I love Luffy.
Is what he'd said. Sanji's face had turned a deep shade of crimson.
"No, you fucking don't, dumbass!," he'd snarled, slapping him across the face several times, harder with each slap.
I do, I love Luffy, he'd said again.
Sanji screamed with frustration, knocking him to the floor, still hitting his face with both hands. His precious chef's hands.
He was so very mad, he felt like exploding, but first, he'd beat that out of him.
He deserved a good beating for those stupid, mindless blurbs.
So that's what Sanji did.
Beating the shit out of him.
But he still repeated those same painful words. I love Luffy.
"Shut the hell up now, will you?!," Sanji snapped, his hands clenching into fists.
"But...," he dared to speak back.
So Sanji returned to working his face with his fists.
But he'd gotten it; that way, he wouldn't convince him.
Sanji stifled an exasperated sigh, and started to undress him, starting with his sash, and moving on to taking off his coat.
"Cook, no, what are you...," he complained, but Sanji didn't give a damn.
He let his slender fingers wander up and down muscular and scarred chest and stomach, resting at one spot only for split-seconds before moving on, sending shivers down his spine, though he'd never admit that.
He was way too full of himself. Boastful, stubborn, arrogant.
Yet, there was something about him that Sanji to him.
Sanji would never say it aloud, but he certainly felt something for this bastard.
What that something exactly was, he couldn't say.
But him saying he loved Luffy surely stirred some very hot and passionate jealousy deep inside Sanji's gut.
You're mine!, he wanted to yell. But that wouldn't help a thing.
He'd decided to try something else, and see what happens.
So here he was, undressing this jerk, carefully but determinedly.
He leant down to kiss this idiot, angrily, on the lips, clinging to him as if he were his lifeline.
As he drew back again, breathing some shaky breaths, he fumbled with his own pants, shaking them down.
"I tell you again, it's not true!," he hissed, grabbing the other man's legs.
"Yes, it is!," came the reply.
Sanji breathed out slowly. He was about to lose it. That wasn't part of the plan.
Shaking his head, he edged closer, his legs at his sides.
"Bastard," Sanji spat.
"Fuck you!," he growled from the floor.
Sanji reached for something behind his back, found it, and lubed himself up.
"You wanted it this way. So don't blame me."
And he thrust in.
He moaned at the sudden pain inside him.
"I hate you," he whined, his eye closed.
Sanji rolled his eyes. "C'mon now," he said, slowly finding his rhythm.
After a while, the pain dissipated; Sanji certainly knew what he was doing.
With every thrust, he gave a pathetic little moan, as Sanji hit the right spot inside him.
Sanji increased his speed, enjoying this sadistic game he was playing.
"Now," he whispered, only split-seconds before climaxing, "say it again."
He squirmed. He sweated. He groaned.
"I...love..." His voice was tight with arousal that begged to be realeased.
"Say it!," Sanji demanded, spilling inside him.
"Oh god... I...love..," he began, again.
"Sanji!," he cried out as he came hard.
"Say that again," Sanji begged, nudging his face with his nose.
"I guess... I love... you.. Sanji," Zoro said, gazing heavy-lidded up at the cook.
"That's my boy," Sanji said, kissing him again.