The last day of martial arts camp.
In Zoro's opinion, merely one week had been way too short to be spent there on the camp grounds. Tomorrow at the same time, he would be sitting on the bullet train already, on his way back to the busy Tokyo he had come from.
Back to his job as a bouncer. To devoting much less time for his passion, the art of kendo. And back to the usual faces around him, the people he had met at the camp retreating back to the foggy realm of his memories. Along with that irritating, blond idiot...
Here it was, the last day of the martial arts camp.
Sanji had mixed feelings about returning back home to Paris. He enjoyed the tournaments, all the new types of fighting styles he could observe and try out himself, and he had met a couple of great people to hang out and chat with. However, he already missed the shitheads at the Baratie, his kitchen and the comfort of his bed, last but not least.
And he missed speaking French again. Even though he got to like his second language, Japanese, just a little more. Ever since he could come up with new curse words to piss off a certain green haired asshole.
A green haired asshole he met the gaze of for at least the tenth time that day. Sanji caught him looking over at him from where the green-hair was watching a match of kickboxing at the outdoor fighting rings, but before that, it had been Zoro who had felt his eyes on him as the cook had been glancing at the mosshead from the crowd at the capoeira fights. And for the tenth time in a row, they both snapped their heads away so quickly that the blond felt dizzy with the momentum.
Sanji had a sudden urge to adjust his perfectly styled bangs once again. He was blushing like a fucking virgin. Because of an ugly, smelly, dumb shithead. And he hated it.
Zoro cursed at himself. He was staring at that idiot again, and the fucker noticed him doing it. And still, once again, he was peering over at the blond, just to see how he reacted... It was so insanely stupid that he could have hit something in frustration. There was no use in him standing at the kickbox match if he couldn't even pay attention to what was going on, always getting distracted by that shitty French cook a few feet away.
It hadn't been the first time they had met at the camp grounds. They had both been here last year, and they had started fighting the second they had laid eyes on each other. Their jabs had been on the agenda every day, they had made everything into a competition from finishing breakfast to taking a piss, and they had sparred not once.
What had not happened again, however, had been that small mistake, on a rematch behind the supply room. His back against moist grass, fists pulling his shirt, knees digging into his sides... Blond hair tickling his nose...
A shaky kiss...
When Sanji snapped out from his daze, he noticed his gaze having wandered over to the kickbox ring once again. And what had shaken him out of it was the fact that he was gone. Zoro wasn't there, staring back...
He had forgotten completely about the plastic bottle he had been holding, which was now creaking and complaining in his increasingly clenching hand. They would need to say good-bye, anyway, so the sooner the better. So why did not seeing that bastard standing there make him feel like suffocating...?
They shouldn't have met again.
There was a strong grip around Sanji's lower arm, and an even harder yank. The water bottle peacefully rolled along the grass, the blond's hand previously holding it busy with trying to slap and shove himself free.
"Hey, wha–! The fuck are you doing, shitty marimo?! Let go of me!"
"Just shut up and come on, dart-brow," Zoro grumbled, not even looking back at the cook, and definitely not releasing his hold on him.
Of course, Sanji would only obey him as much as he heeded the crappy blond's words in return, and was cussing and yelling at the green-head the whole way, making the trip to behind the supply room seem much longer than just a few steps. Once there, though, Zoro could find a quite effective way to silence him. After some struggle, there was a thump as he pushed Sanji against the wall by his shoulders, and the smallest of sounds escaped the cook as he leaned in to catch his lips between his own.
It took him a good two seconds, but Sanji's lips finally pressed back against the swordsman's. Slowly, hesitantly, his palms found their way onto Zoro's chest, carefully stroking up his hard pecs though his soft T-shirt, whisking over the ironed-on emblem of the camp. But not long after that, his touch grew much harsher as he pushed the grasshead away.
"The hell did you do that for...?" The cook's voice came out strained. While the red tint adorning his cheeks was quite endearing, his eyes made for great contrast, burning with rage.
Zoro couldn't find anything clever to say, so he opted for telling the truth.
"'Cause I wanted to," he answered simply, trying to match the hard look he was countered with.
"Great, you had your fun now, so let me the fuck go..." Sanji mumbled whilst already working on prying the green haired man's fingers off him.
"No."
The swordsman's face twisted into a scowl, and the blond could feel a breeze on his naked belly as the mosshead grabbed a good fistful of his T-shirt. Zoro was leaning so close that their noses were almost touching. He saw Sanji's eyelashes quiver beneath his blond hair, and the cook bit his lips to prevent them from doing the same.
"I had to forget about you once before, shitty cook," Zoro stated sternly, though there was just the slightest wavering in his voice as he spoke. "I refuse to do it again."
It sounded like a threat. An ever-so-painful one, striking with a sweet sting.
Sanji was taken aback. It was a new side of the marimo he hadn't seen before, and the cook wasn't sure if he was glad for it or not. A sudden rush of heat washed over his body, just like when removing the lid of a pot of boiling lobsters. He was certain the color of his face matched to that image...
"You..."
Just a brief second until he re-discovered the functioning of his jaw, only to clench it, and then:
"You...!" Sanji gritted his teeth in frustration. His nails dug into the green-head's skin through his shirt, and the veins were standing out on his neck, redness crawling up on his skin. "You goddamn fucking shithead...!"
That fierce, though trembling hold only shook Zoro at first. The cook's voice couldn't form coherent words anymore. It came out in stressed and slurred growling. Then there was a strong shove, though not strong enough to make the green-hair let go, only making him yank on the blond's T-shirt more. However, in a blink of an eye, that was followed by one of Sanji's powerful knee-kicks aimed right at Zoro's abdomen, which sent the swordsman doubling back a couple of steps.
"Shit-eating bastard...!" He coughed from the unexpected blow, glaring at the cook.
Though he couldn't keep his angry look when he saw Sanji's expression. The Frenchman's fury was still there, admittedly, but from the pursing of his lips, he almost looked like he was about to burst out in tears. And what caught his attention most was what the cook's blond hair allowed for show of his eyes: they were open wide, staring at Zoro; trebling, assaulting him with the ambivalence of irritation, denial...
And longing.
Sanji's back hit the wall again, but due to his own force this time. Feeling his shirt stretch around his shoulders, Zoro gave a short yelp, and seconds after, as per his reflexes, his palms clapped against the cold plasterwork at both sides of the cook's head, his sounds muffled into soft, warm lips sucking him in vigorously. Sanji didn't seem able to decide where to place his hands on him. In one second, they were clasping the swordsman's brown nape, then they slid down rapidly to his heaving chest, only to wander back under his arms onto his back, to pull on his shoulder blades and cascade down along his spine...
Zoro's teeth grazed the blond's lower lip, before his tongue barged into his mouth, Sanji's own greeting it halfway. Three golden earrings chimed gently as the cook, again, replaced his right hand to comb through green hair, giving the strange-colored strands a tug when two large hands slid to his sides, then down to his hips, carrying the chill of the wall.
"Mmm..."
The marimo pressed his weight against the blond, and Sanji let him. What's more, he parted his legs and pushed a knee between Zoro's, and just as they had to part for air, the green-head responded in kind, his thigh pressing to the cook's groin.
"Ha-aah..." A fervent, open mouthed kiss ensued.
Coarse fingers brushed into his hair at his ears, and Sanji let them. Palms that have warmed themselves by his skin sneaked underneath his T-shirt, and the blond let them. Fingertips slipped beneath the waistline of his slacks, and he let them. Strong hands took a firm grip of his ass, and he...
"Nnnnh...!" He found himself doing the same, all but pulling Zoro waist-first onto himself.
Sanji stopped protesting altogether. Zoro had brutally torn down his resolve to leave it all behind without another word, and he would be damned if he crouched after the shambles. The damage was done already, so the only thing left was to demand the goddamn swordsman to hand over a part of himself in turn. Something that would stay with him, intact and unbreakable.
He wanted this; this utterly uncalled-for, illogical, and yet sweet moment. Real as flesh, as it was to become even in his memories...
It was when Sanji bit into his tongue hard that Zoro bothered to pull away, frowning.
"Hey, what the fuck?!"
"I said–" Wait, the shitty cook was trying to say something before? No wonder his moaning sounded strange... "We can't... do this here. Someone might come."
"Nobody's coming," and Zoro would have gladly resumed with tasting the innermost bits of the cook's mouth, but a strict hand plastered across his face stopped him.
"Nobody's coming, my ass– Oh shit, those are kids! Get off and get going, you idiot!"
The few young teens from the opposite housing wing had luckily no idea whatsoever of what the supply room's wall had witnessed just bare seconds ago, chattering without a care as they walked by the building. And the sounds of the capoeira match provided a good enough cover for the banter of the embarrassed duo hiding at the farthest wall, who were non-surprisingly fighting again.
Their eyes popping out comically with effort, they really tried to keep their irate shouts at the level of strangled whispers. Soon enough, however, the situation advanced into slaps and shoves, until Zoro and Sanji were competing in who could slam the other harder against the wall, huffing, grunting and growling profanities at each other.
It all ran like clockwork. And it was crazy how comfortable it seemed...
It was perhaps because of this agreeable atmosphere that their mechanism had gained another cog somewhere along the way. For soon enough, the angry wrestling turned into a fight for a different kind of dominance; right after their lips had met again, none of them sure how exactly.
Though frankly, they couldn't care less, amidst taking turns in tackling each other to the wall, mouths mashing together messily and and teeth assaulting lips with eager pinches, sucking each other's breath away. The hard and bumpy surface of the wall would leave bruises and aching, but the lament could wait until later. The collision of their bodies was like a drug to keep them going; the touch of hands, at times gentle and at times rough, seemed to ease it all away.
After a whole lot of kissing, groping and disheveling of clothes, Zoro made a quite unpleasant discovery. Despite of being as directionally challenged as a cracked spinning-top, lo and behold, he managed to find the supply-room door! Nestled into his back, that is. The triumph was a shared one, though. Sanji had assisted in the finding with all but leaping onto the mosshead to push him against the wall again, his knee knocking against the wood of the newly discovered entrance at the swordsman's side. Zoro's celebratory outcry was a hissed 'Ow, what the fuck!', after which the two of them proceeded to stumble back to observe the latch. It wasn't anything special, worn and made of simple metal. They looked still fairly happy with it. They were aiming to go for a different kind of gold altogether...
Sanji's glance that wandered over from the door to Zoro was almost shy, and he swallowed, just realizing from where and why his leg had descended a second ago. The cook might have been a lecherous pervert (though not apparent at first glance, if you weren't beautiful lady), that was true. However, one-time things weren't really to his liking. Hard to believe, judging from their messy looks, abused lips and the peculiar straining of their slacks between their legs...
It was why Zoro eyed the other man with mixed notions, as the blond reached for the door-latch to see if it can be pushed open. The swordsman knew Sanji's preferences. He had more than enough chances to see how incredibly stupid the pervert-cook got around every pretty girl he laid his eyes on. And yet there the damn bastard stood, with his hand trembling on the handle. With his face beet-red and looking so serious it was almost funny. And with a hard-on Zoro was the cause of...
The distinct smell of various sports equipment wafted from the storage as the door creaked open slowly. Peering into the darkness, Sanji felt his heart beat in his throat.
It was stupid. Were he back in France, the scene at hand would have been only possible in his nightmares, he thought briefly. But once back home, that was all it was going to be. Dreams. It irked a part of him, but he knew. Sanji knew he would regret stepping back.
Sanji seemed to hesitate, which made Zoro impatient. The damn ero-cook wasn't alone with his anxieties.
What's it going to be?
The swordsman had enough of waiting. Taking the blond off guard, he grabbed his wrist and whipped him around to face him, his left arm circling around the cook's waist to pull him close. Sanji melted into his sudden kiss after a while, and Zoro felt relieved.
They were on this together.
They might not meet again, ever. But they still would have this. Something idiotic to laugh to themselves about later, something spontaneous and heated to haunt them at night. Something more permanent than just a good-bye.
Sanji broke away to stare into Zoro's eyes. He was afraid, yes; they both were. But the hot determination radiating from those blue irises had the green-hair gulping.
Though it was when the damn cook smirked in that stupid, sexy way, and raised a finger to beckon him closer that the swordsman lost it.
Even the blond couldn't foresee the force and speed with which Zoro shoved him into the dark of the store room. He pushed Sanji down onto something that probably was some sort of wrestling mat in a blink of an eye, kissing him in an almost choking way, and the cook would have just kicked him off if the fucking asshole hadn't pushed his palm below his pants, and...
Oh God yes...
Zoro had slammed the door in so hard behind them that it bounced back once from the frame, before it could slowly creak closed from itself, leaving only the dimmest of lights for the two men inside.
Better that way. The lack of one sense intensified all the others. Boy, were they gonna get good proof of that...
And while they have made all their secret discoveries, over and over again, the sun had begun to set outside. Nobody asked them where they had disappeared together to. Most probably because, after re-emerging, Sanji was somehow wearing a T-shirt a size too big for him, and Zoro a size too small, turned inside out...
It was definitely a camp they would never forget.