing. I saw your name and texted you. Matter o’fact,” Zoro halts his search, turning to face Sanji, “I think you owe me for findin’ it. Quickie on the house?”

“Are you for real?” Sanji inquires, crossing his arms with a huff. “It doesn’t work that way. Also, you haven’t found sh*t. Jury’s still out on that, and I’m waiting.”

A light bulb goes off, the mention of a freebie jogging Zoro’s memory enough that he’s sure he knows where he left the badge. He smirks, confidence surging. “I remember where it is. What’re you gonna do for me?”

“What am I gonna do for you?” Sanji says, utterly shocked and slightly amused with the man’s depraved antics. “Not that I owe you a damn thing, but I have other skills, you know. Skills that aren’t sucking your dick on Tuesdays.”

“Yeah? Like what?” Zoro asks, fueled by both actual interest and a craving for more ways to rile Sanji up. A pastime that’s secretly become one of his favorites – simply because it’s so damn easy to do. “Handjobs on a Tuesday?”

Sanji rolls his eyes and quips, “You should probably hurry up and tell me where it is. I know this is the time of day you take shirtless selfies of yourself flexing in the mirror.” Somehow in the sea of their banter, he can’t deny his excitement in the undulating waves, all turned on and ready to see where the current takes him. “Also, if you want to f*ck, $100 with the conditional offer of my badge.”

Zoro bursts into laughter – loud, hearty, echoing off the walls. There’s no deterring the little money-hungry grub. Reminds him of someone else he knows. “Check the usual spot then. I’m good on my word.”

Sanji does, striding over to the small table by the entrance and nearly choking with laughter. His badge is sitting on top, plain as day. “It was here the whole time?”

“Guess so,” Zoro says with a shrug, smile never leaving his face. “I ain’t payin’ to f*ck though. Not today.”

“Yeah? And why not? I have the time, and I’m sure there’s a Benjamin around here somewhere that you’ve lost track of.”

“You ever heard of a budget, blondie? You’re dippin’ into my drinkin’ money.”

Sanji laughs heartily. “Fair enough.” ID badge in hand, he steps up to Zoro, leaning into his body and placing a palm on his broad chest. Before the man can say or do anything, he dives in, kissing the man hastily, deeply and hungrily. After a decent bout, their mouths part and Sanji slips his badge between their faces, pensively tapping it against Zoro’s nose a couple of times. He smiles playfully. “That one’s on the house. Thanks for hanging onto this for me, big guy.”

Zoro watches as Sanji steps away and heads for the door, eyebrow raised in amusem*nt, skin still on fire. An entirely different transaction than their normal exchange but not unwelcome. And, because he’s a man of honor, he tosses in a little tidbit of his own, evening the scales.

“My last name’s Roronoa.”

Rough hands grip slender hips, fingers digging into soft flesh, using them as leverage for every pounding thrust. Zoro leans forward, tongue trailing salty sweat until he finds the spot he’s looking for – a lingering mark from weeks ago, still prominent and red from his inability to allow it to fade. He sinks his teeth in, smirking when Sanji releases a shudder and a small moan beneath him. Zoro’s mark, all his own, visible to whoever might be fortunate enough to have this view. There’s no way he’s ever going to let that go.

Engulfed in a blazing flame, Zoro’s hips snap hard and fast, urging them towards that sweet release. The air is thick, the room filling with their heavy breath and Sanji’s whimpers and moans, the soundtrack of their debauchery reverberating off the walls. Zoro shifts again, both hands now buried in damp blond hair, yanking ruthlessly, his own calm nature finally cracking as they edge closer to their peak.

“You like that, huh?”

Sanji huffs and smiles devilishly, sweat drifting down his back as his spine arches. “That the best you got?”

“Gonna make you regret that.”

“Oh yeah? What will I regret—” Sanji is cut off, not able to goad the man further as he’s shoved from the back of his head down into the duvet and plunged into deeper, harder, faster; he’s being taken within an inch of his life, now. He moans loudly. “Oh my f*cking – sh*t.”

“f*ck you,” Zoro sneers, chest heaving, driving himself as deep as he can go. He channels all of his stress, his restlessness, his bullsh*t into what he’s giving Sanji, his pent-up frustrations pushing himself closer to release. Teeth grit, he maintains his force on Sanji’s skull, commanding through curses, “I want you to f*cking come.”

Sanji curses. f*cking hell, that’s hot. The man wants to turn him into a full-blown puddle today. He slides his knees back to fold into Zoro’s thrusts better and wraps a hand around himself. “You want me to come?” he asks, teeth clenched. “Say some sh*t I wanna hear.”

“f*cking worthless nasty slu*t. You don’t deserve this co*ck.”

As he’s pummeled into, Sanji groans while working himself to an absolute fervor. So f*cking hot when Zoro talks to him that way. “More,” he pleads, already feeling like he’s brimming for release.

“Goddamn piece of sh*t,” Zoro says, barely hanging on, Sanji’s writhing body and loud groans propelling him dangerously close to an explosive finish. “Lucky I f*ck your useless f*cking hole.”

And that’s it; Sanji spills. “Oh, f*ck!” His org*sm rolls over him in a wave of pure bliss, and he hears Zoro grunt pleasurably in tandem, the thrusts reaching a crescendo before suspending entirely. It’s like the man has it down to a goddamn science – though truth be told, Sanji never had to tell him much of anything to create this formula. It simply exists as naturally as land, sea and clouds.

Spent and weary, Zoro collapses onto the mattress next to Sanji as soon as his body allows. With his heart still pounding, he breathes in deep, eyes fixed on the ceiling as he urges his racing pulse to calm. It’s always an eruption with Sanji. A detonated bomb. He takes a few private seconds to gather the scattered pieces it left behind before his gaze shifts to his side, immediately focusing on the deep red blemish his mouth had marked earlier – his own personal brand.

Without a second thought, his lips find their way back to the spot, this time in a tender, lingering kiss.

Sanji hums, slightly pained, even as delicate as the man is being. “You have a favorite little spot, don’t you.”

“Maybe,” Zoro answers with a shrug, dragging his eyes away from the bruise to the mess of blond hair all tangled and snarled atop Sanji’s head. Also his doing. He grins. “You look like a f*ckin’ wreck, blondie.”

“Proud of your work, much?” Sanji asks, a lopsided grin blooming on his face. He reaches onto the nightstand for a cigarette, already at the ready with a lighter and empty beer can beside it. He lights up. “I know that’s your one true passion in life.”

“What? Makin’ a mess of you?”

“Me and others, I assume.”

“Can’t afford no one else if that’s what you’re implyin’,” Zoro says with a chuckle, sitting up and stretching his tense shoulders.

“You don’t need to afford it,” Sanji states, exhaling smoke as his eyes glaze over the way Zoro’s back muscles tense up and how the foreign characters on his neck bleed apart in the dim lighting. The man is certainly a work of art courtesy of nature; he could pick up any twink he wanted at the nearest gay bar. He wonders, sometimes, why this is still on-going between them. And while the man’s apparent addiction fuels Sanji, he also can’t deny how out-of-the-norm this is for himself. “Don’t you have guys to entertain on Grindr?”

“Sometimes,” Zoro says, shrugging again as he shifts to sit on the edge of the bed. Truth be told, he hasn’t looked at that app since he met Sanji, finding himself fairly content with their little arrangement. He doesn’t say as much, instead shooting an inquiring look to his partner in crime. “Well, you wanna shower?”

“Yeah.” Sanji nods, taking one long, last drag from his cigarette and dropping it into the empty beer can. Zoro is way ahead of him, the shower already running by the time Sanji moseys into the bathroom. He laughs softly when he notes some missing half-empty bottles from the shower shelves. “I see you’ve decluttered a bit in there.”

“Don’t know what you’re talkin about,” Zoro returns with a snort, stepping aside so Sanji has room under the stream. “Maybe I recycled a shower beer or two but that’s about it.”

“I know what I saw, don’t you gaslight me—” Sanji backs up from the stream as quickly as he’d stepped into it. “Holy sh*t, that’s still cold!”

“It’s fine, ya baby.”

Smushed in the corner at the very edge of the shower walls, Sanji asks, “Are you psychotic?”

“What?” Zoro steps back under the water, confused by the hysterics. It’s his normal temperature. “You one of those weirdos that wants to melt your skin off?”

Sanji stretches his hand out to test the stream again, finding it still far too cold to plunge his entire body into. “I think you’re the one giving your skin frostbite. Can you turn it up?”

“Fine. Pansy.”

“Thanks. Dumbass.”

“Och, watch what you’re doin’, Eggplant. About damn close to burning the scran!”

“sh*t!” Sanji haphazardly puts down his phone, jumping to the sizzling pan and immediately taking it off the heat. “What the – did you turn up the gas, old man?”

“Might’ve,” Zeff says, giving Sanji a glare. “You’d know if you were paying attention instead of looking at that damn phone.”

“I was multitasking!” Sanji says, stirring the onions around in the pan, thankfully only having to scrape a handful of them free; the rest are caramelized beautifully. He glances back to his dad sitting at the breakfast table with his arms crossed smugly. “If you turned it up on me, you should’ve been watching.”

“You were the little sh*t that insisted on cooking.”

“Only because you’re getting rusty at it, ya old turd,” Sanji retorts. He can see Zeff reloading verbal ammunition in real time, and butts in before his dad can return fire. “Remember how you ruined that demi the other week?”

“‘Ruined?’” Zeff scoffs. “I think you’re exaggerating a wee bit there.”

“Agree to disagree,” Sanji says, raising his cooking spoon behind him. “Oh, yeah, I wanted to ask. Is Patty’s nephew gonna be plowing the driveway for the rest of the season?”

“Yeah, we worked something out,” Zeff answers as he raises his glass to finish off his scotch. “Kid’s a moron but he’s got himself a nice little business going.”

“Does that mean your SOS’s are going to stop?” Sanji asks, testing the give on the dinner rolls he’d taken out of the oven twenty minutes ago.

“What, are you too busy to come visit your old man? Did you finally find a woman willing to put up with your sh*tty attitude?”

Feeling a pang of shame, Sanji keeps his eyes firmly on the cutting board, slicing a fresh cut of beef into thin strips. “If I did, you think I’d be here making scran for you?”

“Aye, you would,” Zeff snorts, reaching for his bottle of scotch and pouring himself another healthy glass. “You enjoy being a thorn in my side too much to stay away. ‘Sides –” he grunts as he stands from the table, staggering slightly as he adjusts his prosthetic leg, “ – someone’s gotta teach you how to carve meat more evenly.”

Sanji huffs and waves him away like a pesky fly. “Would you piss off? I know what I’m doing!”

Zeff remains undeterred, standing over shoulder with judging eyes. “Hold your knife tighter.” A pause. “You didn’t answer my question properly. You could never keep your eyes to yourself back at the Baratie.”

Sanji scowls – his old man is persistent today. It happens every so often; a biyearly check-in on the status of love life. He never feels good about himself when he remembers his teenage self, a misguided set of confused years spent swooning and fawning over girls. Clearly, a lot has changed since then. His dad, however, is stuck in the past because he knows no better, and Sanji purposefully neglects to give him the update.

“I’ve been busy,” he replies tersely, leaning over to demonstrate his perfectly acceptable slicing technique. “Shift work makes it hard. You should know; did you have time to date when you owned the Baratie?”

“Different priorities,” Zeff says gruffly, returning to the table and his scotch. “I had a rugrat running around to take care of.”

“Please,” Sanji laughs, shaking his head. “Running around Baratie, you mean? All that child labor probably saved you time and money.”

“Cost me a whole lot of headaches. Use your time wisely, brat. Do something with your life other than work and worry about me.”

Sliding the contents on the cutting board into the pan, the kitchen is filled with the sound and smell of sizzling beef. Sanji can sympathize, feeling sort of like meat on the chopping block before being set aflame. He knows Zeff is only worried for him, but the topic is never a comfortable one whenever it’s raised.

“I got lots of time, old man. You’re the one who shouldn’t worry,” Sanji quietly responds. He smirks. “I only worry about you ‘cause you can’t work a damn SmartTV. I know the withdrawal will kill you if you can’t watch Pawn Stars.”

“Only thing that’ll kill me is that poorly cooked meal you’re making.”

“Simmer down, you drunkard. If you die, at least you’ll be full of scotch.”

The familiar buzz of the door grabs Zoro's attention from the kitchen. He glances at the clock. 10:02. The new routine. Downing the last of his beer, he discards the crushed can in the bin before fetching a fresh brew. Heading to the foyer, he forgoes the intercom entirely, opting to unlock the door with a jab of the button, keenly aware of who’s waiting on the other side. With calm assurance, he retreats to his perch on the kitchen counter to wait for his appointment to arrive.

They’ve been at this for almost two months now and it’s quickly become the highlight of his week, sometimes willingly sacrificing in other areas to make room in his budget to see Sanji more than once. It’s comfortable, with clear expectations and predictable outcomes. Equivalent exchange. None of the exhaustion and frustration of traditional dating – no invisible measuring sticks, no molds he can’t seem to fit. It’s a kind of relationship that allows him to breathe, to just be.

“Hi, Dragon. How’s it going? You want a little treat-treat?”

Zoro rolls his eyes at the sickly sweet tone in Sanji’s voice, curious about the nature of the gift being presented to his cat. Intrigued, he calls out, “What’re you bribin’ her with?”

“I’m sorry, is someone talking over there?” Sanji calls back with a smirk, scratching underneath Dragon’s chin. “I can’t hear anything.”

“That’s ‘cause you’re a dumbass.”

“Oh, wait, I think I hear an asshole.”

Zoro takes another long swallow of beer, shaking his head as he listens to the sounds of Sanji’s cooing and plastic rustling from the foyer. After a few moments, soft footsteps echo closer until his companion’s slender frame appears in the kitchen entryway with a bag dangling in hand, Dragon trailing behind. Raising an eyebrow, Zoro asks, “Whatcha got?”

“Just some things,” Sanji answers simply, putting the baggie, Friskies treats and a tupperware container on the nearby counter. Crouching down to the floor, he swirls his hand above Zoro’s high-as-a-kite cat, enticing her to play. “Don’t you ever give her catnip?”

“Nope. Why would I?” Zoro answers, hopping off the ledge of the counter where he was seated and heading over to investigate the man’s offerings. He smirks when he reads the label of the cat treats. “Friskies, huh?”

Sanji looks up to Zoro with a cheeky grin as he pats Dragon’s rump. “If you’re going to have her in ads, you need her high as sh*t with the product displayed.”

“You tryin’ to be her talent manager?” Zoro jokes, turning his attention from the treats to the tupperware container settled next to them. “And what’s this?”

Sanji stands up, swiping the container from the countertop and holding it up in demonstration. “This is real sustenance. Last week I noticed your fridge had only a 24-pack of beer and two f*cking bundles of celery in it? What the f*ck?”

“Ain’t nothin’ wrong with celery. Now give me that,” Zoro demands, snatching the container from Sanji’s grasp and peeling back the cover to reveal a delicious-looking beef stew. An enticing aroma envelopes him instantly – warm and comforting, awakening his hunger. Without a moment’s delay, he reaches for a spoon from the silverware drawer and eagerly dives right in.

Much to his surprise, it’s f*cking amazing.

Shoveling in another spoonful, he interrupts his own enjoyment to ask, “Where’d you order this from?”

“Order it?” Sanji gives him a puzzled look, amused entirely with how quickly the man had begun gorging on the meal. “I made it.”

Zoro raises his eyebrows, genuine surprise evident on his face. “You cooked this?”

“Takeout doesn’t usually come in household tupperware, dumbass,” Sanji teases, leaning in slightly with a bemused expression. It can be endearing how clueless Zoro can be. “What, you like it?”

Zoro, still savoring a hearty bite, nods approvingly. “It’s damn good.”

Chest swelling with pride, Sanji reacts instinctively, “Well don’t get used to it, I’m not f*cking UberEats.”

“You’d probably charge too damn much anyway,” Zoro retorts with a smirk, snagging another beer before making his way to the sofa to savor the remainder of his meal. As much as it pains him to compliment the other man, he can’t deny how f*cking good it is. Better than anything he’s ordered in a restaurant in all his years. Considering Sanji’s profession as a nurse, it piques his curiosity. Unable to resist, he asks, “Where’d you learn to cook?”

Surprised at the consistent stream of personal inquiries tonight, Sanji relaxes next to Zoro on the couch and ponders the question briefly. “My dad,” he answers, pondering some more. “He used to run a restaurant in Pilsen.”

“Yeah? Spent a hot minute in Pilsen,” Zoro shares between mouthfuls. “Before I got this place.”

“You did, huh?” Sanji casually responds, resting his head against his fist, elbow swung over the back of the couch. “How long have you had this place, anyway?”

“‘Bout five years now.”

“That’s a long time to live off beer and celery.”

“Diet of the gods.”

“Are you okay?”

Zoro tosses Sanji a co*cky grin. “Just peachy.”

“You’re clearly not sane, you know,” Sanji responds, chuckling and shaking his head as he settles further into the couch. He watches studiously as Zoro continues stuffing his face, his foot bobbing over his leg in amusem*nt. That accent of Zoro’s has been mystifying him for weeks on end. “Where’re you from?”

“Tennessee.”

Sanji’s grin grows wider. “Why does that make sense?”

“Southerners got the biggest co*cks.”

“Ha!” Sanji gives him an incredulous stare. “I don’t know. I’ve seen a lot of Northern co*ck. Enough to call bullsh*t on that.”

“Ain’t many of my kind around these parts,” Zoro returns with equal edge. “You just haven’t experienced enough.”

“And you have?” Sanji asks, brow raised. “You take lots of Southern co*ck, do you?”

Zoro halts, mid-bite, shooting Sanji a glare. “No. None.”

Sanji puffs air out his lips. “So then how would you know?”

“Fair point,” Zoro concedes. “Guess mine’s just the biggest co*ck.”

Laughing, Sanji replies, “I think that’s what’s called a biased opinion.”

“In my world, it’s called fact,” Zoro says, scraping the bottom of the container with the spoon to finish off the dredges. He sighs contentedly, tossing the empty tupperware on the coffee table and leaning back against the couch cushion. “What about you?” he asks after a moment, turning his gaze Sanji’s way. “Where’re you from?”

Sanji tilts his head back, digesting the question and considering his answer from all angles as he stares upward. He notices cobwebs dangling in the corners of Zoro’s ceiling – just another aspect of this apartment that needs his touch. He almost answers as he always does, but, why would he? Where he is and who he’s with is anonymous. “I’m from Detroit.”

“Traded one sh*thole for another, huh?”

Sanji chuckles, tucking a tuft of hair behind his ear. “Hey, at least it’s better than Detroit.”

Zoro nods, unable to keep the corner of his lip from turning up. He slides over a little, resting a hand on Sanji’s thigh and giving it a squeeze. “My hometown wasn’t that great either.”

Sanji takes a moment to ponder, his body warming at Zoro’s touch. “Let me guess. Small backcountry town in Tennessee?”

“Somethin’ like that,” Zoro murmurs, closing the gap between them and stealing Sanji’s lips in a heated kiss.

“Mm,” Sanji receives with a smile, catching a moment between kisses to say, “f*ckin’ hick.”

“City boy,” Zoro teases in a deep rumble, pressing forward until he has Sanji pinned beneath him. “Life handed to you on a silver platter.”

Sanji laughs, rolling his hips into Zoro’s excited body as he wraps his arm around the man’s neck. “Oh, yeah. Because whoring around is what a rich city boy does for fun,” he points out sardonically.

“Maybe it is,” Zoro quips, pulse racing at the sudden contact between them down below. His fingers trail up Sanji’s side, finding their home at the back of his neck. “You seem like you’re havin’ fun.”

“Oh?” Sanji reaches down and strokes the prominent bulge revealing itself through Zoro’s sweatpants. “What gives you that impression, cowboy?”

“Them wanderin’ hands,” Zoro answers as he thrusts into the touch. He squeezes the tendons in the back of Sanji’s neck lightly. “Admit you like it, city boy.”

“If I admit it,” Sanji says, purposefully raspy, finished off with a pretty smile, “You’ll go easy on me.”

Zoro lights up in a feral grin, unable to keep his teeth from sinking into Sanji’s skin.

“How right you are.”

Chapter 4

Chapter Text

4.

“Are you even listening to me?”

Zoro lifts his gaze from his phone, finding Nami’s hardened glare turned his way from across the table, steaming cup of coffee warming her hands. “No,” he answers truthfully, sliding his phone into his pocket, unable to keep a smirk of amusem*nt from playing on his lips at Sanji’s last few messages.

Nami rolls her eyes. “You don’t listen to me and you laugh at me when you get caught. f*cking prick.”

“Oh, come off it,” Zoro says, taking a sip from his own mug. “Maybe if you said somethin’ useful, I might actually listen.”

“Asshole.”

“Hey, I wonder what the special pancakes are today,” Luffy chimes in, craning his neck around Zoro to try to catch a glimpse of the diner’s front sign. “Chiffon’s Nutty Nutella Delight! All right!”

“Oh, look, Zoro, it's your favorite.”

Zoro grimaces in disgust, even the idea of the sugary-sweet concoction too much to stomach. He’ll be sticking with his usual breakfast order: ham and cheese omelet with a side of biscuits and gravy – the closest thing to home he’s found in Chicago. Sipping his black coffee, his thoughts drift back to a certain blondie and he briefly wonders if Sanji would be able to recreate any of the classic Southern recipes that raised him. He just might have to ask.

“How’s my favorite little group of regulars?”

Zoro doesn’t even have to look to know who’s talking to them – Chiffon, twin to Nami’s boss Lola and owner of this random hole-in-the-wall diner. Red-lipped and full of life, just like her sister. This one, however, doesn’t look for random marriage proposals from Zoro. No, Chiffon’s got her sights set on Luffy.

“Doin’ great, Chiffy!” Luffy beams, swinging an arm around Zoro’s neck as if to prove just how happy they all are. “You made my special pancakes today!”

“I had a feeling my boy would be coming in,” Chiffon returns with a not-so-subtle wink. “You know you can order them any time, special or not.”

“You’re the best!”

“Nami, is that a new top? It looks absolutely gorgeous on you.”

“Oh, this old thing?” Nami says, oozing with thinly-veiled vanity as she admires her own figure in her green turtle neck. “I’m not really sure. I think I’ve had it awhile.”

“You bought it last week,” Zoro deadpans, earning himself a kick to the shin under the table.

“Either way, it’s your color,” Chiffon compliments further. “Makes your hair pop.”

As the small talk buzzes around him, Zoro remains stoic, his focus absorbed by the lingering thoughts of the text exchange that had interrupted his work night. A drunken Sanji reaching out on his birthday – with an unfulfilled promise to swing by. Certainly different from his previous experience with these types of arrangements but not an unwelcome change, especially considering his slight disappointment with the birthday boy never showed up. It’ll make their next Wednesday appointment much more interesting.

Sensing eyes on him, Zoro shifts his gaze, locking onto Luffy’s intense stare aimed in his direction. “What?” he asks, noticing that Chiffon finally made her departure, their regular orders surely written down.

“Did I tell you about my new friends?”

“Which ones? You always got new friends.”

“The ones I met a couple weeks ago on that Chipotle delivery,” Luffy answers, scratching his head beneath his ever-present red ball cap. “Rice Guy, Smash King, and Traffy.”

Zoro just stares, waiting for further explanation. When no clarification comes, he prompts, “Who?”

“Okay, so, I really had to pee and then they called me and were like, ‘hey you can piss here just deliver our food’ and then when I got there they made me some fried rice and we played Smash for hours.”

“How many times are you going to have to pee at a customer's house?” Nami asks with a heavy sigh, resting her chin in her palm.

“I really had to go, okay? It was the Big Gulp I got from the 7-Eleven,” Luffy defends, crossing his arms over his chest. “Anyway! We’re best friends now. I’m playing video games all the time with Smash King and Traffy’s pretty cool even though he ignores my texts.”

“Right,” Zoro says, nodding slowly as he tries to follow along. He’s a 20-year veteran to Luffy’s antics but sh*t like this always boggles his mind. “So Smash King and Traffy are your new friends.”

“And Rice Guy.”

“Why’s his name Rice Guy?”

“He made me rice.” Luffy sighs. “Pay attention.”

“When’re you gonna start usin’ names?” Zoro asks, chuckling as he nods at the waitress silently asking to refill his coffee mug.

“He still calls you ‘Cool Scar Dude’ to half the people he meets,” Nami quips, eyes glued to her phone.

“What the hell?”

“What? It’s how I remember people,” Luffy says with a shrug. “I think you’d get along with Rice Guy, Zoro. He’s pretty funny.”

“Well, I like free food,” Zoro says with a grin, leaning back in the booth and resting his arms behind his head. “Can’t really go wrong with that set-up.”

“Set-up?” Nami’s head perks up, abandoning her phone to look between Luffy and Zoro. “Are you trying to set Zoro up with someone?”

“No.”

“Yeah!”

“Seriously?” Zoro asks, feeling a bit betrayed. It’s one thing for the meddling Nami to try to set him up with random guys but Luffy? Uncharted territory.

“Yeah! I mean, I think you’d like him,” Luffy says around his straw, finishing off his orange juice. “He’s super nice and funny. He fed me when I was hungry and let me crash on his couch. Oh, and he has really pretty eyes.”

“Pretty is good. But, since when does Zoro like nice and funny?” Nami asks, perturbed. “He likes sassy and stupid.”

“Nah, Zoro likes ‘em nice.”

“Jay’s not nice.”

“Zoro doesn’t like Jay.”

“I’m right f*cking here,” Zoro grumbles, interrupting the argument brewing between his two best friends. “And I don’t like anyone.”

“Yeah, but, you’ll like Rice Guy,” Luffy insists, pointing his straw in Zoro’s direction. “He takes care of people.”

“So?”

“So…” Luffy begins, leaning against Zoro’s shoulder and releasing a quiet laugh. “You always take care of everyone. You need someone who’ll take care of you.”

Zoro scowls, a wave of discomfort churning deep in his gut. “I take care of myself.”

“What he’s saying is, you don’t have to,” Nami attempts to explain but Zoro isn’t interested in listening.

“I’m goin’ to the pisser,” he declares, cutting off any further continuation of this ridiculous conversation. Without sparing a second glance, he shrugs away from Luffy and out of the booth.

As he takes his leave, he can immediately hear Nami whispering behind him. Those assholes just won’t leave him be. It’s a damn shame that they can’t understand that he likes his solitude. Likes his peace. The last thing he needs is some guy intruding on his life, changing how he lives, how he spends his time. Affecting what he thinks. What he feels.

As he strides into the men’s room, Zoro is immediately caught by his own stormy gaze in the mirror – black tarry pools ablaze with intense fires of resentment. Leaning forward, he confronts the primitive glare shooting daggers his way, ruthless and cold. His eyes drift lower, fixing on the jagged scar peeking out from beneath his henley tee. The hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, a harsh shudder tracing down his spine.

No, his friends are wrong. He can take care of himself just fine. After all, he’s done it all his life.

Sanji sighs. Poor sportsmanship as always, the sh*t. A hand on his hip as he leans into his hold on the pool cue, he stares disappointedly at the beautiful shot Usopp is lining up as tenderly as laying a baby down into its crib. “Then what’s taking you so damn long to take the shot, f*cklehead? Looking to split the ball like an atom?”

“Shame on you, Ji-man. You can’t rush a mad scientist at his craft,” Usopp chides, his calculative pupils dancing around the dimensions of the pool table. He hums and haws, mulling over the shot, before suddenly exclaiming, “Quick! I need aiming fluid!”

Sanji passively stares at Usopp’s half-full pint of beer on the high top table. “I’m not helping you worth sh*t.”

“But I’m zoned in! I can’t take my eye off the prize now!”

“Cry me a damn river.”

“You’re heartless!”

“Heartless? I’m your competition!”

“It’s just a friendly game of pool!”

Sanji bursts out laughing. “ No game of pool with you is ever ‘friendly.’ Hell, weren’t you just sh*t-talking me?”

Apparently rejuvenated, Usopp gasps loudly and slams down an empty glass onto the table. “Okay, I’m all fueled up! Are you ready for me to blow your mind?”

Sanji raises a brow as he takes Usopp’s continued stalling as an opportunity to re-chalk his pool cue. “You’re ridiculous, you know that?”

“That may be the case, but…” Usopp leans over the pool table, nearly flat against the felt, a deep look of concentration overtaking his features, “...watch and weep!”

Sanji notices there are some onlookers around them in the bar as Usopp takes his shot; he’s sure his friend is all juiced up on the prospect of impressing a small crowd. The cue ball cracks against the force of the stick’s impact, clipping a solid ball and nudging it into a pocket. The white ball ricochets off the rail with power, sending it hurtling toward Usopp’s final target; from there, it connects with precision at just the right angle to pocket the eight-ball. Match over.

“Yes!” Usopp nearly hits the low ceiling of the bar with his stick in his excitement, chanting, “Aiming fluid never fails! I am the champ! I am the champ!”

“Mother of all f*cks,” Sanji curses, leaving his pool cue leaned against their table and raising his hands in defeat. “What you are is an idiot.”

“An idiot who made an epic comeback to school your ass!”

Sanji rolls his eyes.

The divey spot they’re at is just around the corner from their place. It’s here that, at least once or twice a month, the two of them spend an evening dicking around playing pool. In all that time, Sanji has rarely been able to beat Usopp at his mastercraft. It’s happened before, but only with the help of a rare formula: lady luck on his side plus Usopp being off his game nets Sanji a potential chance of winning. The game he’d just lost had almost been one of those rare chances. It’s near-futile. His high school friend has always been masterful at any game in which a sharp aim is an asset; darts, paintball, you name it. He sure is one hell of a sore-winner, though, the bastard.

“We got time for one more round, I think. Hour’s almost up,” Sanji remarks, glancing at the group of four waiting to take their place at the pool table.

“Oh, yeah, for sure. Almost done, gentlemen!” Usopp says, his cheeks flushed from the beer. “Hey, Paulie, can we get another round?”

“Sure. I got exactly zero chance of winning against you at 9-ball, but hey, it’ll be a quick death so these guys can finally play,” Sanji says with a chuckle as Usopp expertly gets to work organizing the balls in a diamond-shaped rack. Paulie swings by with two fresh pints, depositing them on their table, and Sanji thanks him in kind. Usopp breaks, pockets nothing, and the game begins cleanly. But of course, Usopp sinks balls 1 and 2, and by the time it’s Sanji’s turn to shoot, he’s aiming for 3.

“Hey,” he says as he lines up a half-decent shot, managing to sink it. “So how’re things going with that biology teacher Kaya? You haven’t mentioned her in a while.”

“What’s there to report? I’m deep in the friendzone. Like, point-of-no-return deep,” Usopp says, swallowing a large gulp of beer.

Sanji laughs, aiming for the corner pocket. “Well, I think you need to draw clear lines and see what she’ll do with them. Chatting over lunch in the teacher’s lounge doesn’t count as a date, you know.”

“We hang out outside of school!”

“Gaming online with her doesn't count either, idiot. It’s also really sad.”

“Hey, shut up! That’s not what I meant! We’ve gone out for drinks––well, she doesn’t really drink -drink. But we’ve spent lots of quality time out and about, you know, having tea.”

“And crumpets?”

“Well––no. No crumpets, but she knows some great tea spots in town, and––hey, hey , stop laughing!”

Sanji shakes his head. “You may be kicking my ass at pool, my friend, but you are useless in the love department.”

“Like you’re one to talk!”

“Touché, you got me there,” Sanji relents, watching as Usopp sinks another two balls. He’s numb to feeling disappointment this late in the competition. “I think you’re friendzoning yourself. You keep having ‘tea time’ with her––” he pauses as Usopp points at him aggressively, all but telling him outright to shut his trap. “You keep hanging out with her––happy?––but does she even know she’s on a date with you? Have you ever actually asked this woman out?”

“I mean, come on, do I even need to?” Usopp asks, moving his cue back and forth before taking a shot. “They’re obviously dates. Why else would a man and a woman hang out?”

“Women are intuitive and know these things, sure, but if you don’t ask her out properly, she’s going to assume you’re just friends chatting over tea. Ladies don’t like taking the initiative. If she likes you, she’s waiting for you to make it clear to her…if it’s not too late.”

“Too late?!” Usopp exclaims, missing his delicate shot and swearing.

“Well, you said it yourself: you may have dug yourself deep into the trenches of the friendzone,” Sanji points out, clicking his tongue as bends over the table and aims. “Like, deep -deep. This has been going on for a uniquely pathetic amount of time.”

“‘Uniquely pathetic?’ Hey…”

“That’s right: uniquely pathetic. I almost want to call up a psychologist to study you. It’s a total anomaly.”

“That’s a bit far…”

“My point is, grow a pair and ask her out on a date, nimrod. And please, for the love of god , don’t go out for tea. That’s where men die in the trenches as ‘friends.’ You got that? Take her somewhere romantic, like a nice candlelit dinner, or a walk on the docks at sunset. The ladies love that stuff.”

Usopp chuckles, taking aim at the 9. “Including Law?”

“Not including Law. The man does not live on this planet.”

“Boom! Annihilation!” Usopp shouts, making explosion noises after he sinks the last ball and wins the game. “Who’s ‘uniquely pathetic’ now, huh? Huh?”

“Still you, teacup.”

“Would you stop it with that!”

They make quick work of cleaning up the table for the next round of players, and afterwards they make even quicker work of their beers before cashing out; Sanji leaves his glass about a quarter of the way full, never having been much of a beer chugger. They leave the bar, walking the wintry streets of Chicago toward their loft.

“Hey,” Usopp calls Sanji’s attention.

“Mhm?” Sanji murmurs around a cigarette.

“At Peachy’s the other night, you were really hitting it off with that guy at the bar. Did you ever text him?”

“Oh, him?” Sanji says. He’d deleted his number the following day while recovering from a brain-splitting hangover. “Nah. I dunno. Not my type.”

“He was really nice, I thought,” Usopp says pensively, almost longingly on Sanji’s behalf. “And he was, I don’t know, he looked like a tough guy without being full of himself or…”

Amused, Sanji nudges Usopp with his shoulder. “Or?”

“He was just really into you, okay? In a good way,” Usopp elaborates, lifting a proud finger. “In an Usopp-approved way!”

Sanji laughs, shocked. “What does that mean?”

“Okay, I’ll just come out and say it: you have a bad habit of attracting total jerks.”

“See those balls? Ask Kaya out, just like that. Direct and blunt.”

“You’re deflecting.”

Eyes narrowed, Sanji slowly exhales a long stream of smoke, stunned; he’s been caught red-handed. “You’re not basing that on a very big sample size, you know. It’s not like I bring anyone home for a meet and greet.”

“Well, true, but I’m basing it on the sample size I’ve seen when I go to gay bars with you,” Usopp says, opening the door to the foyer of their apartment building and entering a code into the keypad. “I know you’re having fun and all, but humor me anyway. What do you think about something more serious?”

Sanji shrugs, holding the door open as they move into the lobby. He gives some bullsh*t answer. “Not my thing right now, but maybe if I meet the right person.”

Usopp nods. “Yeah, I get that. I mean, it’s just ‘cause Luffy keeps wanting you to meet this guy. His friend, you know? He’s been talking about it like, I don’t know––I guess he thinks you two would be a good match. You know, as in more than just in the bedroom. Like a relationship kind of deal.”

It’s bad enough Sanji has his dad batting him over the head with this sh*t, but now Usopp? Even so, he can’t help but feel a little warm inside at the thought that Usopp worries about his love life. “I mean, I’ll meet him. I just wouldn’t bank on anything. You know me, I like things how they are.”

“Yeah, yeah, absolutely feel you on that,” Usopp responds as they step into the empty elevator together. “Hey. If you started something serious, do you think you’d ever tell your dad?”

Sanji pauses at this line of questioning. Just imagining that scenario is akin to his own reflection in the stainless steel wall of the elevator: hazy, silhouetted, out of focus. He can’t even imagine it in his head, let alone deal with the reality of it. “I don’t know,” he answers truthfully. “I can’t picture coming home to my dad like that with a guy. He was asking me the other week about why I don’t have a girlfriend. It would just be…”

“Weird,” Usopp finishes for him.

Sanji releases a big sigh. “Yeah.”

“I get it.”

Sanji smirks. Who gives a sh*t about a relationship when he has all the domesticity he needs right here with his uniquely pathetic friend.

“Bussy?” Sanji reads aloud, almost spitting out his tea. That’s disgusting. It’s a good thing Usopp has run out for a bit.

Putting the warm mug down onto the living room coffee table, Sanji’s eyebrows are raised in incredulity as he scrolls through the hilarious bombardment of texts from––well, sh*t, he actually doesn’t have a clue in the world who the hell this guy is. Someone from his days spent in Pilsen, he supposes, when he was working at his dad’s restaurant to get himself through college. Did some other things to get him through college, that’s for damn sure, and these texts are proof enough of that.

God, the weirdo’s still texting. As he stares at the dots indicating that the creep is still going, additional notifications pop up on his screen from another contact. He smirks. Messages from his present, from a weirdo of another caliber.

Sanji parks in his usual spot on a side street where Zoro’s apartment entrance is located. He smooths a hand over his still-damp hair, making sure there isn’t a stray clump drying funny on him. He’d had to cut his damn shower closer to his usual departure time. He glances to the passenger seat at the culprit; a stack of tupperware containers wrapped up in a steamy plastic bag, housing a plethora of goodies for his client, most of them battered and fried.

He just hopes that shower got all the grease out of his pores. Southern cooking’s a real bitch.

Care package in hand, Sanji has to mentally remind himself not to go to Zoro’s apartment, bypassing the side door entirely and moseying toward the front entrance of the Belfry. He’s early by about 10 minutes, and the place has a decent amount of people inside at this hour. His eyes search for Zoro, finding him behind the bar and standing alongside an older, middle-aged man who looks like a modern day vampire. Both of the men look like they’re in the middle of an intense argument. It feels like every time he’s been in this bar, Zoro’s always in the middle of nearly tossing somebody out a damn window.

The common denominator must be the following: Zoro is an asshole.

Sanji approaches an empty section of the bar, plants his package on the bartop, and takes a seat; all the while, he overhears what the fiery squabble is about.

“For the last time, Roronoa, I am not canceling Goth Night. It’s our most prosperous Saturday month-over-month. What the dickens is wrong with you?”

Zoro crosses his arms over his chest, both petulant and passionate about this particular topic. “You work it then. I ain’t doin’ it anymore.”

“Pish-posh,” Mihawk says with a dismissive wave of his hand, the grim bastard as haughty as ever as he continues making Zoro’s life miserable. “What do you think I pay you for? To stand around and eat all my garnishes? You’ll continue working it –”

“Bullsh*t.”

“– without complaint,” Mihawk continues, eyes narrowing in Zoro’s direction. “I turn my back on the shenanigans of your ruffian employees. The least you can do is quit whining about what happens to be my favorite monthly event.”

“You just like torturin’ me,” Zoro grumbles through gritted teeth, keenly aware there’s no winning this argument with the stubborn creep of a bar owner. A monthly routine of theirs, at least. A battle worth fighting but ultimately his to lose.

“I employ you, I pay you, and I house you,” Mihawk says as he adjusts the sleeves of his white button-up, patting away wrinkles that don’t even exist. “I believe I’m the one suffering here.”

“Whatever you say, Dracula.”

Mihawk huffs and Zoro’s chest fills with shallow pride, happy to have landed a quip obnoxious enough to make the man’s eye twitch. “Mind your manners, boy. I believe your food delivery arrived. Perhaps you should attend to that.”

“Huh?”

“A man just arrived with a parcel, you nincompoop.”

This grabs Zoro’s attention, prompting him to relax the tension in his jaw and glance over his shoulder in the direction of Mihawk’s nod. There at the bar sits Sanji only a few stools away, a plastic bag sitting on the counter in front of him and a sh*teating grin spread across his face. A refreshing change from the other uptight bastard that’s been bothering him all evening.

“Go home,” Zoro commands his boss as he moves away, shooting one last sneer and eliciting a roll of amber eyes in response. “Get outta here and leave me alone.”

“Lucky for you, I don’t intend to stay. There’s a nice Chianti and a new episode of CSI awaiting me at home.”

Zoro can already feel his temple throbbing as he approaches where Sanji’s very obviously biting back a laugh, practically oozing at the seams to release a snarky comment or two. “What’s with that dumb face?”

“Nothing at all,” Sanji remarks, making a lackadaisical effort to look the other way and hide his grin as Zoro stalks over to him. “Nincompoop.”

“Don’t start with me,” Zoro says with a growl, deftly finding two shot glasses from under the bar and setting them out with a loud thunk. “Believe it or not, that guy’s more of an uptight bitch than you are.”

“Who’re you calling uptight?” Sanji demands to know, offended. “Look, just because I make fun of your gross-ass apartment, it doesn’t make me uptight.”

“What’s it make you then, huh?” Zoro asks, smirking as he doles out two healthy shots of tequila. “Other than a moron.”

“Gee, I don’t know,” Sanji says, raising a brow. “Sane?” He eyes the gold liquid as it’s slid over to him from across the bartop. He rubs his chin, pondering further, “Intelligent – unlike you, talented – unlike you, charming – unlike you…”

“Shut up and take the damn shot.”

And Sanji does, raising his shot glass to kiss Zoro’s before throwing it back. The tequila burns down his throat on the way down, his eyebrows curling up in his discomfort. “Ugh,” he coughs, patting his chest. “Tequila. I haven’t done that in a while.”

“Should do it more. Might put some hair on your chest,” Zoro says as he eyes the bag on the bartop before him, enticed by a familiar smell wafting from its depths. “What’s in here?”

“Oh, yeah. This. And here you are insulting me when I’ve brought your beloved South to you, jerkwad,” Sanji chides, smirking as Zoro rips open the bag like a brute. He points out all of the different containers as he lists, “Fried okra, fried catfish, fried pickles, cornbread, black eyed peas, biscuits and gravy, collard greens, and if you like sweets I made some apple turnovers here. Hope the fried stuff’s still crispy with the holes I poked in the containers, but you can crisp it up in the oven.”

“We might have to make this part of the deal,” Zoro remarks, wasting no time digging into the container of fried okra and popping a couple into his mouth. He’s immediately overcome with a sense of nostalgia, filling a void in his chest he hadn’t known existed. “Hot damn,” he exclaims through a mouthful, ripping into the container of fried pickles and adding them to the mix. “You sure you’re from Detroit?”

“Detroit trash, through and through,” Sanji responds absentmindedly, his head propped up by his palm as he rests his elbow on the bar’s wood. He has to admit, it’s nice to watch Zoro’s usual constipated expression loosen up so much from his cooking alone.

“Johnny, get over here,” Zoro calls out across the bar, interrupting Johnny’s conversation with a small group of girls, and gestures at the container in his hand. He grins as his friend wanders over, handing him the okra. “Get a taste of this. Real f*ckin’ food.”

“Since when’d you figure out how to use Doordash, bro?” Johnny asks incredulously and receives a glare in return.

“Just try the damn food,” Zoro commands, ignoring the snort coming from Sanji’s way. He watches as Johnny tentatively chews a piece before a wide grin stretches across his face.

“Holy sh*t, that’s pretty good,” Johnny says as he takes another couple pieces. “What is that?”

“Fried okra. A Southern classic.” Zoro nods towards Sanji. “He cooked it.”

“Oh, sh*t, bro. You’ve been talking about this stuff for years.” Johnny turns Sanji’s way, wiping his greasy fingers on his pants before offering his hand. “Name’s Johnny. Who’re you?”

“Sanji,” he greets, taking Johnny’s semi-greasy hand in his. “Zoro’s, uh, business partner.”

“Ohhh, I heard of you. I think you met Yosaku, right? He mentioned we should chat sometime.”

Sanji scratches his head, thinking on the fly, and giving a pointed glare in Zoro’s direction as the idiot laughs at his expense. “Well, I’m not exactly looking to expand the business right now...”

“Bro, you holdin’ out on us?” Johnny asks Zoro in a hushed voice, knocking into his shoulder. “We could’ve built an empire, man.”

“It ain’t that kind of business, dummy. Now gimme back my okra.”

Zoro swiftly repacks his assortment of treasures, stowing them away in the back cooler, already envisioning the delicious feast he’ll savor later in the privacy of his apartment. He hadn’t anticipated Sanji to satisfy his cravings for Southern cuisine so perfectly, but he’s certainly not going to protest, something stirring deep within him at the reminder of his roots.

Returning to the bar, he stands before his companion once more, motioning toward the array of liquor bottles lined up on the shelves behind him. “Alright, Savage. What’ll it be?”

“Thought the shot counted as my birthday drink,” Sanji responds, fingers curling into his cheek. “Want me drunk or something?”

“You wanna get drunk?” Zoro asks, a smirk forming on his lips. “The shot was just a shot. Said I owe you a drink.”

“Hm, that depends. Are you any good at making drinks, or are you just a scary face to ward off trouble?”

“Guess you’ll have to find out.”

“Turning me into a drunken gambler now, are you? You’re a bad influence,” Sanji teases further. “Let’s see how you do with an Old Fashioned.”

“Easy.”

Sanji’s eyes focus on Zoro’s forearms as the man reaches down to grab a rocks glass, giving it a low toss in the air and catching it as he twists around. After getting a good eyeful of rippled back muscles displayed through his black t-shirt, Sanji’s attention is grabbed when he notices that Zoro has grabbed raw sugar to muddle. The hunger he feels inside transforms to something much more innocent; enchantment.

Mesmerized, he studies Zoro’s expert focus as the drink is prepared; the careful way he peels the orange rind so thin, the dash of bitters he applies so precisely, the thoughtfulness behind adding a small splash of water to mellow out the bourbon. The drink is placed in front of him, nearly complete; somehow Zoro’s veined hands are more alluring as he hovers the orange rind over the glass. Somehow, the focused storm in his eyes becomes more inviting as he twists it over the glass and drops it inside.

“Thank you,” Sanji says, picking up the cold glass and raising it to his lips. Damn. It’s perfect.

“Don’t mention it,” Zoro says, watching with a small grin as Sanji takes a sip, enjoying the way those blue eyes light up at first taste. He makes quick work of pouring his own glass full of straight bourbon before leaning against the counter, gaze never leaving Sanji’s face. “Drunken gambler. Fake chef. Nurse Savage. Narc whor*. You wear a lot of hats.”

Sanji laughs, amused at the fact that Zoro has politely joined him on his birthday bourbon. “What can I say, I’m good at wearing costumes.”

“Yeah?” Zoro takes a swallow of his drink, relishing the smooth burn as he scrutinizes the man before him. The word ‘costumes’ feels right for what he’s seen so far. He grins. “Anything kinky?”

“What, you want me to dress up like a Southern belle for you?”

“Never been one for belles.”

“A cowboy, then?”

“Sure.” Zoro chuckles. “Brokeback style.”

Sanji throws his head back with a guffaw. “Let me guess: your gay awakening?”

“Nah,” Zoro says as he finishes off his glass with a long swallow and promptly pours himself another. Finding no foul in giving Sanji a peek into that side of his life, he answers honestly, “Was on the football team in junior high. One day I figured out them random boners I was poppin’ in the locker room weren’t so random.”

“No sh*t,” Sanji replies. Junior high football, curious glances at his peers while changing; the image fits almost too perfectly for the man. “Surprised it took you that long, to be honest. You seem like you’ve always known yourself best, but maybe that hasn’t always been the case?”

“Think I always knew, just didn’t pay much attention,” Zoro says with a shrug. “What ‘bout you?”

“Sophom*ore year in college. Got a little too drunk at a party; loosened inhibitions pulled out what I didn’t know was there,” Sanji explains, staring into Zoro’s blank expression. “Almost as textbook as yours.”

“So you get drunk and make bad decisions,” Zoro surmises, a feral grin sprouting on his lips. He glances down to Sanji’s drained glass. “Want another?”

“Sure. Just bourbon is fine.” Sanji tilts his head, bemused. He fixates on Zoro’s large hands free-pouring the amber liquid into his glass before raising his gaze to dark irises focused on him. “And yes, you could say that. What’s another bad decision?”

“Drinkin’ with me is a bad decision,” Zoro teases as he tops off his own drink. “A lightweight like you? It’ll end worse than your birthday.”

“I’m not a lightweight, dickbag,” Sanji defends, taking a purposefully large gulp from his glass. “The ‘drinking’ part’s not the problem; the ‘with you’ part has all the makings of a bad decision.”

“f*ck off. I’m great company,” Zoro returns with a snort. “You keep comin’ back.”

“Well, you could say there’s some additional incentive involved,” Sanji says while looking around the bar. Suddenly, he’s reminded of the argument he’d walked into which revealed a curious little detail about the Belfry. “What do you think, should I come back for goth night?”

Unable to help himself, Zoro releases a loud bellowing laugh from deep in his gut, echoing across the emptying bar. “Sure,” he manages after a beat, chasing his amusem*nt with a swallow of bourbon. “Come watch me get black-out drunk while a bunch of f*cking freaks take over this place.”

“I definitely need to see that. It’s a good thing your boss wants to keep the event going,” Sanji says, knowing it’ll strike an amusing nerve. He drinks as he watches Zoro tense up with irritation. “Dracula seems like a peach, by the way. How long have you worked for him?”

Zoro leans against the back bar as he ponders, raising a hand to scratch his chin. “Started here when I first came to Chicago, so seven years?” he wonders aloud, silently counting down in his head. Eventually he gives up, shrugging. “Too f*cking long.”

“At least you get a nice apartment out of it.” Sanji hums, his fingers drumming along the condensation of the glass. “So then what were you up to before Chicago?”

“Back home?” Zoro asks, receiving a confirming nod from the other man as he sips his drink. “Worked on a farm.”

“Ha! Pig-f*cker,” Sanji jokes childishly, feeling the bourbon surging through his bloodstream now. Zoro as a farmhand in good ol’ Tennessee is another image that Sanji can paint perfectly in his mind.

“Wasn’t that type of farm, dumbass,” Zoro snaps back, though there’s no bite in his tone. “Y'know, you’re pretty nosy for someone who pissed his pants over me seein’ his work badge.”

After a swallow, Sanji raises his drink indicatively. “What can I say? Bourbon gives me a morbid curiosity in train wrecks like yourself.”

“Train wreck?” Zoro shamelessly tilts another healthy dose of liquid courage in Sanji’s rapidly emptying glass. “Bold statement comin’ from Detroit trash turned Chicago whor*.”

Sanji lowers his voice. “I’m not a whor*. I’m a businessman. We went over this.”

“Yeah, yeah. Semantics.”

“Well, you’re just a Tennessee hick turned Chicago creepshow.”

“Dracula’s the creepshow. I’m probably still a hick,” Zoro jokes, eyes never leaving the way Sanji’s smile seems to stretch endlessly across his face. He knows he should start toiling around the bar and help Johnny bring it to a close, but he can’t bring himself to leave this spot, captivated by the moment and engaged in the most interesting conversation he’s had in a good while. Instead, he allows himself a little bit of nosiness, bourbon and his own morbid curiosities fueling the flame.

“So, what’s your story?”

In his increasing haze, Sanji has to consciously tell his eyes not to roll. He doesn’t want to talk about something so boring, not when Zoro’s story is of more interest to him. He hums. “Not much of a story, really. What do you want to know? Also, it’s past 10. We’re digging into your hour.”

“I’ll still get my hour,” Zoro says with confidence. “Overtime’s covered by free drinks.”

“What?” Sanji laughs, relishing the glean he catches reflected in Zoro’s eyes. If he had blinked, he would have missed it. “That’s not the deal. Here, give me another and start a tab for me, idiot.”

“Ain’t happenin’,” Zoro dismisses but he does pour Sanji another, a sense of satisfaction churning in his gut. “So, why here? College?”

“Yeah. When I got into UChicago, I figured it was a good opportunity to get out of Detroit. Make something of my life and all that.”

“Typical bullsh*t then.”

“Typical bullsh*t. Cheers to that,” Sanji says, tapping his glass against Zoro’s as they both take a long drink. “What about you? Said something about being kidnapped, didn’t you? I’m still not calling the police.”

“You cooked me some grub so I guess we’re even,” Zoro counters with a laugh. He takes a moment to pour himself a fresh drink, memories of his departure from Tennessee flooding his mind. So many years ago yet it feels just like yesterday. Despite the fog of his tipsy brain, that moment remains as clear as the glass in his hand. “My buddy said he wanted to go on an adventure. Convinced me to come along for the ride. This is where we landed.” He shrugs. “Think part of me knew we’d never look back.”

“Wait, you’re telling me you guys went on some epic adventure and this is where you decided to stop? What is it about this city that charmed you so much?” Sanji asks, ignoring his cell phone vibrating up a storm on the bartop.

“Nothin’. This city sucks,” Zoro says, glancing at Sanji's phone and taking note of how it remains unanswered. “But my truck broke down, and we didn’t have a pot to piss in.”

Sanji laughs, probably harder than he should. “And now here you are, deprived of your beloved artery-clogging comfort foods, working goth nights, and putting up with nosy customers like me.”

“Pretty much,” Zoro says with a smile, holding Sanji’s gaze for a beat before finally turning his attention to the remaining patrons in the bar. “Speakin’ of that, hang tight while I get those guys outta here and send my bozo bartender home.”

“Eat some cornbread while you’re at it,” Sanji jokes, shooing Zoro away back to work. He watches him leave for a lingering moment, eyes never leaving his back. It’s probably the alcohol, but watching the man charismatically kick out these drunken idiots is more charming than it should be. Eventually, Sanji takes the opportunity to check his phone which was going psycho a moment ago, having a strong feeling that – yep, the creeper from earlier is back at it again. He sets it aside again for now.

By the time Sanji’s drink is yet again empty and all those free drinks have well and truly snuck up on him, the last of the bar’s late-night patrons are slamming down empty pint glasses, barstools screeching as they make their departures. It’s hard not to feel a little special closing down the bar with Zoro; it’s especially satisfying when he watches Zoro lock the front doors and shut off all lights except the bar area’s. The dim lighting doesn’t do a good enough job of warding off the dark, or perhaps his swimming eyesight is the problem. Just another bad decision courtesy of booze. He’s got a fat chance of driving home now.

“It’s almost 11,” Sanji points out as Zoro returns. “And you got me too drunk to drive.”

“Told you I’d get my hour,” Zoro says with a triumphant grin, pouring them fresh drinks. “Guess you’ll have to stick around.”

“Guess I will,” Sanji replies, his body lazing further over the bar’s wood. “Feels like you’ve cheated the system, big guy. Getting a good deal, plying me with drinks, getting me to talk about my life. Now I gotta stay past the hour, and for who knows how long. This isn’t good for business, you know?”

“Got someone else on the docket?” Zoro questions with a scowl, eyeing Sanji’s phone suspiciously from where it’s still abandoned on the bartop, the dots connecting. “That why your phone’s blowin’ up?”

“Oh, f*ck – no, this – this f*ckin’ guy ,” Sanji comments, at a loss for words as he picks up his phone and unlocks it. “I don’t know. Hey, you’re a creeper, right? Can you translate Creepanese for me? Check this sh*t out.”

Zoro doesn’t have time to respond before the phone is thrust right into his face, practically touching his nose until he takes it from Sanji’s grip and squints at the messages on the screen. “The f*ck?” he mutters to himself as he scrolls along, shaking his head. “What kinda translatin’ you need? Dude wants your ass.”

“So, background. This f*cker texts me out of the blue after I don’t even know how many years. I’m pretty sure he was a client when I was in college. Why the hell would I be getting thirst-texts like this, like, six years later or whatever?”

“Apparently he’s still thinkin’ ‘bout your ‘bussy.’”

Sanji collapses, banging his fist onto the bartop as he hysterically laughs. “I – I can’t . Who says that!” he exclaims, catching his breath and reaching over to poke Zoro’s forearm. “What’s your expert opinion on the creep factor here? Do I ignore it? Do I gotta leave town? Should I make an extra $300 and get him off my case?”

“f*ck that,” Zoro sneers, tossing the phone back onto the bar. “I’ll pay you $300 to not f*ck him. Why’s he know where to look for you and what you drive?”

“I don’t know,” Sanji hums, scratching his head as he picks up his phone and scrolls through the messages some more. “I honestly have no idea who this is. Just some guy from my early days doing what I do. I mean, I drive a Civic. They go forever. Had it then, back in Pilsen, too. Don’t think he knows much else except what he knew then.”

“Yeah, well, I say tell him to suck his own co*ck and block the number.”

“Yeah, I will. I don’t wanna get into it with him or anything. Just was funny getting these crazy texts outta nowhere,” Sanji rambles, opting to block the number without texting anything back. He sets his phone aside, fixating on his client at hand. “Hey. You said some interesting sh*t just now. Why would you pay me $300 not to f*ck this dude?”

Zoro frowns. “Don’t wanna be backdoor brothers with a man who says ‘bussy.’”

“Ha! I don’t f*ckin’ blame you.”

Liquor getting to the best of him, Zoro polishes off the last of his bourbon and decides to divulge yet another small nugget of truth: “And I don’t like sharin’ my things.”

“Oh?” Something curls around Sanji’s most inner-depths, and latches on tight. An addiction satiated by those candid words alone. He stares into Zoro’s eyes, searching for a golden puzzle piece. “Interesting. So I’m one of your things now, am I?”

“Maybe,” Zoro says, sliding their empty glasses to the side and leaning across the bar much further into Sanji’s space. “What d’you think?”

Sanji’s smirk nearly falters with Zoro’s close proximity. He can feel the man’s breaths on his skin. “Maybe. I mean, you’ve made your purchases.”

“So what’s that make you?”

“Your thing – well,” Sanji replies, squinting at his watch for the time before peering back up with a wide, tipsy grin, “at least I still was six minutes ago.”

Zoro nods, a familiar pang of disappointment pricking at the back of his neck. Time seems to have become a tricky little thief lately but it’s to be expected given the nature of the game they play. His gaze drifts to the empty glasses and bottle of bourbon, calculating the next move to make. With another nod, he arches an eyebrow, and issues Sanji a challenging grin.

“How ‘bout another hour then?”

Chapter 5

Chapter Text

5.

As his consciousness returns to him, the first thing in Sanji’s mind is how in the hell his body has become so sore and swollen. Next up, as he re-enters alivehood, is his awareness of the headache – the f*cking headache . It stabs like an icepick behind his eyes. He wets his cracked lips and notices his mouth is a f*cking desert, and then there’s the queasy complaint of his stomach. A single thought parts the murky fog of his mind.

Where the f*ck am I?

Sanji groans. And then he begins to truly become an alive person, daring to open his eyes, squinting as he does, and carefully lifting his head.

The room is dark; the curtains still block all but one small beam of sunlight which spans across a closed door. It takes Sanji a panicked second, but he calms down once he realizes he’s familiar with this particular room. It’s Zoro’s bedroom, one of many in his too-big apartment. They’ve f*cked in here a handful of times. Wait – did they f*ck? Is that why he’s here? But Zoro isn’t in sight; Sanji is the only one occupying the bed, completely alone in his room.

He wonders how he even got into his client’s apartment. f*ck, he hates a damn blackout. How did he get from A to B? The last thing he remembers is being in the Belfry after closing time, harmlessly flirting with Zoro with the oaky taste of bourbon on his tongue. The memory of the liquor’s flavor has his stomach acting up all over again.

The room starts spinning and Sanji’s head burrows back into the pillow. He groans. He doesn’t move for a long while, doesn’t even bother to try and know how long. It isn’t until he hears the muffled noises of someone puttering around in the kitchen – the distinct drone of a microwave in use – that Sanji is brusquely reminded of how desperately he needs water.

Slowly, pathetically, determinedly but surely, Sanji rises from death and is on his feet. He notices for the first time that he has been undressed, his shoes, socks, pants, belt, jacket, and sweater, all of it is sprawled haphazardly across the hardwood floor. Frowning, he raises a hand to his messy locks. Zoro’s doing? His phone rests on the nightstand, plugged in and charging. Also Zoro’s doing?

Blinking and ignoring his confusion for now, Sanji shuffles barefooted to open the door into the hallway, a blanket wound tightly around his hunched shoulders. Movement is not fun. The smell of reheated food is also markedly not fun for his destroyed senses. The promise of death has never felt sweeter.

He reaches the kitchen. What he sees is not what he expects – there Zoro is, in all his glory, a steaming plate of southern leftovers held in his hand as he is crouching down to Dragon to give her a helping.

Caught in the act, Zoro looks up at him. They lock eyes for a beat. Sanji’s insult mechanism is always on autopilot, and it is a powerful thing, but all he can do is open and close his mouth. Whichever clever put-down that would have rolled off Alive Sanji’s tongue instead comes out as a raspy blend between a cough and a sigh.

Night of the living dead rises. Zoro blinks in his direction.

“You look like sh*t.”

“Thanks. Feel like sh*t.”

“Made coffee,” Zoro drawls, nodding towards the pot on the counter as Dragon’s sharp teeth nip at his fingertips, demanding more from his plate. Feeling Sanji’s eyes lingering on him, he adds with a smirk, “Looks like this one’s got a taste for catfish.”

Sanji just hums tiredly in response. Well, Zoro seems right as rain this morning. Good for him, the f*cker, while Sanji himself is quickly discovering that if he doesn’t sit down now, he will hurl. There’s not a chair in sight – of course there’s no f*cking chair – and Sanji isn’t exactly a spring chicken in his current condition, so hopping onto a countertop is out of the question. Floor it is. He crumples down into a cross-legged position on the cold tile, squinting up at Zoro’s perked brow and amused expression.

“Shut it,” Sanji mutters, before Zoro can say a word. “Coffee later. Water?”

Zoro silently complies, a sense of pride swelling in his chest as he grabs a bottle from the fridge. The pansy’s a lightweight. Called it. Plate in hand, he plops on the floor next to the miserable bastard taking up residence in his kitchen, wrapped up in his blanket no less, and passes the cool drink along. “I warned ya,” he says, shoving another forkful of food into his mouth and teasing as he chews, “Drinkin’ with me’s a bad call.”

After chugging a quarter of the bottle, Sanji fails at screwing on the lid as he retorts, “Then why didn’t you stop me, asshole?” He runs a hand through his hair before rubbing his sunken eyes with both palms. “What happened after the bar?”

“Don’t remember?” Zoro asks, unable to keep the loftiness from his tone. “You really were done for, huh?”

Sanji squints up at him, both annoyed and embarrassed. “I just remember talking at the bar.” He looks around. “When did we come upstairs?”

“Little before midnight,” Zoro replies, memories of the previous night flooding his mind. Things might be a little hazier than normal but he can vividly recall the echo of Sanji’s moans in the stairwell and the desperation to touch each other’s skin. “Came up to cash in on my hour.”

“Cash in?” Sanji blinks several times, shellshocked at his inability to remember them f*cking whatsoever. He’d like to smack the smug look off the jerk’s face as soon as the gesture isn’t likely to make him puke all over the man’s kitchen tile. “We f*cked?”

“No,” Zoro quickly clarifies with a hard shake of his head. “Your back hit the sheets and you were out like a light.”

“Oh,” Sanji says quietly, taking another quenching sip from the bottle. “That explains why I woke up missing some clothes.”

“Kinda. I did that after you passed out,” Zoro admits, meeting Sanji’s questioning stare with a shrug. “Figured you’d sleep better.”

“Oh . Thanks.” Something stirs within Sanji upon hearing this, and for the first time this morning, it’s not his stomach gurgling. First of all, Zoro didn’t just stick it in him while he was passed out, and second of all, he took care of his pathetic drunk ass? It seems the man can actually be courteous to people who aren’t his beloved cat. He wraps the blanket tighter around his shoulders, commenting guiltily, “I didn’t hold up my end of the bargain. I owe you, but I promise if we do anything now I might puke…or die.”

“Don’t die on my floor and we’ll be squared away.”

“No, no, I owe you. I mean…don’t I? Did I pay a bill that I don’t remember? Or did you not give me a bunch of free booze?”

“Guess you’ll never know.” Zoro grunts as he stands, dumping his emptied plate into the kitchen sink with a clatter and chuckling when he sees Sanji flinch at the noise. As much as he wants to linger, there’s work to be done – the Belfry abandoned last night in a sad state of affairs. “Listen,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck, “I gotta go down to the bar. Feel free to sprawl on that tile as long as you want.”

“Okay. Will do. Thanks. Text you when I’m leaving,” Sanji says tiredly, stunned as he stretches out onto the floor and glances up at the man’s form heading for the hallway. He still feels he has to make things even, but it’s a problem for another time. Right now, the cold tile on his cheek feels too nice for him to stress about it.

sh*t. He realizes it’s unlikely that manchild ever mops this floor.

Oh f*ck it.

The apartment door closes, and Sanji is left with Dragon curiously circling him. He stays there until his bladder motivates him otherwise, and he gets up with a groan to shuffle to the bathroom. After relieving himself and cleaning up just enough to feel sort of human again, he makes his way to the living area. There’s a very comfortable couch there which sounds like his next best bet for some rest and recuperation. He’s surprised that his nausea has taken a vacation for now.

It’s during his journey to the couch when he notices some bills left in their agreed-upon spot at the door. He makes his way there instead, spreading the bills apart on the small wooden table and clicking his tongue when he sees $200 in total.

That idiot.

Sanji leaves the bills where they are and heads for the couch to rest his head. The drinks were payment enough, even though they’re currently his downfall – and what the hell is he even being paid $200 for? Some flirtatious quips, the burden of an unconscious body to declothe, and a hungover loiterer? No. Sanji deems it all to be a failed session; good fun, but not worthy of payment pursuant to their agreement.

Needing to sleep off more of this monster hangover before he drives on out of here, Sanji nuzzles into the throw pillow, settling in for a nap. His tired eyes close, and the hard lines of Zoro’s apartment blur and smudge in his vision. Black unconsciousness overtakes him and he succumbs to sleep.

“Two lanes, party of six, unlimited bowling. With the Franky Family discount, that’s thirty, my dude.”

“Alright!” Luffy says, fist shooting up like a rocket. He pauses, a puzzled look crossing his face as he pats his pockets, then turns to Zoro with a sheepish grin. “Hey, Zoro, can I borrow thirty bucks?”

Zoro rolls his eyes, a resigned smirk tugging at his lips as he reaches for his wallet. He counts out the cash and drops it into Franky’s waiting palm. Ain’t the first time he’s had to cover the bill on one of Luffy’s whims and it won’t be the last. The things he does for his best friend.

“Pushover,” Nami mutters from beside him with a haughty laugh. “I bet he ends up spending fifty at the grill.”

“I don’t see you payin’ for sh*t,” Zoro retorts, his sense of satisfaction short-lived as a sharp heel stomps hard on his toe.

“And I don’t see you wearing the outfit I picked!” Nami retracts her foot, crossing her arms over her chest and shooting daggers in his direction. “You look homeless. Don’t you want to impress this guy Luffy’s been talking about?”

“Why the hell would I do that?” Zoro argues, glancing down at his cargo pants and striped shirt. Sure, it’s not what she picked out for him but no one in their right mind would wear a button-down to Franky’s. “We’re bowling. I wore a bowlin’ shirt.”

“I don’t know why I put up with you.”

The cash register drawer slams closed, Franky’s bright blue hair glowing in the neon lights as he hands over Zoro’s change. “Lanes 1 and 2. Have a super time! Hit a hot strike for me, will ya?”

“Thanks, Franky!” Luffy beams, scooping up their shoes and dashing off to their lanes, Nami following behind. “Make sure you come watch me when I start my winning streak. There’s a chicken calling my name!”

“I think you mean a ‘turkey,’ bro, but I like your spirit!” Franky calls after him, giving Luffy’s back a thumbs up.

Zoro lingers at the counter a moment, a pressing question on his mind. “Who’s on tonight?”

Franky’s gaze shifts his way, a knowing grin spreading across his face. “Kiwi tonight. Mozu’s at a karate tournament for her kid.”

Zoro nods sharply, already calculating his next move as he heads towards the bar, eager to kick off the night with a cold drink. Took him a couple years of coming to Franky’s Bowlerama to figure out the bar is worked by twins and he still doesn’t have a damn clue how to tell them apart. All he knows is that the one named Kiwi has a weak pour. Beer it is.

Pitcher of Bud and cups secured, Zoro strolls back to where Luffy’s energetically sifting through bowling balls with Nami, probably trying to find one that won’t f*ck up her nails or something. Trust Luffy to think bowling night is prime time for making new friends. It suits Zoro just fine – way better than awkwardly sitting at a restaurant table, staring each other down. At least here he can focus on the game and tune out these new guys when they end up being weird as f*ck. As they always do. Luffy seems to have a talent for picking up oddball strays.

Yet, Zoro can’t help but reflect on how he himself came to be in Luffy’s life – also a stray in need of rescuing. Luffy’s got a knack for finding people when they’re at rock bottom. He briefly considers if the same goes for these new buddies. Guess time will tell.

As he pours three cups of beer, his thoughts drift to the stray he himself recently took in. Getting Sanji blackout drunk might not have been the smartest move if his dick has anything to say about it, but it sure was entertaining. And a part of him wonders if they’ll do it again. After all, he’s $200 richer for it, the bills still untouched on his entryway table despite the hours he spent in Sanji’s company. Even if the dumbass can’t remember.

Curiosity getting the better of him, he pulls out his phone and sends a quick message.

His brow raised at his phone, Sanji wonders what the hell was the point of that check-up from Zoro some four odd days after the incident. Kind of cute, but whatever. Truth be told, his memory may be hazy, but he remembers the finer details of the night; learning more in depth about his client had been illuminating and kind of fun.

“Law says he’ll be a bit late,” Usopp announces from the driver’s seat of Sanji’s car, breaking Sanji from his thoughts. “He got held up at the hospital.”

“He worked today?” Sanji ponders aloud, shocked. Strange, Law doesn’t usually pull days. Maybe one of the other doctors needed a favor. f*ck, but he worked with Law just last night into the early morning hours; this means the guy worked back-to-back shifts and didn’t sleep. “I worked with him last night! sh*t, ‘Sopp, do you know what this means?!”

“The Grim Reaper is coming to bowl!” Usopp squeals in horror, turning into the parking lot of Bowlerama. “Oh, hell no! He’s going to be so weird and morbid!”

“His sleep-deprived brain will be chock full of 24 hours’ worth of gore,” Sanji nods in agreement, unlocking his phone and pulling up his message history with Law. “Maybe I should text him to go home instead and sleep.”

“You know he wouldn’t sleep. He’d either stay up gaming, watching Law & Order or, his absolute favorite, staring at the wall all night.”

“I texted him, anyway. He doesn’t have to come if he’s not feeling it,” Sanji says idly, staring at the flashy neon sign for the bowling alley lit up like a hotel on the Las Vegas strip. “I don’t remember the last time I went f*cking bowling at this place. High school maybe?”

“You haven’t been back since high school?” Usopp asks in disbelief, coaxing the car into a parking spot. “No, that’s not true. We went in college, remember?”

“Oh, yeah,” Sanji squints, a memory coming to him. “It’s foggy, but I think I got something.”

“You were wasted,” Usopp points out, cutting the engine. “And you bowled like a pro!”

“You’re not the only one who benefits from aiming fluid, my friend.” Sanji laughs as they exit his Civic. Sometimes, when Usopp is a good boy, Sanji lets him drive his car. His friend takes public transit, but he does have a driver’s license. Once in a while, Usopp gets the urge to bomb around in a car. Sanji doesn’t mind.

As they approach the excessively bright front entrance to the bowling alley, Usopp unabashedly nudges Sanji’s side, asking, “Excited to meet Luffy’s friends?”

Sanji nudges him back, hard, knowing exactly what he’s implying. “Keep it in your pants, would you?”

“Okay, okay. I just, you know, maybe you’ll hit it off.”

“Uh-huh,” Sanji dismisses with a roll of his eyes. He’s got a hard time believing there will be any sparks flying whatsoever. “Let’s see.”

Inside the building is somewhat like what Sanji remembers; the place is still a blast from the distant past, looking like a glow-in-the-dark giant has projectile vomited stars and planets all over the floors and walls. But there have been, potentially, some renovations to modernize the cosmic vibe, particularly in the bar area. The spot is bustling with weekend bowlers, and the number of lanes is an impressive sprawl, so much so it makes it difficult to find who they’re looking for after the two of them pick up their shoes.

“Didn’t he give us the lane number?” Sanji asks over a retro playlist playing loudly through speakers. His eyes comb carefully through the crowded space as they make their way across the lanes.

“No. You know him, never thinks ahead – oh, wait: I think I see them!” Usopp says with a hearty wave in the direction of a pair in the distance.

There’s a red-headed woman texting in a booth. That must be Nami, who Sanji’s heard a little bit about from Luffy. He spots a familiar head of wild locks gearing up to throw a ball. He watches as Luffy’s wiry, gangly form winds up and fires a ball probably about four solid feet in the air. The ball lands with a resounding boom, turning heads as it near-instantly slips into the gutter. Luffy howls in protest, his fists in the air as if to challenge the gutter itself.

“Yoohoo! Boys!” Nami calls, looking up from her phone at their arrival and giving them a friendly wave. “Are you Luffy’s friends?”

“That’s us!” Usopp responds cheerfully. “I’m Usopp.”

Sanji nods and greets her politely behind his friend, taking in her glowing appearance and presence. Nami’s got a pretty face with big brown eyes and spunky red hair styled in a bob, half of it casually tied up. She has a paradoxical sort of vibe about her, as if buried under her sweet surface lurks a shark waiting to drag her prey underwater.

Sanji likes her instantly.

“Sanji. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Sanji,” Nami repeats, practically purring as she looks him up and down. “I’m Nami. It’s –”

“Usopp! Sanji!”

“Luffy, don’t –!” Sanji holds out his hands, but it’s too late. Luffy has him and Usopp in an anaconda squeeze.

“Where’s Traffy?” Luffy whips his head around, searching the surrounding area. “Did he bail?”

“He’s coming. He got held up at work,” Usopp explains briefly, catching his breath after Luffy lets go.

“He, uh, might be a little tired,” Sanji adds, forewarning.

“Ooh, I can’t wait! One time we played Rocket League for like seven hours straight and he was crazy at the end there. It was so funny! He passed out on the mic.”

“When did you guys play that?” Usopp asks, looking dejected. “Aw, man. My day job strikes again!”

“So, where’s your third?” Sanji asks suddenly, looking around. He’s curious who this guy is since Luffy and Usopp have been on his case about it. Kind of odd he doesn’t even know his name yet, or seen a photo, or even been shown his Instagram, now that he thinks about it. But he supposes Luffy’s not the type to give these things much keen attention.

“Hey, that’s right,” Nami chimes in, joining Sanji in studying the room. She jabs Luffy in the arm. “Where is that bozo? He’s been gone for a while.”

“Maybe he’s pooping,” Luffy answers with a shrug.

“Gross.”

“I can go find him!”

“You probably should,” Nami says with a sigh, giving Sanji a sidelong look before turning her attention back to Luffy. “He’ll sneak off for the whole night if you don’t. That moron.”

“Okay! You guys have a beer while I go find my friend and then –” Luffy pauses his train of thought, arms launching into the air in a jovial cheer as he shouts into the distance – “Hey! There he is! Zoro! Over here!”

Zoro?

Sanji turns around to look at the figure approaching, his eyes narrowing as he makes out the form in the dim lighting. He squints, blinks, and squints again. Horror fills him to his core immediately as he can see that, upon further approach, Luffy’s friend recognizes him in response, and true to the name he’d been called, it really is –

How in the f*ck.

Like a deer caught in the headlights, all Sanji can do is stare in disbelief. Zoro is Luffy’s friend? f*cking Zoro? His client Zoro? The guy who pays to f*ck him is the same guy Luffy’s been trying to set him up with!? No, no, no, no, no, no —

Uncaring of how strange it looks while he all but endures a full-fledged mental breakdown, Sanji turns around, plops in the booth, pulls out his phone, and begins furiously texting.

Zoro pauses at the edge of their seating area, eyebrow raised at the bizarre turn of events that have unfolded in the ten minutes he’s been in the pisser. His very own blond-haired, blue-eyed sexpot, right here in the flesh. Never in a million years would he have considered that Sanji, of all people, could be this “Rice Guy” Luffy has been pestering him about. And it’s glaringly obvious the feeling is mutual, seeing the way Zoro’s phone is buzzing in his pocket, bombarded by rapid-fire messages.

Normally, he’d brush it off and tell his friends he already knows the guy, but something about the initial look in Sanji’s eyes has him hesitating. Given the nature of their business, he supposes Sanji has a good reason to keep the situation under wraps. Still, who would have ever thought his best friend’s been hanging around his dirty little secret. Lady Luck sure has a twisted sense of humor.

The realization leaves Zoro unsettled enough that he doesn’t notice Nami slinking into his space until her cold hands touch his forearm, jolting him from his trance and back to the present moment.

“How nice of you to join us!” Nami's voice rings out, her tone full of fake enthusiasm. “Meet Luffy’s friends. This is Usopp,” she explains, gesturing towards the curly-haired man chatting away with Luffy, “and this is Sanji.”

Zoro nods, opting to play it safe and throw the ball in Sanji’s court. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Sanji echoes tersely, utterly shellshocked, urging Zoro with his eyes to check his damn phone before his dark secret is out. Knowing the blunt idiot, he’ll just blurt that sh*t out without thinking. The possibility of this happening is going to give Sanji a damn panic attack. He needs to play it cool, like they’ve never met before, to give Zoro the hint. “Um. Nice to meet you.”

Zoro grits his teeth, feeling completely overwhelmed by the sudden surge of expectations placed on him by such a simple phrase. So that’s how it’s going to be – strangers. Without another word, he pivots on his heel and strides back toward the bowling alley’s modest bar. He needs a stiff drink to deal with this, Kiwi’s weak pour be damned.

Behind him he can hear Nami’s voice calling his name, but he ignores her, instead pulling out his phone to read the onslaught of messages Sanji’s been sending him.

Zoro lingers at the bar, knocking back drinks to create distance from the impending storm brewing outside. The guy’s clearly rattled, and dead-set on keeping things under wraps. Zoro winces, already dreading the tedious act he’ll have to put on with Johnny and Yosaku. What a f*cking mess. Worst of all, it’s jeopardizing a comfortable dynamic he’s come to enjoy. Maybe some fresh air will help Sanji come to his senses. He can only hope.

In the end, Zoro has four shots – two doubles, straight tequila. It’s just enough to take the edge off before he plunges into the night to face the music. He scans the surroundings, shaking his head when he spies the telltale glow of a cigarette and a cloud of smoke beckoning him from the shadows at the building's edge.

Cautiously, he approaches, brow furrowing in confusion as he takes in the scene before him: Sanji Savage, eyes wild, sucking on a cancer stick like a man hell-bent on hastening his own demise.

Typical drama queen.

“Alright,” Zoro grunts, leaning against the brick wall of the building. “The f*ck was that?”

“The f*ck was that?” Sanji lobs back incredulously. “The f*ck is this ! Did you set this up with your pal Luffy or something?!”

“Huh?”

“Yeah! That’s right you did. This can’t be a f*cking coincidence. You set this up with him – oh my f*cking – that’s why he was our Uber Eats guy and came into my apartment! What the hell is your game, huh? And how’d you get my address –”

“Not a damn chance,” Zoro interjects, a hard scowl etching into his features. It’s one thing for his own integrity to be questioned, but he’s not about to entertain any wild conspiracy theories regarding his best friend. “I don’t know how the hell this happened but it wasn’t Luffy. He’s been blabbing about how much he likes y’all for weeks. Don’t put this sh*t on him.”

With rapid fire, Sanji replaces his spent cigarette and lights up a fresh stick as he ponders Zoro’s words. He gives him a scrutinizing look before continuing. “It just doesn’t feel random. Do your friends somehow know about what we’ve been doing?”

“Look,” Zoro says, hand finding the back of his neck as he glances out towards the parking lot. “If Nami knew I was payin’ for sex again, we’d have met a whole lot sooner, okay? This is just bad karma or somethin’.”

Sanji blinks several times, trying to keep his blood pressure stable as he hears the man speak. “So she knows that you do this kind of thing?” He points aggressively between them. “And you think maybe she didn’t figure this one out?”

“She knows I used to. Now she’s just on my ass for spending too much time alone.” Zoro swipes at the finger pointed too far into his space. “Only reason she might sniff it out now is because you acted like a dumbass back there.”

“I acted like a dumbass? You said hello to me and then beelined it to the bar to pound back a bunch of shots!”

“I had to go read the goddamn page of texts you were sendin’ me!”

“Yeah! Because I had to tell you without telling you that – my friends? They don’t know about this sh*t.” Sanji lights up another smoke with a huff, murmuring exasperatedly, “And I need to keep it that way, okay?”

Zoro stays silent for a beat, mulling over Sanji’s words. Seems his earlier assessment was right.“So, you’re saying,” he starts slowly, piecing together their situation, “there ain’t no way I can tell my friends the truth, huh?”

Sanji shoots Zoro a dangerous look, stepping forward and pressing his finger into the man’s sternum. “That’s right. There ain’t no f*ckin’ way, cowboy.”

“Damn.” Zoro licks his lips, disappointment sinking in his gut like a heavy stone. The pitcher of beer and those four shots might help take the edge off, but deep down, he grasps the unspoken weight of the situation. And it stings. The mere thought of cutting ties leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. It might be unconventional, but he truly values what they have. Unsure there’s any other option, he quietly asks, “So, that’s it then? Our deal’s off?”

Sanji throws up his hands in mock defeat. Truth be told he’s having the most fun with this client than all the other suckers he’s picked up in the past. Longest run, too. Calling it quits isn’t his first pick either. “Look, this is a little too close to home. I don’t know how we’re gonna keep going here. We’ll probably just have to cut our losses and part ways. You got a better idea?”

“I don’t f*cking know. I mean, Luffy thought we were gonna hit it off. Could just go with that?” Zoro shrugs. “They don’t gotta know I pay for it.”

“We’re not going to f*cking do that, you idiot,” Sanji dismisses on autopilot. But then the meat of what Zoro’s actually said sinks in and digests; suddenly, he gives the man an intense, hopeful stare, a lightbulb flickering to life in his head. “Wait. Say that again?”

“Uh, which part?”

“The part – f*cking sh*t, you know the part! The first part!”

“We could just hit it off?”

“Yes! That!” Sanji exclaims excitedly, pointing his smoldering cigarette Zoro’s way. “Hit it off! Why don’t we just hit it off? It’s genius! You’re a disgusting f*cking stupid genius, you moron!”

“Go f*ck yourself,” Zoro fires back, though there’s no bite in his voice, distracted by thinking the idea through. It’s not like he hates the guy. Spending time together as a group wouldn’t be too hard. “It’d get Nami off my ass about dating.”

“It’d get my friends off my ass too. f*ck, it’s perfect! We ‘hit it off,’ we start fake dating, and we continue our business under the facade of all that. Our friends are happy, we’re happy, everybody’s f*cking happy.”

It’s logic Zoro can’t argue with. He studies Sanji’s intense gaze, unbridled enthusiasm shining in the man’s blue eyes, the figurative lightbulb over his head practically blinding. A small part of Zoro worries about deceiving his friends, but the potential benefits outweigh the risks. They’ll stop worrying all the goddamn time and, in turn, maybe he'll stop feeling like a disappointment.

Mostly convinced, there’s still one point Zoro has left to emphasize, a boundary he’s adamant about maintaining: “We don’t change, right? Strictly business, same as it always was. This is just smoke and mirrors.”

Sanji does a double take. “f*ck if I want to date a moron like you. Of course we’re keeping it as it is. Just business. Just sex.”

“I wouldn’t wanna date some nut job either,” Zoro returns with a scowl. “Now, you got anythin’ else to say or can I go get another drink?”

“Don’t go anywhere yet,” Sanji says, a raised finger in the air. “If they’re going to be convinced, then you gotta sell it in there. Can you do that?”

“I ain’t stupid. I know how to hit on a guy.”

Sanji narrows his eyes. “The first message that I ever got from you was a dick pic.”

“And maybe I’ll whip it out in there too.”

“It wouldn’t surprise me, you’re so damn co*cky,” Sanji comments with a massive roll of his eyes. He puts his hands on his hips, scrutinizing the piece of work he’s being forced to depend on. “Don’t go overboard either. There’s an art and a science to this. A finesse. Act normal but interested. We have to pace it.”

“Hey, you gotta act interested too,” Zoro says, matching the glare he’s receiving with one of his own. “None of this prissy ‘pretending to hate me and nagging the hell out of me’ bullsh*t.”

“I don’t – do that? Besides, maybe I actually do hate you,” Sanji says with a dismissive wave. “Don’t worry your ugly little head. I’m a pro at acting interested. It’s what I do.”

“Sure. I’m goin’ to take a leak and get another beer.”

“Yes. Good,” Sanji mumbles distractedly, scratching his chin as he studies Zoro closely. “Dismissive, cold, soulless; that’s just like you. If you start out like that, it’ll be very believable. They won’t suspect a thing.”

“Yeah, yeah, see you inside, ya loon.”

“Last thing!” Sanji says to Zoro’s back, raising his voice as the man strides away. “Check your f*cking phone in there! Okay?” He gets no response, not even an acknowledging wave or turn of his head, and it fills him with slight homicidal thoughts. Just slight.

Figuring he has time for one more smoke to level out his stress, Sanji leans back against the wall behind him, tilting his head up to the night’s sky with a freshly lit cigarette between his lips. He can’t believe this situation. It’s hard to believe; still a little too coincidental for his liking, but who is he to argue with the strange games the universe has a tendency of playing with him. At least it’s worked out. For now.

Suddenly Sanji hears footsteps to his right, so quiet that he’s surprised he heard them at all, and he looks over to see the Grim Reaper himself approaching him.

“Holy sh*t,” is all he says upon seeing his friend. The bags under the man’s eyes have their own gravitational pull. “I texted you not to come, you know.”

“I’m well aware,” Law replies, squinting as he studies the neon lighting of the bowling alley’s sign. “However, I told the loud one I’d swing by.”

“Jesus,” Sanji says, snuffing out his cigarette and heading inside with the walking zombie he calls his friend. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think the guy’s grown on you a bit, huh?”

“He’s an obnoxious, boisterous, obtrusive little sh*t with a flair for the dramatic,” Law pauses, shaking his head as they pass the shoe counter, pointing to the bag he has tucked under arm, “but yes. He’s interesting.”

It’s rare that Law finds anyone interesting. His eyebrow raised as they head to their lane, Sanji keeps that information locked away safely in his mind for further review. As the two of them join up with the rest, they sit down to put on their shoes on the carpeted area nearby. Lacing his shoes, Sanji notices Zoro is sitting with Nami and Usopp at the booth, drinking a beer. Suddenly, Luffy bounds over to them, his face lit up in excitement.

“Traffy! You made it! Oh man, look at you. The nickname I gave you is perfect .”

Law’s eyes rise to the screens over their lanes, reading the names for a brief moment before releasing a heavy sigh. “Let me guess. ‘Dead Guy?’”

“Yep!”

“Joy.”

Smiling wide and proud, Luffy turns to Sanji. “I gave you a wicked awesome nickname too.”

Sanji frowns, confused. “Broski?”

"Nope! That’s Zoro.”

“Oh,” Sanji says. He supposes they lumped all the late-comers together; that and they probably sneakily wanted him to bowl on Zoro’s team. Looking further down on the screen with an amused smile, Sanji asks, “Hot Tamale? Why?”

“Because you’re sweet and spicy,” Luffy answers, as if it makes the most sense in the world.

Usopp nods proudly at the screen. “I thought it was a good one.”

“You guys are both idiots,” Sanji says, looking at the names for Lane 1, where Luffy, Usopp and Nami are playing. Kingpin, Strikezone, Qween.

“Absolute idiots,” Nami echoes, nodding. She narrows her eyes as Zoro opens his mouth to crack a joke, silencing him instantly. “And you’re an even bigger idiot, getting lost between here and the bar.”

“There’s a lot of lanes,” Zoro defends lazily, glad she bought his excuse for the time he spent out front with Sanji. He glances at his bowling teammates. “Hope you guys are good at this. I don’t like losin’.”

“Neither do I,” Sanji replies, trying to appear friendly but neutral towards Zoro for the time being. “Our odds seem good. You look like you know what you’re doing with that bowling shirt on.” He points back at Law over his shoulder with a thumb. “And this guy brought his own f*cking shoes.”

A smug grin tugs at Zoro’s lips as he leans towards Nami and mutters, “I told you I can dress myself.”

“Shut up, Zoro. You sound like a five-year-old,” Nami retorts, waving him off. “Now go talk to him before I do it for you.”

“Fine,” Zoro grumbles, ignoring the subtle side-eye from Usopp, and heaves himself from the booth. Truth be told, he doesn’t have a damn clue what he’s going to say to Sanji. This isn’t his usual scene for picking up guys, especially with their friends all around. But, he’s confident he’ll get the job done.

Zoro strides over to where Sanji and Law are testing bowling balls. Catching Sanji’s eye, he smirks slightly and says, “Hey.”

“Hey again,” Sanji responds, trying to sound pleasant amidst his confusion. Why is Zoro greeting him again so awkwardly? “Oh, this is Law. Law, this is – um, was it Zoro?”

Zoro nods in confirmation, shifting his attention to the glum man standing at Sanji’s side. Tall and spindly, with a sharp gaze despite his worn and haggard appearance. It doesn’t surprise him at all that this is someone Luffy’s attached himself to. He’s got the right vibe: total f*cking weirdo.

“Nice tats,” Zoro says, eyes drawn to the ink on Law’s hands and arms.

“Thanks,” Law returns. “Same to you. Are those chrysanthemums?”

“Yep. Got a few others.”

Law nods, seemingly impressed. “Very intricate. Who’s your artist?”

Zoro gestures back towards the lane. “Nami’s sister. She’s got a place back home.” He turns to Sanji. “You got any?”

“Nah,” Sanji replies with a humble shrug. “Don’t know how I never collected one or two.”

“What, too pretty?” Zoro teases, setting the plan in motion. “Don’t put a bumper sticker on a Bentley type thing?”

Sanji laughs, trying his best to turn his genuine shock at the corny pickup line into a bashful chuckle. He gives Law a brief look, seeing a glimmer of life in their deathly pits, before turning back to Zoro and trying his best not to visibly cringe. What the f*ck? How’s he supposed to respond to that? Feeling cornered by their little act, he does what he can with what he’s been given: “Well, you’ve got ‘bumper stickers’ all over you. Though ‘pretty’ isn’t the word I’d use for you.”

“Jesus Christ,” Law mutters, quickly separating himself and drifting back over to the lanes.

“Oh yeah?” Zoro says, interest piqued. “What word would you use?”

Seeing that the coast is clear and no one can hear them, Sanji steps forward. “A f*cking moron? What are you doing?” he scolds in an aggressive yell-whisper. Law’s sentiments sum it up quite well, he thinks.

“Hitting on you, dipsh*t?” Zoro answers, instantly riled up by Sanji’s snub. “You got a damn problem?”

“What are you, a kid in junior high? Have you never –” Sanji feels eyes on them, turning to see Nami and Usopp studying them closely. “f*ck. Just cut the corny crap, okay?”

“If you don’t like what I’m throwin’ then don’t bite,” Zoro retorts with a sneer, already fed up with this little act. Without another word, he grabs the closest ball from the shelf and storms back to the lane.

It’s clear to Sanji that Zoro’s out of this depth; true to his words earlier about a consistent history of paying for sex. As Sanji realizes that he’s going to have to take the lead on this, he spectates as Zoro winds up the ball and heaves it down the lane like it’s feather-light. Sanji’s eyebrows furrow as he, somehow, realizes for the first time that his client is left-handed. The sharp crash of the ball hitting pins tears him from this realization, and he sees that Zoro’s earned himself a strike.

“Go, Broski! Strike!” Luffy erupts in a loud cheer, patting Zoro violently on the back as he returns to the seating area. “Aw, man! I should’ve kept you on my team.”

As Zoro plops on the bench, geared up to pour himself another beer from a fresh pitcher, he notices blue eyes staring at him from across the way. He gives Sanji a proud grin. It’s about time the bastard learns he’s not totally useless. “You’re up, Hot Tamale.”

“Not sure I can follow that,” Sanji says with a modest chuckle. Honestly, he hasn’t bowled in years. He’ll be lucky to hit one pin, let alone ten of them. As it turns out, he’s able to clear almost all of them once his two throws are through, two left standing.

“Looking a little rusty there, Ji-man!” Usopp says after finishing up his turn, clearly juiced up from the strike he just got.

Sanji shrugs at him. “I’m just happy the ball stayed on the wood, to be honest.” He replaces Law’s seat beside Zoro as the man gets up for his turn, looking incredibly focused now that the game has begun. He points to Law’s form floating up to the lane, giving Zoro a heads up. “You’ve given him competition. It’s war now.”

“Dead Guy don’t scare me,” Zoro says with a grin. “‘Sides, I used to be in a bowlin’ league with John – two of my employees.”

Sanji cackles. So Zoro used to be in a league with his sh*thead employees. Sanji finds that both hilarious and cute at the same time. The guy is full of weird little surprises.

Law returns with a faintest hint of a smirk on his face after bowling a strike. To Sanji’s amusem*nt, Zoro is scowling as he leaves to take his turn, and as quick as he’s gone, Nami has replaced him, infiltrating with purpose shining behind her soft brown eyes.

“Hello,” Sanji greets politely. “I meant to say earlier, but your red hair is gorgeous.”

“Why, thank you,” Nami coos, running her fingers through her bob. “Luffy told me you’re a cutie-pie. I’m glad we could finally meet.”

“Me too. I’ve heard a lot about you,” Sanji says. “It sounds like you’re the only one keeping him in line.” He laughs. “He definitely needs that.”

“He does, that moron,” Nami says with a wistful sigh. “Believe it or not, he was a lot easier to tame when Zoro was living with us. Now I’m stuck dealing with his sh*t by myself.”

“There should be a medal for that.” Sanji jokes, leaning in slightly. “You guys all used to live together? Oh – hold that thought. It’s my turn.”

Zoro swiftly intervenes as Sanji heads for the bowling lane, having spotted Nami getting too close to the other man for comfort. “What’re you doin’?” he growls, a frown creasing his brow.

“I’m taking matters into my own hands,” Nami replies coolly, inspecting her nails. “You suck at this, and I know how to talk you up.”

“You make me sound like an asshole.”

“Zoro,” Nami sighs, rolling her eyes. “You are an asshole. But the fact that you care means you’re interested. I’m helping you. Free of charge.”

“Stay out of it,” Zoro snaps, feeling Luffy yank at the back of his shirt, celebrating his first spare of the night. He gives Nami one last glare before being dragged away. “I mean it.”

“Toodaloo!”

Sanji watches as Zoro is chest-bumped into oblivion by a rambunctious Luffy. He can’t shake how odd this entire situation is – it’s crazy to see his two worlds colliding, quite literally, in front of his eyes. He sits back down beside Nami, picking up where they left off, figuring chatting with her will be a welcomed distraction.

“Sorry. So you three lived together?”

“Hm?” Nami takes a moment to recalibrate before diving right back into their chat. “Oh, yes. When we first moved here we were all roommates. Then Zoro got a huge promotion that came with a nice apartment and moved out. I’m jealous.” She leans into Sanji’s space, lowering her voice to a loud whisper. “No rent in this city? He’s loaded.”

Sanji purses his lip in thought, wising up to what Nami’s doing. In actuality, it does pique his interest; now he’s thinking about raising his hourly fee. “So how long have you all known each other?” he asks, having a sneaking suspicion Luffy might be the friend who Zoro mentioned dragging him across the country. Makes a sh*t ton of sense, knowing Luffy’s character.

“It feels like forever. We’re all from the same town,” Nami explains, gaze lingering on Zoro as he shows Luffy and Usopp how he grips his ball. “Luffy and him met around second or third grade. I came along in junior high.”

“Oh, wow, childhood friends almost from the start,” Sanji comments idly, his eyes on Usopp as he raises his arm to Zoro for a fist bump, surprisingly receiving one. Clearly it’s too powerful, as Usopp recoils a bit and waves his hand in the air as if he’s just sprained his wrist. “Small town in Illinois?” he asks, knowing otherwise and vying for more.

“Tennessee,” Zoro answers as he approaches, having caught the tail end of the question. Same one he answered just a couple weeks ago. “Your turn, blondie.”

“Oh, Tennessee?” Sanji feigns surprise as he stands for his turn. He smirks. It’s like deja vu in here. “Well, that explains the accent.”

“I ain’t got an accent,” Zoro deadpans.

“Oh, I must be hearing things,” Sanji says, staring seductively at Zoro. “That’s too bad because I liked what I heard.”

“Yeah? Guess we’re both in luck,” Zoro responds, shamelessly looking Sanji up and down. “I like pretty blonds with long legs.”

“For the love of god,” Law interjects, harsh glare shifting between the two men. “Could you please bowl?”

“Okay, okay, geez,” Sanji placates, hands in the air as he picks up his ball and takes his turn quickly. Fully armed, he makes his way back and murmurs into Zoro’s ear, “I like tatted guys with big dicks. ‘Don’t waste my time.’”

Zoro cranes his neck to watch Sanji saunter back to the open spot next to Nami, his mouth momentarily dry. Goddamn tease. He’ll remember this on Wednesday. Unable to give the reply he wants out loud, he fishes his phone out of his pocket as he waits for his turn, shooting Sanji a quick text.

“Sanji?”

“Hm?” Sanji looks up to lock eyes with Nami. Oh, he’ll be listening quite intently to Zoro’s oh-so knowledgeable longtime friend.

“I asked if you’re just as single as the rest of us,” Nami repeats, resting her chin in her palm.

“Yes, I am. Wow – all of us? That’s so funny,” Sanji comments, genuinely shocked. He nods to Zoro, who’s on his second throw. “So then, that means your friend over there isn’t taken?”

“Zoro?” Nami asks, perking up when Sanji gives her a confirming nod. “He’s definitely single. And looking. Why? Are you –”

“Hi guys!” Luffy interrupts, stretching a hand across the booth to swipe a glass of beer and chug it down. “Whatcha talkin’ about?”

“Oh, well –”

Nami cuts in. “We were just talking about Zoro’s singlehood, which is a topic Sanji here seems very interested in.”

“Oh!” Luffy says, crouching down at the side of the table and resting his arms on its edge. “I think he likes you, Sanji. He keeps starin’ at your butt.”

Nami shoots daggers at Luffy with her eyes, utterly horrified. “Luffy!”

Sanji, meanwhile, just laughs in stride. “I’ve noticed. He comes on pretty strong. Well, he seems like my kind of guy to be honest.” This is kind of fun, pretending to blossom an interest in his client while getting to know all kinds of things about him through his childhood friends. Probing further, he asks, “When’s the last time he had a relationship?”

Nami and Luffy exchange uneasy glances, no words spoken but very obviously trying to signal to each other just exactly how to answer. Luffy opens his mouth to respond, but before he can utter a word, a loud yell erupts from behind him, stealing their attention.

“That’s it!”

Zoro scowls as Law points an accusatory finger in his direction, hellfire and brimstone flashing in his steely eyes.

“No human being should have arms that long! You’re clearly cheating the system.” Law gestures to the pins. “Your hand is halfway down the lane when you throw! It’s abhorrent.”

“We’re on the same goddamn team,” Zoro snaps back, baffled. “What’s the f*cking problem?”

“The problem is your score is fifty points higher than it should be!” Law continues his tirade, making no sense at all. He adds fuel to the flames, grabbing Zoro by the shoulder. “You have terrible form! You just throw the ball and rely on brute strength!”

“Easy there, fellas,” Usopp says, squeezing between them in an attempt to defuse the situation. “This is just a friendly game of bowling. Between friends. Friends who don’t want to kill each other, right?”

“Get the hell off of me, you crazy sh*t,” Zoro growls, tearing himself out of Law’s grip.

“Listen, okay? He’s been up for over 24 hours. Actually, knowing him, make it at least 48 hours. He’s probably hallucinating, alright? He doesn’t mean it. He’s delirious,” Usopp explains in a flurry of excuses, his hands gesturing for everyone to calm down.

“And,” Law adds, ignoring his friend’s attempts to placate the situation, “you keep distracting me on purpose! Every time I try to bowl, you’re in my way, flaunting around. Have you no manners, you insufferable, smug asshole?”

“Are you f*cking serious –”

Sanji intervenes at this point. “Whoa, okay, okay. Calm down.” He gives Zoro a look, trying to sway him to back down, expressing to him, “Usopp is right, he needs sleep.” He puts a hand to Law’s back to guide him away. “Maybe you should take a break. Here, sit down.”

“I don’t trust that orangutan,” Law mutters, sending Zoro a hard glare over his shoulder.

“Zoro’s not an orangutan,” Luffy shouts, cackling as he starts pounding on his chest. “He’s a gorilla!” He launches himself at Zoro, grabbing him by the arms and forcing him to mimic the action. “C’mon, Zoro! Gorilla!”

“This is ridiculous,” Nami bemoans, ducking further into the booth and connecting her eyes with Sanji. “These boys drive me nuts. Can’t take them anywhere. Is it always like this with your group?”

“Um?” Sanji ponders, tilting his head. “I’d say there’s less…testosterone in my friend group, for starters.”

“I blame Zoro. The idiot brings out the worst in people,” Nami mutters, frowning momentarily before her eyes widen, and she quickly covers her mouth. “Oh, sh*t. I didn’t mean that.”

“The worst?” Sanji studies Nami as he sits down next to Law, offering the zombie doctor some water from their pitcher. It’s not as if it matters for his situation, plus he likes Nami, so he gives her an out. “I can tell you two have been friends for a while,” he says with a laugh. “You like giving him a hard time.”

“That butthead is like a big brother to me,” Nami admits, flashing Sanji a genuine smile. “I like you, Sanji. You should go for it. Then we can become besties and talk sh*t about him together.”

“I like you too, Nami,” Sanji returns the sentiment. He can’t deny that he thoroughly likes the sound of that, especially the last two incentives. He would so adore talking sh*t about Zoro. “I might just go for it.”

The night doesn’t last much longer, unfortunately, due to Law’s delirious condition; they need to get the man home to a soft bed. The match between teams was already nearly over, and they manage to finish with Dead Guy, Broski, and Hot Tamale ending up victorious. Sanji feels like he and Zoro put on a good show, especially towards the end, and he’s pretty sure their friends are convinced that the set up has proven to be a complete success. Based on the thirsty texts shared between them in secret, it won’t be a challenge to ‘seal the deal’ tonight.

Standing outside the bowling alley, Sanji is enjoying a smoke as the five of them stand in a circle, sharing end-of-the-night conversations, exchanging phone numbers, setting up a group chat, and discussing ideas for another get together. It seems the set up itself wasn’t the only success story tonight; as a collective group, they’ve all managed to hit it off quite well. Law is in the front seat of Sanji’s car, having already agreed to being driven home after he’d delusionally instructed Luffy to pass the scalpel as if they were standing in an operating room.

“Here.” Sanji hands his phone to Zoro, giving him a cheeky grin as leaves his screen open on the man’s contact information. All charades, but it’s a crucial scene in their act. “Put in your info.”

Zoro takes the phone from Sanji’s hand and scowls when he sees his contact name is listed as ‘dickhe*d.’ He uses the moment to fix it, his number now listed under ‘Big Daddy Z.’

“Text me your number,” Zoro says as he returns the device, grinning while he watches Sanji check out the contact name and trying his hardest not to roll his eyes.

As the night winds down, Zoro finds himself rooted in place, not ready to leave Sanji’s side. They’ve flirted, exchanged numbers, and Sanji has spent most of the evening becoming Nami’s new favorite hom*o – everything seems to be going according to plan. But Zoro can’t shake the gnawing feeling in his gut, like there’s a piece of the puzzle still missing. He knows himself well enough to recognize that if he were truly interested, their night wouldn’t end here. And deep down, he doesn’t want it to.

“I know you’ve got that phantom haunting your front seat but,” Zoro remarks, giving Sanji a wink, “come home with me.”

Sanji smiles softly. Alright, for a guy who’d hit on him with a bumper sticker pickup line, this one was actually kind of slick. Good thing Zoro is such a co*cky asshole because his timing could not be more perfect. They need to seal the deal sooner rather than later, and Sanji going home with Zoro in front of their friends could not be a more obvious success. He looks around at the group, seeing three pairs of hopeful eyes staring right back at him – it’s kind of embarrassing, to be honest, being bathed in the spotlight like this. But he plays his part, smiling and brushing his hand on Zoro’s arm. If he’s being truly honest, he’s not playing much of anything at all at the moment; he wants to go home with him, get this sh*t sorted out further, and maybe even make up for last week’s failed session.

“Usopp, can you take Law home?” Sanji asks. “I’m gonna – yeah.”

“Yes! Of course!” Usopp agrees loudly, before calming himself, clearing his throat and lowering his voice. “I mean, that’s no problem. I’ll get him to bed.”

“Usopp,” Nami calls sweetly, fluttering her eyelashes at him. “That horndog was our ticket home. Can we catch a ride with you? Luffy will give you gas money.”

“What? Me?!”

“Sure! I got room! Everyone in the Uber ‘Sopp!”

“You mean my car?” Sanji interrupts.

Usopp visibly deflates. “Yes. Fine. Everyone in Sanji’s Honda Civic.”

Zoro throws a casual wave to his friends, a smirk playing on his lips he catches Luffy giving him two enthusiastic thumbs-up. Sanji lingers behind, handing off his keys and leaning into the passenger window to offer Law a reassuring pat on the shoulder – a gesture Zoro has noticed throughout the evening. The man takes care of his friends. It’s reminiscent of what Luffy had told him about ‘Rice Guy’ back in the diner just a couple weeks before. A detail Zoro files away in his mind, another piece of the puzzle.

Silently, he leads the way to his truck, the tension hanging thick between them. They climb in, the weight of the night pressing down on him as he settles behind the wheel. His eyes remain fixed on the little blue car, watching it idle before finally disappearing into the darkness. A heavy sigh of relief escapes him, followed by a rush of adrenaline coursing through his veins. He meets Sanji’s gaze, sharing a brief, wordless moment in the dim light, until the mounting pressure breaks.

“Thank f*ck that’s over.”

“Ditto.” Sanji runs a hand through his hair, all tension momentarily leaving his body. “What the hell are the odds that this would even happen?”

Zoro can only shrug, completely at a loss. “Don’t have a clue.”

Sighing deeply, Sanji catches Zoro’s eyes. “Well, f*ck. Should we head back to your place?”

“Guess so,” Zoro replies, starting up the engine with a quiet roar. “Not like you can go back to yours.”

“Exactly. We gotta make this look right,” Sanji says as Zoro pulls the truck out of the parking spot. “sh*t. I sound like we just f*cking killed somebody.”

“I almost killed your buddy,” Zoro offers, the memory of the chaotic encounter flashing through his mind. “That count?”

“You were about to knock his lights out,” Sanji reflects back with a laugh. He curses under his breath as Zoro aggressively peels out of the parking lot like a f*cking psychopath.

“I’m guessin’ that weirdo’s the one who keeps ignoring Luffy’s texts.”

“Law? Yeah. He’s, um, testy,” Sanji attempts to describe the specimen known as Law Trafalgar. His theory on Law’s texts – or lack thereof – is that his unusual friend is suffering from analysis paralysis on the subject of their designated Uber Cyclist, meaning more simply: “I think he likes Luffy, actually.”

“Who doesn’t?” Zoro says bluntly. It’s a fact of life. Everyone who meets Luffy likes him – it’s been that way for the twenty-odd years they’ve known each other.

“I’m not sure how I feel about him,” Sanji says mischievously. “He lied to me. He promised to set me up with a ‘rock solid dude’ who’s super cool, strong, dependable, and ‘kinda scary.’”

“Hey, I’m strong,” Zoro protests.

Sanji rolls his eyes with a scoff. Of course that’s the one thing this musclehead defends about himself. “He also said he thinks you’re lonely. Poor guy.” He reaches over and gives the man’s shoulder a little shake.

Zoro frowns, shrugging out of Sanji’s hold, his eyes locked on the road ahead. Lonely. Luffy and Nami are always bitching about all the time he spends at work, all the time he’s holed up in the apartment on his own. Joke’s on them, though. Being lonely ain’t the same as being alone.

“Yeah, well,” Zoro says, recalling the tidbits his friend shared about Sanji, “all he said about you was that you cook decent rice.”

“He pitched me to you with his stomach?” Sanji asks incredulously. There’s a beat. “Did it work?”

“I mean, I’m always down for a good lay and a free meal.” Zoro gives Sanji a grin. “You should know that by now.”

“All too well,” Sanji acknowledges with a small, slightly triumphant hum. He watches streetlights and illuminated buildings sail past as they merge onto the highway. “So, what’s up with all that? Were you looking to be set up? Looking for a relationship, hot stuff?”

“f*ck no,” Zoro sneers. “They do this to me all the damn time. It’s like their life mission or some sh*t.” He pauses for a second, then corrects himself, “Well, Nami does. Not so much Luffy.”

“I see. So they’re worried about you,” Sanji comments. He hesitates before cutting straight to the core, asking, “You ever just tell them you’re not built for serious relationships?”

“‘Course I have,” Zoro answers quietly, a familiar sense of shame churning in his gut. He’s lost count of how many times he’s told his friends exactly that. Eager to shift the focus, he poses a question of his own, “What ‘bout you? Were you lookin’?”

“Not really, no. I’m like you that way – not built for it,” Sanji answers truthfully. “I was just curious. All this talk, I wanted to see what all the fuss was about. When I saw your mug I thought I was having a goddamn stroke.”

“It would’ve been easier to just tell ‘em we already know each other,” Zoro points out, still not really understanding what all the fuss is about. As if coincidences don’t happen. “Don’t know why you got your panties in a wad.”

“Because , idiot. I’m not about to f*cking broadcast to the world what I do. You’re okay with it because you got caught, the secret’s out, but I don’t want my friends knowing about this sh*t.”

“Calm down, for f*ck’s sakes,” Zoro grumbles, relieved they’re almost home, hoping this conversation is nearly over. He hates rehashing things. “We are whatever we are now, so quit worrying your pretty little head about it, alright?”

Sanji’s lips thin as he continues to worry. “This whole situation is just so weird. Maybe our friends won’t hang out together as much as we think and we can put it all behind us. If not, we’ll be faking it for a long ass time. I might even have to fake-breakup with you.”

Zoro snorts as he pulls the truck into his designated spot. “Yeah, right. I’ll be the one dumping you.”

“f*ck you, I’m dumping you for sure. I said it first.”

“Don’t get your hopes up,” Zoro says as they hop out of the truck, mind wandering back to Sanji’s comment about their friends not hanging out. “Ol’ Luf’s like a tick. Once he’s attached, there’s no shakin’ him.”

“That is a nasty image. Why?” Sanji says with a shudder, following Zoro to his apartment’s side door entrance. An idea comes to mind. “Hey, what if we sabotage our friends from wanting to hang out? Law kinda did that already…”

Zoro halts as he’s opening the door, twisting around to send Sanji a stern glare. “I’m not doing that, and neither are you. Our business is one thing. Don’t you dare f*ck with them.”

“Okay, okay. I get it. You’re right.” Sanji raises his hands defensively, and Zoro’s eyes scrutinize him a moment longer before he moves on inside. As Sanji has gotten to know Zoro along the way in this journey, he’s realized that the man has an intriguing moral code, one which reveals itself piece by piece. “You know, you can be ‘kinda scary.’ And it can be ‘kinda hot.’”

“That so?”

“Don’t make me say it again.”

“Y’know,” Zoro says as they climb the stairs, reminded of their earlier teasing from the bowling alley, “you seemed to want it earlier, whispering about my tattoos and dick right there around your friends.”

“Is that all you picked up on? But I was ordering you around all night. You must be seething,” Sanji goads, knowing exactly which buttons he’s been pushing, even inadvertently at times, over the course of the night. This makes Zoro halt in front of the door to his apartment, and Sanji takes the opportunity to cut in front of him, stroking his fingertips over the middle of his chest and tilting his head as he peers into him. “What does it matter what a whor* wants? What do you need? To punish me?”

Zoro’s skin prickles with heat beneath the unexpected touch, an entire night’s worth of pent-up frustration erupting from deep within him and setting his body ablaze. With a swift motion, he snatches Sanji’s wrist in a fierce hold, fragile bones threatened beneath his fingertips. He watches as pain melts to pleasure, evident in the dark irises of the other man’s eyes. This is what he needs. But he’s not the only one.

“Careful what you ask for,” Zoro warns, his voice low and husky, looming forward so his breath tickles Sanji’s ear. His teeth graze sensitive skin as he speaks. “Won’t take much for me to make you crumble.”

“What the f*ck do I care if I do?”

Sanji cranes his neck in anticipation, an open invitation for Zoro to begin tearing him to shreds. A deafening chaos builds from the darkest corners of his mind, comfortably taking over the fatigued whirring of his anxieties. There’s a familiar chill in the air; he can feel the temperature plummet as they slip into blissful darkness together. He feels the shift more than the crush of being body-slammed against the door, more than air being denied from his screaming lungs, even more still than the way the abuse turns him on so uncontrollably.

The pair of them, two sides of the same rusted up coin, were built only for this all-consuming fire.

Chapter 6

Chapter Text

6.

In the sanctuary of The Belfry’s back room on a quiet Tuesday night, Zoro finds a rare moment of peace. Sweat trickles down his back, his muscles ache from the day’s work, but there’s a certain satisfaction in the grind.

Earlier, he made the deliberate decision to tackle the bar’s manual labor alone. Not just to tick off Mihawk’s checklist, but also as a personal challenge. A silent affirmation of his own capabilities and worth, each completed task bringing a wave of contentment. No need for grand gestures or flashy displays – a job well done is enough for him.

But sometimes, it isn’t. Sometimes, he needs to prove to himself he’s earning his keep.

He’s the bedrock of The Belfry, the steady anchor upon which the bar stands. A solid foundation, supporting not only the bricks and mortar but also the people who gather within its walls. Zoro Roronoa, the unwavering force behind the scenes, shouldering the weight of it all.

Or at least, he tries to.

Digging into the bottom drawer of the tiny desk crammed in the back, Zoro snags a fresh t-shirt. Normally, he wouldn’t give a damn, but he knows exactly who’s on staff tonight and he’d rather avoid the whining. He yanks off his damp shirt and is halfway into the new one when he hears a light gasp and a soft voice calling his name.

“Zoro? Um, you have a guest.”

Poking his head through the neckhole, Zoro finds himself face-to-face with his youngest employee, Vivi. His newest too, still learning the ropes and how to approach him. “Who is it?” he asks, picking up his clipboard again and busying himself with double-checking everything Mihawk had demanded to be done.

“Oh,” Vivi says, hiding her mouth behind her hand as she giggles, “I’m not supposed to say.”

This piques his interest, curiosity stirring about who this mystery person might be. He hates to admit it, but his thoughts immediately gravitate towards a certain blond bastard. It’d be just like Sanji to demand his presence while refusing to reveal who he is.

With a nod, Zoro follows Vivi back out to the dimly lit bar, his eyes scanning the room as soon as he’s through the door. It doesn’t take long for him to spot what he’s looking for: a devilish smirk, bright, mischievous eyes, and a head full of stupid red hair. He should turn right back around, but it’s too late; she’s spotted him and makes sure he knows it with a condescending call.

“Oh, bartender! Over here!”

Zoro stalks over to where Nami’s seated in her normal stool at the edge of the bar, sending her a glare as he approaches, unamused by her little games. “Got my own employees doin’ your dirty work now, huh?”

“Of course I do,” Nami replies with a cheeky grin, fingers swiping at the condensation of her beer. “She’s pretty too. Why are you holding out on me?”

“‘Cause I don’t wanna see your dumb face any more than I already have to.”

Nami rolls her eyes, unfazed. “My face is beautiful. The only dumb mug I see around here is yours.”

“f*ck off.”

“Oh, Zoro. You should know by now that doesn’t work on me,” Nami says with a click of her tongue. “It hasn’t since we were like fifteen.”

“Don’t matter. I’m still gonna say it.” Zoro’s already thinking about his next move now that he’s out here behind the bar. He inches away towards the garnish center, much preferring to focus on cutting limes than whatever the hell Nami’s got in store for him.

“It’s cute that you think you’re going to get off that easily.”

“Just tell me why the hell you’re here,” Zoro says with a resigned sigh. He’s tired of her cryptic bullsh*t – always dropping hints and expecting him to read between the lines. “I ain’t stupid. I can tell you’re lookin’ for more than a drink.”

“You’re right. I’ve got a craving for some hot tea and I know yours is sizzling,” Nami says, resting her chin in her palm. “Spill.”

Zoro simply stares, dumbfounded. “Huh?”

“Oh my god, Zoro. You moron. I’m here about you and Sanji! How was Sunday night? What happened? Tell me everything.”

Goddamnit. He should have known. Of course Nami came to bug him about Sunday night. Now that he thinks about it, she’s the whole reason why his phone is turned off and sitting on his kitchen counter upstairs. She wouldn’t stop texting him all day yesterday with these types of questions, vying for details. Too nosy for her own damn good.

“I ain’t tellin’ you sh*t,” Zoro challenges, arms crossed over his chest in defiance. The less she knows, the better – that’s his stance in all things related to Nami Rudd.

She doesn’t take too kindly to that. In an instant, her soft features harden, an ominous aura surrounding the small space they occupy. Zoro holds his ground, ready for whatever she might throw his way. Insults, manipulation tactics, cheap shots – he’s prepared for the worst.

“Oh, Perona.”

f*ck. Anything but that.

“No!” Zoro lunges across the bar, slapping his palm over Nami’s mouth, praying the pink-haired demon didn’t hear her summons. But it’s all in vain. The click-clack of high-heeled platform boots tells him he’s too late.

“Hey! What’s going on here?” Perona’s voice cuts through the tension, sharp and grating. “Nami, what’s that asshole doing to you?! Get off of her!”

Zoro allows his arm to be tugged away without a fight, sharp nails digging into his bicep with vengeance as Perona drags him back over the bar. He grimaces, mentally bracing himself. Perona’s got a knack for making a scene, and she’s just getting started.

“Seriously! What’s your problem?” she demands, eyes narrowed into slits. “Always so rough and grumpy. Can’t you just act like a normal human being for once?”

“You’re one to talk,” Zoro mutters under his breath, earning himself a smack to the shoulder

Perona huffs. “Don’t deflect. I want answers! What’s going on?”

Nami, enjoying the spectacle, smirks behind her now-free mouth. “I was just trying to get some info out of him. You know how he is, all secretive and brooding.”

“I’m not brooding,” Zoro counters, but it’s a lost cause. Perona’s already siding with Nami, like she always does. These bitches. He swears they’ve got some sort of pact against him.

“You are too brooding,” Perona retorts, rolling her eyes. “And not in a hot way. What are you hiding this time?”

Zoro grits his teeth. “None of your business.”

“But it is our business,” Nami chimes in. She reaches across the counter, gripping Perona by the forearm and giving her a wide smile. “Our baby boy here took a guy home the other night. A really nice, attractive, interesting, normal guy.” Her eyes practically shine. “I think they like each other.”

“What! Oh my god!” Perona squeals, snatching Nami’s hands into her own and jumping up and down. “Zoro has a love life? Who’s the guy? You’ve met him?”

“I’m not doin’ this,'' Zoro growls, voice dripping with contempt as he turns towards the bridge, intent on escaping their incessant prying. One clucking hen is bad enough, but two? Unbearable. There ain’t no way in hell he’s going to sit here and be questioned and berated. Not by a couple of air-headed bimbos, with nothing better to do than –

“Wimp.”

The word hits him like a slap to the face, halting him in his tracks. His shoulders rise involuntarily, a surge of anger coursing through him at the insult. Whipping around, he fixes Nami with a deadly scowl, his eyes catching her defiant gaze.

“What’d you say?”

“I said, you’re a wimp,” Nami repeats. “Scared of a couple girls asking you some questions. Good lord. Go on, run upstairs and hide away from little ol’ us.”

Zoro’s fists clench at his sides, his patience wearing thin as he squares off against the women. “I ain’t scared,” he retorts. “You’re just f*cking annoying.”

“ You’re annoying,” Perona interjects, moving to pour Nami another beer. “Go home, blockhead. I bet that guy thought you had a small dick and lost your number anyway.”

“Shut the hell up. My dick’s huge and I had him beggin’ for it all night, alright?”

“That’s gross, Zoro,” Nami says as she takes a sip of her lager, giving Perona an appreciative nod before slamming her first on the bar top. “Now, tell us: do you like him or not?”

Mind racing for an answer, a realization dawns on Zoro like a bolt of lightning. If he wants to maintain the facade, he’ll have to play the game. Denying their claims and deflecting their questions won’t cut it. He needs to plant the seeds of their supposed connection.

“Fine,” he says, running a hand over the back of his neck. “Maybe.”

Nami’s eyebrows shoot up as she exchanges a quick glance with Perona. “What do you mean ‘maybe’? Like, you might actually like him?”

“We’ll see,” Zoro says, trying to sound as casual as possible. It’s technically the truth. “Might see him again this week. Who knows.”

“Oh my god !” Perona shrieks, throwing herself against Zoro in a tight hug. “I’m so excited for you! This is amazing! Who would have thought, Mr. Grumpy Bear’s finally found someone he likes!”

Zoro scowls, arms remaining limp at his side as she hugs him. Watching Nami study him over Perona’s head, he can’t help but feel a sense of unease. This is going to be a long, complicated dance, but if it means protecting Sanji’s secret and keeping their business to themselves, he’ll do whatever it takes. Can’t really turn back now. Their fate was sealed the moment they left the bowling alley together.

“I’m so happy for you,” Nami says after a beat, her smile genuine. “He seems like a really good guy. I’m glad you’re giving it a chance.”

“What’s his name?” Perona asks as she finally releases her hold on him.

There’s a strange sensation in his chest – a fluttering he can’t quite place, like a caged bird trying to break free. It’s unfamiliar. Unsettling. Zoro furrows his brow, unable to pinpoint its origin. Is it the stress of the situation? The weight of his deception? Maybe. It feels like a punishment – like the sting of an old scar or the haze of exhaustion after pulling two all-nighters in a row. He licks his lips, trying to shake off the bizarre feeling and ground himself in the present moment.

“His name’s Sanji.”

When the buzzer rings, Sanji springs onto his feet from the couch where he’s been eagerly awaiting Zoro’s arrival and buzzes him in. He waits by the door, bathing in exhilarating anxiety. f*ck if he isn’t a little unusually desperate for this. He isn’t sure why, but it feels like a strange warping of time where their last f*ck on Sunday night could easily have happened a lifetime ago. He’s ready to take all that Zoro has to give as if he’s been starved for it.

He hears fast footsteps down the hall, picking up speed as they grow closer. Sanji opens the door before he hears even one knock, seeing Zoro with his fist in the air. Sanji gives him a once-over – he’s dressed haphazardly in shorts and a wrinkled t-shirt, clearly having wasted no time leaving his place. There’s that tantalizing drop in air pressure as they lock eyes; there’s a cool, foreboding chill in the morning light, and Sanji can almost hear thunder rumbling in the distance, feeling rapturously in danger of a vicious storm.

Zoro can’t close the space between them quick enough. In an instant, he’s in the room, the front door kicked shut behind him. His hands fly to the sides of Sanji’s face, smashing their lips together in a smoldering kiss, quenching a violent thirst. He’s been rock hard since Belmont, his body aching the entire drive over to take what’s rightfully his. To squeeze it tight. To rip it apart. The incessant texting and the picture that was sent his way this morning are a telling sign that he’s not the only one captured by a burning desire. It riles him up to no f*cking end to know that Sanji needs to be owned just as fiercely as Zoro needs to own him.

Deft fingers on his back make him jerk away, harsh stare locking with Sanji’s lust-filled eyes. An overwhelming need to appease the hunger burns deep in his chest, taking over his senses and evoking the beast within him.

“Stop,” Zoro commands in a low growl, shooting a threatening glare as he seizes pale, thin arms. “Don’t touch.”

“Oh? Why not? I –”

“Shut the f*ck up,” Zoro snarls. “Room. Now.”

Sanji’s heartbeat thrums against his chest as he points out the first door to the left just outside of the foyer. He senses the outburst before it strikes him, gruff hands shoving him backwards with a force completely outside his control. He stumbles inside, and the door to his room is closed shut with a resounding slam. He feels trapped and small, and he is all too aroused by the apprehension and fear of what comes next. Blinds closed, curtains drawn, the two of them are doused in darkness, and Zoro’s menacing silhouette overtakes him, striking him like a bolt of lightning.

Arm jutting out, Zoro wraps his victim around the neck and yanks him into a tight squeeze. A wheezing gasp escapes Sanji’s lips as he struggles for breath, feet kicking at the sudden assault. They tumble onto the bed, Zoro maintaining his hold, savoring the delicious way Sanji’s body writhes against him, firing him up even more. Fingers claw at his forearm, tearing at his skin, desperate for air. Suffocating, by his hand.

“Stop moving.”

Zoro’s co*ck throbs at the way Sanji’s body goes limp, obedient. Submissive, to his own detriment. He smirks, finally allowing Sanji to breathe as power surges through his veins. But it’s not enough. He rips at the fabric separating him from what he craves, tearing until Sanji’s clothes are a heap on the floor, exposing soft, delicate flesh. Pinning Sanji’s wrists, Zoro stretches the span of his partner’s limber body and sinks his teeth into familiar territory: a special spot where shoulder meets neck. His own private brand, staking claim to what’s his.

Sanji’s head flings back into the bed and holds back a gasp as white fire scorches across the crook of his neck. Today it’s hotter than ever and longer-lasting; there is no quick reprieve like usual. That spot, always that spot, as if he never wants Sanji to walk around unmarked. The thought gets him so hot. He doesn’t know what is causing this reckless explosion, like gasoline being poured on already volatile flames, but he doesn’t care . It thrills him and gets him disgustingly hard; a libido fuelled by poison. Zoro’s teeth dig deeper, his jaw clenches tighter around his captured flesh, and like paralyzed prey accepting his fate, he lets slip an uncontrollable cry of pain.

The sudden sound shatters the moment like glass. Zoro releases his clutch and pulls away, his glare piercing as he meets Sanji’s gaze.

“Shut up.”

A dark rumble stirs deep within Zoro, like a caged demon clawing its way to the surface. It thrashes and roars, demanding release, a violent force that needs to erupt. His entire being vibrates with the intensity of it, his control slipping, overtaken by a primal desire. The need to dominate, to own, to consume is all-consuming, driving his every movement.

With a swift, forceful motion, he flips Sanji onto his knees, pushing his face into the mattress. A tantalizing target, splayed out before him. A lamb ready for slaughter. He frees his co*ck from his shorts and lines it against Sanji’s waiting entrance, a surge of adrenaline pumping when he feels the give of an already prepped hole. He spits into his palm, haphazardly slicking himself, and plunges without warning.

Sanji writhes, biting back his whines and moans as Zoro settles into a punishing pace, his thick co*ck burying inside him fully with every thrust. Unpermitted and unable to adjust his body to a more forgiving angle, Sanji is like a mere speck in the path of the man’s wrath, forced to helplessly and silently weather his storm. It’s chaotic, it’s volatile, it’s cruel – it’s so f*cking hot it makes his head spin in euphoric circles, spiralling and cascading out of control. He loves it. Unabashedly in the darkest corners of his mind, he f*cking loves it when Zoro treats him like a disposable whor*; useful only as a vessel for his rage, as someone to be controlled. Without fail, as always, it sends Sanji hurdling to his most primal, natural state.

A chorus of moans fills the room, igniting a fire of irritation beneath Zoro’s skin. His grip tightens, fingers digging into skin as if trying to strangle the sound itself. Each moan feels like a challenge. Blatant disobedience.

“I said shut the f*ck up,” he commands, voice strained with frustration. But Sanji doesn’t listen – the melody getting louder with every sharp snap of his hips. It grates Zoro’s nerves, each sound burrowing deeper and deeper, until finally he cracks.

He rips the shirt from his own back, instinct taking over. He lunges forward, shoving the fabric between Sanji’s teeth with force, gagging him and finally silencing the relentless noise that threatens to unravel him.

Sanji’s tongue pressed up against Zoro’s balled up shirt as the man viciously f*cks him. His eyes water as the only airflow he can depend on is limited to his nose. He is brought to the next plane of euphoria when his arms are quickly forced behind his back and brought together, pinned against his spine. The onslaught doesn’t stop; it’s like his every move and his every breath are not his own. Zoro allows him no autonomy, no control as his thrusts become more frenzied and intense, and Sanji has no choice but to be consumed by it.

It’s too much for him. Zoro’s brutality and desperation as he f*cks him. How much the man must have needed to use him this way; he can tell he’s close, too, the way his breaths have become ragged and husky. Sanji shudders, his moans muffled as he reaches his limit. He comes – hard and fast, and Zoro’s climax is moments behind. He hears a groan as Zoro’s hips snap powerfully into him and stay flush against his ass, riding out his org*sm inside of him.

Zoro fades back into himself, flopped across a soft bed in an unfamiliar room, dim and warm. The scent of sweat and sex still hangs heavy in the air, mingling with the unmistakable blend of fabric softener and Sanji’s shampoo. His fingers twitch, brushing against skin. Cracking one eye open, he glances to his side and meets Sanji’s sleepy blue gaze. Silence envelops them, thick and palpable, as if time itself has paused to savor the scene. It’s only when the weight becomes unbearable that Zoro closes his eyes again, and grins.

“Damn.”

Sprawled in bed, Sanji pulls out Zoro’s shirt, licking his lips and breathing in deeply. “That was good. Just want I needed,” he murmurs, absolutely glowing. He takes in Zoro’s self-satisfied face, reaching over to his nightstand to toss a towel over it. “So you arrived in a hurry after I sent that pic. What were you up to over there?”

Zoro swipes at the material flung over his face, using it to clean himself off as he chuckles. “Was ‘bout to jerk off.”

Somehow the image of Zoro jerking off to random twinks on the internet doesn’t sit well with Sanji. He’d rather be the thing that satisfies the man at all times – he doesn’t care if it’s greedy. “What the f*ck kind of p*rn do you watch, anyway?” he questions, forcing himself out of bed to pull open the curtains and blinds. “A freak like you probably frequents some very unsavory corners of the internet.”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Zoro teases, hauling himself up into a sitting position and scowling when his dirty t-shirt hits him in the face. “Hey! Quit it, bastard.”

“It tasted nasty,” Sanji comments with ire as he picks it back up again and throws it into his bedroom hamper. “I’ll wash it.”

“Sendin’ me home half naked?”

Sanji scratches his head as he picks up his clothes. “Well, you can stay if you like. I’m making Saturday brunch. My friends should be home soon with supplies. Kind of a rite of passage for us. Mimosas, bloody marys, eggs and bacon, the works.” He shrugs, his eyes connecting with Zoro’s steely stare. “Up to you. Would help with the whole,” he pauses, waving his hand around as his gears turn for the correct word on their predicament, “thing.”

Zoro ponders the offer as he tugs on his shorts. Food, drinks, and the opportunity to secure more sex like that in his future. Sounds like a win all around. He nods. “You got celery for them bloody marys?”

“Of course,” Sanji says, oddly defensive. “How do you take them? Twenty celery sticks and a splash of vodka and tomato juice?”

“Twenty-one.”

“You f*cking weirdo,” Sanji comments, the corner of his lip pulling up into the hint of a smile. “By the way, we can do incalls like this now that my roommate thinks we’re dating.”

“Yeah?” Zoro says, interest piqued. “You like me f*cking you in your place?”

“It’s way more comfortable being f*cked on a Tempur-Pedic than that boulder you call a mattress.”

“Go to hell.”

Sanji gives him the finger. “Go shower. I’m gonna throw in a load of laundry and then I’ll join you.”

One blazing hot shower later, Zoro emerges from the bathroom feeling scorched, but at least he’s squeaky clean. While Sanji fusses over getting dressed, he takes the chance to peer around the apartment. It’s his first time in Sanji’s territory and he can’t help but be curious about what the man considers home.

As he surveys the living space, two words immediately come to mind: open and exposed. Lofted ceilings, wooden beams, brick, natural light. It’s clean, of course, but not sterile, radiating a cozy warmth that catches him off guard. Despite barely knowing each other, Zoro can’t deny the place fits Sanji to a tee. He’s practically sewn into the walls.

“Want some water?” Sanji offers, sauntering into the kitchen in jeans and a sweatshirt. He admits it’s kind of weird seeing Zoro standing in his apartment. He doesn’t know what else to do but make his unusual guest more comfortable.

“Sure,” Zoro accepts, settling into one of the stools at the island separating the kitchen from the living room. He watches intently as Sanji swiftly pours him a glass, smirking when it’s placed in front of him. “Guess your buddy will get to see my other tattoos after all,” he says, nodding to his shirtless torso. “Unless my monkey arms scare him away.”

“Be good. No horsing around in this apartment.” Sanji points at him accusingly before rolling up his sleeves and grabbing an apron. “Get enough of that from Luffy when he hangs out,” he murmurs exasperatedly as he ties thin strings behind his back.

“Lookin’ good, Martha Stewart,” Zoro quips as he takes a swallow from his glass, eyeing Sanji up and down. “Remind me to f*ck you in that one day.”

“Why does it not shock me that you’re into the housewife fantasy,” Sanji remarks, his brow perked before he opens the fridge to pull out a plethora of ingredients. “Luckily for you, I’m just the right guy for the job.”

“sh*t, hold on.”

Sanji’s comment cuts through the moment as Zoro’s abruptly reminded of the nature of their business. He rummages in his pocket, eventually finding what he needs, and tosses a crumpled hundred dollar bill onto the counter. “There.”

“Gee, thanks.” Sanji scrutinizes the mangled bill before sighing, picking it up, and sticking it into his pocket. “I wouldn’t give that to a homeless person, but money is money –”

It’s then that voices just outside the door reach their ears, followed by the latch turning, and then the two of them are dropped midway into a debate between Usopp and Law as the newcomers enter into the foyer.

“It depends on what type of zombies, right? If it’s like Shaun of the Dead, then yeah! I’m totally surviving the apocalypse. But if it’s 28 Days Later, then no way, dude. We’re all dead.”

“I’m amused that you believe you’d survive any form of zombies, to be honest.”

“Don’t do me like that, man. I got mad skills. I’ll go get a gun and just pew, pew, pew –”

“Please. That sounds like something out of Star Wars. Are lightsabers in your fantasy now too?”

“Oh, sh*t. Imagine that! Lightsabers versus zombies. That’d make a sick ass video game. I know a guy who works for Sony, maybe we should pitch –”

Usopp halts in his tracks, mouth hanging open in shock as he finally notices the stranger seated in his kitchen. Zoro raises an eyebrow in return, both entertained and confused by the dramatic reaction, clearly becoming a spectacle on display. Law’s response isn’t much better – steely eyes widening as he looms over Usopp’s shoulder, equally stunned.

A few seconds of awkward silence pass before Zoro offers them clemency, shifting his gaze to give Sanji a bewildered look.

“I, um,” Sanji begins explaining to his friends as he gestures to Zoro, “invited him to brunch.”

Grocery bags strapped to his arms, Usopp places a cantaloupe on the counter as he raises his hand to wave. “Hey there! Welcome to our humble abode – oh, hang on, cantaloupe! Get back here!”

Zoro reaches forward, catching the melon in his palm as it rolls off the counter, earning an astonished squawk from the other man.

“Whoa! You can just palm a cantaloupe like that?!”

“You saw him bowl,” Law says, finally finding his voice as he moves past his friend to place a bag of groceries on the counter. “It shouldn’t be too surprising.”

“Still pissy ‘bout that?” Zoro asks, grinning as he rolls the fruit between his palms, memories of his last interaction with Law running through his mind.

“Perhaps.”

“Anyone want a mimosa or bloody mary?”

“Yes.”

“Yeah.”

“Yes, please!”

Sanji looks at all three of their expectant faces with incredulity. “Which one, dumbasses?”

“Oh, right, duh – I’ll have a mimosa!”

Law frowns, perturbed. “Champagne always gives me indigestion.”

“Bloody mary,” Zoro says. “Make it a double.”

“Okay,” Sanji says, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You’re all cramping my style. Go make friends over there while you wait for your drinks.” He shoos them all to the living area.

Zoro gives Sanji one last, lingering look before sighing and following the other two towards the large sectional. Traitor. He plops down at one end, watching as Law settles at the other and, after a momentary panic, Usopp completes their small circle by sitting on the floor. The three men quietly blink at each other, apparently each one unsure of where to take this conversation now that the glue to their group has retreated into the kitchen. Finally, Usopp raises his hand, breaking the silence.

“Not sure if this is a stupid question but… why are you shirtless?”

Zoro glances down to his bare chest, his t-shirt still in the wash. He shrugs. “It got stained.”

Law’s mouth curls into a knowing smirk. “I can only imagine.”

“I’m just gonna pretend I didn’t hear that,” Usopp says, covering his ears with his hands. He glances at Zoro. “You wanna borrow one of mine? I mean, not that I mind you being shirtless or anything but – yeah.”

“Seriously?” Zoro deadpans. “Probably haven’t worn your size since I was twelve.”

“Hey, man! Don’t be hatin’! I got guns! Feast your eyes on these suckers!” Usopp exclaims, aggressively flexing his arms. His grin falters when Zoro flexes in response. “You didn’t have to kill my vibe, bro. Jeez.”

“Gotta hit the gym more, bud.”

Sanji smirks at Usopp’s antics while putting the finishing touches on the drinks’ garnishes; he seems more excitable around Zoro, and Sanji had noticed this back at the bowling alley too. Nami was right – the increase in testosterone causing an increase in dumbassery is Zoro’s fault. Contagious bastard.

“Law! Come to the gym with me. We’ll get ripped!”

“No.”

Sanji laughs mockingly while walking over, drinks in hand. “Don’t mind me. Picturing that just made me laugh.”

“What! You can’t imagine me pumping iron at the gym?” Usopp questions, offended. “Why not? Is it because we’ve been marathoning ‘Love Is Blind’ together?”

“What the hell is ‘Love is Blind?’” Zoro cuts in, completely confused. He takes a sip of the bloody mary Sanji crafted for him, impressed both by the taste and the three pieces of celery garnishing his glass.

“Utter brain rot,” Law replies dismissively. “I have a more important question: how did you get that scar across your chest? It’s extraordinary.”

Zoro’s honestly surprised it took this long for someone to ask. Usually one look has people rattling off all kinds of questions, concerned by what could cause such a monument across his torso. This is the first time someone’s called it ‘extraordinary’ though. Or stared at it with such morbid fascination.

“Accident,” Zoro says offhandedly, fishing a piece of celery out of his drink and chomping down hard. Law’s curious gaze doesn’t waver, so he adds, “Got run over by a tractor.”

Sanji has to bite back the shocked ‘what’ from his mouth. How does someone survive something like that? Zoro must have nearly been killed. Morbid images painting a variety of scenarios play out in his mind; painful and horrific experiences of every possible kind. He knows next to nothing, yet it’s overwhelming – the images have Sanji shrinking away back to the haven of his kitchen to continue listening from afar.

“Run over by a tractor?” Law echoes, eyebrows raised. “I’m an ER doctor – I deal with trauma daily. That scar doesn’t seem typical for that type of injury.”

“Was a little more than that,” Zoro says, not really interested in sharing the nitty-gritty. “Tractor jammed, f*cked up the hay baler. Happened fast.”

Sanji rolls up his sleeves, guilt stirring in his stomach. Early on, he had stared at the scar many times in their showers together, or during sex, wondering about its story, but never feeling like it was his place to ask about it given the nature of their connection. No strings, just a transaction. Then money got involved, and it got to a point where time kept passing and he’d stopped thinking about asking. He’d become desensitized to it, and before he knew it the scar had turned into an afterthought; simply a part of Zoro’s body that he found hot, yet needed no explanation.

It’s rather sobering to Sanji now to learn a bit about how it happened – like a question answered long after he’d forgotten there was a time he had wanted to ask. As if it’d slipped his mind to be curious about Zoro as a person. It doesn’t sit right with Sanji now, learning about it vicariously through his friend, second-hand, when he knows he should have asked him directly, human to human.

“May I?” Law asks, leaning across the couch for a closer look when Zoro shrugs. He hums, frowning. “You did not have a proper trauma surgeon. I would have never allowed this much scar tissue to form.”

“Lived in bumf*ck nowhere. Took hours to get to the hospital.”

“Hours ? That’s not possible with the amount of blood that –”

“Okay, lighten up, Doc,” Usopp interjects, glancing between the two men. “I’m sure the last thing Zoro wants to think about is bleeding out while he’s drinking a bloody mary. Right, man?”

Zoro nods, glad for the out. It’s not the blood that bothers him, it's the way Law’s eyes dissect him like a puzzle. He doesn’t want this particular event analyzed.

“How ‘bout that t-shirt?” Zoro asks, looking at Usopp. “Maybe it’ll make him stop eyef*cking me.”

“I beg your pardon,” Law balks.

“Sure thing. One extra-large tee coming right up!” Usopp dashes out of the room, returning a few minutes later with a bright green t-shirt, and tosses it Zoro’s way. “They handed these out at my school last year. Snagged a few extras because, well, who doesn’t like free stuff?”

“School?” Zoro asks, studying the emblem printed across the front of the shirt before tugging it over his head.

Usopp opens his mouth to answer, but is cut off by another one of Law’s interruptions. “He’s a teacher. Which reminds me, I have another pressing question. Did that imbecile you call a best friend ever graduate high school?”

Zoro snorts, pulling out another stalk of celery to chew on. “Barely.”

Law hits his fist in his palm. “I knew it.”

Usopp clears his throat, trying to join the conversation. “Well, I –”

“Did he grow up on a farm as well?” Law asks, leaning forward, clearly hanging on Zoro’s every word. “He mentioned being from the boonies.”

“Nah, not really,” Zoro explains, intrigued by Law’s interest in Luffy. “Country boy, sure, but feral. He’d never make it on a farm.”

“I can absolutely tell.”

“Hey, so, when Sanji and I –”

“I saw a photo of you once where you had the most vile green hair,” Law continues, causing Usopp to throw his hands up in aggravation. “Was that Luffy’s doing? I would not be surprised.”

Sanji perks up at this with a sh*teating grin. “Green hair? What?”

“Shut up in there.” Zoro narrows his eyes. “How’d you see that? That was years ago.”

“Oh,” Law says, slightly taken aback. “It was on his Facebook.”

“He’s postin’ that sh*t again?” Zoro digs into his pocket for his phone, fully prepared to give Luffy grief for letting those pictures resurface.

“Well, no. They were older pictures,” Law says, crossing one leg over the other and suddenly becoming very interested in stirring his drink.

“Um, Law,” Usopp murmurs under his breath. “Do a deep-dive on the guy, much?”

“So that’s why you’re not getting any shuteye,” Sanji chimes in. “Creep.”

“I plead the fifth.”

Sanji rolls his eyes. “God bless America.”

Twenty minutes later, Sanji’s cooking marathon is complete. The wind in his sails, he unties his apron and unfurls his sleeves. Brunch is served. The table is teeming with his masterpiece of the day; a smorgasbord of appetizing items prepared from scratch. There’s a fresh fruit salad, a mixed greens salad, one fluffy to perfection frittata, some mouthwatering bacon and sausages, slices of pecan banana bread, and still-steaming ham and cheese biscuits with homemade gravy. The latter is clearly a hospitable gesture geared for their new guest, and Sanji hopes the man appreciates it.

“Well, go on. Sit, fill your plates,” Sanji indicates, watching as the three men flock to the table like starved pigs at the trough. “Anyone for another round of drinks?”

“I’ll have a spicy bloody mary with horseradish this time!” Usopp says, taking a seat with eyes as wide as saucers on the feast before him.

“I’ll just grab my Arizona out of the fridge,” Law says, floating past the table towards the kitchen.

Zoro glances up from the massive spread laid out on the table, catching Sanji’s blue stare. “Vodka OJ?”

“Good pick. Think I might have one of those too,” Sanji comments idly as he heads back to the kitchen. By the time he’s made everyone’s drinks and is settling down at the table, the other three are already several bites into their meals.

“So, uh. When did you invite Zoro to Saturday brunch, Sanji? I didn’t know he was coming – not that it’s a problem, of course! I just, uh – well, yeah, we didn’t expect it, is all!” Usopp stammers, looking like he’s just run a marathon by the end of his overexplaining.

“This morning,” Sanji responds dismissively, not looking up as he begins filling his plate. Then he stares across the table at Usopp’s hopeful eyes and realizes this is an opportunity to strengthen ‘the lie’ in front of his friends. “Well, we were texting. I told him I was making biscuits and gravy, and the guy came a-running.”

Zoro practically chokes mid-bite at Sanji’s explanation. More like Sanji’s biscuit, his gravy, but whatever. Guess this is where lines blur between fantasy and reality. He takes a long swallow of his drink to clear his throat and asks, “How often y’all do this?”

“Saturday brunch? Well, every Saturday, of course!” Usopp explains instinctively before he pauses, scratching his chin. “Err, sometimes it’s every other week. Oh, the other month we only did it once. I don’t think we did one at all in December. Ehh, well then, I guess it kind of depends…”

“Whenever schedules make sense,” Law clarifies. He gestures between himself and Sanji. “We do shift work. Weekends can be chaotic.”

Zoro chews on a piece of bacon thoughtfully, the dots connecting on why Sanji’s hook-up schedule was so erratic before they settled into their current routine. Shift work. Chaos. Something he’s pretty familiar with, given all the demands of The Belfry.

“Well,” Zoro says, reaching over and patting Sanji on the thigh, “add me to the invite list. I don’t ever eat this good.”

“You mean your diet of celery and beef jerky isn’t nutritious enough for you?” Sanji jokes with a light chuckle, skin lighting up from Zoro’s touches under the table. It’s incredibly satisfying to him that Zoro is enticed by his cooking this much. If he can make someone’s life a little fuller with his home cooked meals, it’s a job well done. And if it keeps Zoro hooked, even better. “You’re welcome here anytime you want a good meal.”

“Oh yeah? Gonna tell Luffy you said that. He’ll be jealous.”

“Jealous of what?” Law asks, scowling.

“Y’know, you got a weird hang-up with my buddy,” Zoro says, crossing his arms.. Every damn opportunity he gets, Law seems to hone in on Luffy. It’s irritating. “You got a problem with him or somethin’?”

“Excuse me?”

“Trust us: it’s harmless,” Sanji reassures, exchanging a look with Usopp, before focusing his stare on Zoro with a shrewd smile. “Going way over your head, huh?”

“I don’t got a clue what’s goin’ on,” Zoro says, sending Law a glare, “but I’m watchin’ you.”

“Oh, please,” Law dismisses with a wave of his hand. “Your ‘buddy’ can handle himself.”

“Guys, guys, please. Let’s not fight like last time. Look: frittata! Oh, yum: banana bread!” Usopp attempts to distract, like shiny offerings for crows. “How about a story from times past? The many adventures of Gibson and Savage. It’s got a ring to it, yeah?”

“Should turn that into a children’s book,” Sanji deadpans while cutting into his frittata. “Should we tell the story of how Law came into our lives?”

“Please don’t.” Law sighs. “Save me the embarrassment.”

“Now I gotta hear,” Zoro says smugly.

“One cold, December night, many moons ago, yours truly was hosting a grand holiday festival –”

“He means the hospital’s annual Christmas party,” Sanji supplies dully with a point of his fork.

“Okay, fine, but it didn’t turn into a real party until yours truly arrived,” Usopp says proudly. “Anyway, Sanji invited me along as his plus one because, I mean, isn’t it obvious? You can’t spell ‘fun’ without U-s-o-p–”

“Only one of those letters applies, you dork.”

“Hey, hey. It’s called suspension of disbelief – it’s all part of the charm! Okay, anyway, we were there, dancing, vibing, hitting on the hot nurses who totally wanted me. I think I broke what, five or six hearts that night? But this story isn’t about me. So, we go to leave and all of a sudden – a boogeyman jumped out of the bushes!”

“Christ,” Law mutters.

“Boogeyman, huh?” Zoro grins.

“Yes! A boogeyman!” Usopp repeats. “He was moaning and groaning, stumbling all over the sidewalk. He was like one of the zombies from Resident Evil. So, what did we do? Why, the only thing we could do: we came to the rescue! I told Sanji here to help the poor guy out.”

“This guy,” Sanji decides to step in and translate Usopp’s dramatics, pointing to Law before making a couple of exaggerated drinking gestures, “had a little too many of these at the party, the idiot, and I had to step in and babysit his ass. Keep in mind that I’d never really met him before; I wasn’t working ER shifts back then. He was so drunk that he ended up puking all over Usopp’s brand new —”

“My beautiful Red Retro OG Jordans!” Usopp cries out, clutching at his chest and pretending to wipe away a tear. “From the 90s! I’d just paid a fortune for them. Oh, the horror!”

Zoro bursts out laughing, nearly spitting out his drink. “That’s how y’all met? Puke and all?”

Law sighs again, rubbing his temples. “I was mortified. I don’t even remember half of that night.”

“I still remember the way Usopp’s shoes sparkled gold after you were done,” Sanji recalls, smirking subtly.

“Well, now you know,” Usopp finishes with a flourish. “The legend of how Law became part of our merry band. You’re welcome.”

“I’d like to go home now.”

“Would you like to take your plate to-go?” Sanji asks with mock grace.

“No! Stay!” Usopp shouts, waving his arms. “We’re playing Overwatch, remember? I’ll tell a story that embarrasses Sanji now!”

“You do that and I’ll stop buying that detergent you like.”

“Oh, man, don’t do me dirty like that! Not ‘Island Fresh’! It smells so good!” Usopp mourns with a clenched fist. “But, alas, I am a performer and the show must go on! Let me take you back in time, to the renowned track and field team of Chicago’s finest junior high –”

“O-kay, let’s not get into this one –” Sanji attempts to stop him with his hands up, glancing over to Zoro who is focusing on the story intently.

“Oh, no you don’t,” Law cuts in. “I had to suffer, and so do you.”

“I will break both of your legs,” Sanji threatens, leaning back in his chair in defeat. Cat’s already out of the bag, just a matter of whether Zoro will realize the dots don’t connect. The man’s face is currently unreadable. It’s hard to say if any brain cells are connecting in his mind, truthfully. The question is, does he even remember what Sanji’d told him that night?

“Our dear Sanji here was a track star, believe it or not,” Usopp continues, undeterred. “He ran like the wind! Probably because he was skinny as a rail, right? Then here I am, an all-star heavyweight wrestler, but they weren’t interested in that.”

“Oh, please, I remember helping you pick daffodils for that one art project you won top marks for.”

“My project was beautiful! It was avant-garde!” Usopp insists before diving back into his tale, “So, picture this: I’m in the bleachers, watching Sanji zoom around the track when suddenly, it happens. The ultimate rookie mistake.”

“I like this part,” Law says with a smirk.

“The cheerleaders strut onto the field for practice, in their mini-skirts and tank-tops. As soon as they started doing their stretches, I sensed trouble brewing. He was a ticking time bomb.” Usopp sighs heavily. “A classic case of ‘Sanji sees a cheerleader, Sanji loses all sense, Sanji runs into a fence.’ He ran off track and smacked into that thing so hard I thought he was going to take it down with him.”

Sanji shakes his head. Great. Now that cat’s out of the bag too. Zoro seems amused and slightly confused. It’s never fun to explain how sexually confused he was when he was young. “They never did get the kink out of the fence after that,” he mumbles distractedly, trying to pacify his embarrassment.

“Sounds like you were a moron, blondie,” Zoro teases. “Some things never change.”

“You shut up!” Sanji shouts, kicking Zoro’s leg under the table. “It was a confusing time!”

“Surely you have a trove of stupid tales, growing up with the loudmouth,” Law muses.

“Loads of ‘em,” Zoro says, reminiscing about his own childhood antics with Luffy, a fond grin spreading across his face. “But I ain’t much of a storyteller.”

“Oh, come on, you gotta share! The little bit Luffy’s told us has been comedy gold!” Usopp pleads, clasping his hands together in dramatic appeal. “Just a couple!”

“Nah,” Zoro says with a casual shake of his head, glancing at his phone to check the time, surprised at the numbers on the display. He lifts his eyes, meeting Sanji’s gaze. “Actually, I gotta get goin’. Duty calls.”

Sanji holds his stare for a moment, sensing something off in their dark pits. He’s not sure if he’s just paranoid, but Zoro isn’t as dumb as he seems. It probably doesn’t matter, anyway. Even if Zoro is aware of his odd little lie, they’re just one big mutual transaction; who gives a sh*t if Sanji keeps his stories straight as long as he gets paid and Zoro gets satisfied.

“Want to take anything? I have containers,” Sanji offers as Zoro stands up from his seat. “To tide you over for your shift.”

“I’m good,” Zoro declines. “Already gonna have to put in extra at the gym.”

“Okay, well, nice having you here, man!” Usopp says, standing suddenly to give Zoro a fist bump. “Hey, we all need to get together soon and chill. Bowling was good vibes!”

“Tell my handlers,” Zoro says, giving a curt wave to Law. “They’ll make sure I show up.”

“Oh, totally! Yeah. I’ll figure it out with the, uh, handlers. Sounds good. Or we can just, you know, figure it out in the group chat,” Usopp says, his brain working overtime once again. He waves overenthusiastically. The door closes as he’s halfway through well-wishing, “Oh yeah – have a good shift!”

“You have such a bro-crush on him,” Sanji pokes fun, looking over his shoulder from the table.

Usopp grins wickedly. “And you’re head over heels.”

“Say bye-bye to ‘Island Fresh’ and hello to ‘Gain Original.’”

“No, please! The original scent is so bland!”