Title: One to a Thousand
Rating: M
Disclaimer: I do not own One Piece
Spoiler Warning: Takes place after the time skip.
CHAPTER NINE
Sanji woke up with a start, covered in sweat, the remnants of a lascivious dream rapidly fading from his consciousness.
Even though the details were dissipating, however, the feeling wasn't. He sat upright, shifting gingerly, his movement affected by the solid ache between his legs.
He clapped a hand to his mouth, trying to figure out what he should do. He could hear his companions in the men's quarters breathing (well, mostly snoring) deeply, clearly asleep, although almost nothing was visible in the darkness of the room.
Silently cursing himself, he wondered what the hell was wrong with him to have a dream like that. Even now that the blanket of grogginess had finally been pulled off of his mind and he could think more reasonably, his brain had failed to pass the message onto his body. He wanted to act on a desperate, lustful impulse, and seek out something to alleviate it. (Well, more accurately, someone.)
He had promised himself to hold back that one last restraint, though; because if he let himself escape to that place where he had sworn not to go to alone...
No, he absolutely wouldn't go there, he reassured himself. But he had to leave the room to do something, anything else to get his mind off of that burning need. There was no way he was getting back to sleep until he could force his body to relax.
After wandering across the Sunny for some time, his body finally started to let go of the remnants of the dream. He was able to walk a bit more comfortably, at least. Wide awake, he considered heading to the kitchen to get a head start on breakfast. With this much time to prepare, there were many special dishes he could make.
Turning a corner, he thought he caught a hint of the scent of steel and sweat, and he froze. The green-haired man had surprised him before, by unexpectedly popping up in front of him when he thought he was alone; he cautiously proceeded, not wanting to get caught off guard again. The other man was nowhere to be found, though.
But whatever crossed signal in his brain made him think the scent belonged to Zoro, was enough to make his body feel another rush of lust flood through it.
He tried to reason with his body logically; he felt like he was losing.
All the distractions of the world were in the kitchen. Sanji knew he just had to get there, but for some reason, his feet didn't seem to want to listen to him.
Out on the deck, he stopped for a moment to gaze at the infinite sea stretching outward in all directions. The night air carried a chill, and Sanji regretted that he only wore the clothes he had been sleeping in. He should have actually gotten dressed, he realized now.
Despite the chill, the sky was cloudless. As Sanji lit a cigarette and leaned across the rail of the deck, he gazed upward in awe, realizing that even the dimmest star seemed to be burning brightly in the inky black sky.
His head was feeling clearer now. He was no longer overtaken by the impulse pulling him toward the Crow's Nest. He nodded in satisfaction, momentarily pleased with himself.
Yet, as he considered it more coherently, he wondered if it was not as impetuous as he had imagined. He couldn't deny just how much he wanted to go there; and he couldn't say the urge was solely based on lust.
In a way, Sanji hated himself when he thought like this. But right now, the self-loathing was less frustrating and conflicting than it normally felt. Simmering at the surface of all of his jumbled emotions was still one clear and unmistakeable feeling.
He sighed deeply, just as the faint scent of steel began to mingle with the salty night air. This time, it wasn't his imagination. Sanji turned his head slightly, glancing in the direction of Zoro, who stepped next to him and leaned against the rail as well, maintaining a respectable distance between them.
"Can't sleep?" Sanji asked him, after taking a lengthy drag on his cigarette.
"Something like that," Zoro replied vaguely. "You?"
Sanji paused for a moment. "Ah," he nodded finally, glancing in Zoro's direction and smirking. "Something like that."
They stood there in comfortable silence for awhile, simply staring forward at the splendor of the night. Sanji glanced at Zoro for a moment, trying to decipher the look on his face. He wondered if he saw the scene before them as beautiful, as well. Somehow, it seemed strange to think the swordsman had that kind of a side to him, though.
"Oi," Zoro said quietly, breaking the silence.
"Hmm?" Sanji replied, glancing at him again.
"If you want me to leave you alone, tell me now," Zoro said, his tone heavy and solemn.
"Right now? I don't particularly mind the company, even if it is a shitty marimo."
Zoro glanced at him, a spasm of annoyance on his brow. "I mean from now on."
"If that's the case, I've been asking you to leave me alone for years now," Sanji said flippantly.
"That's not what I mean and you know it, dartboard-brow," Zoro barked.
The cook chuckled, blowing out a breath of smoke thoughtfully. "Ah, I know." His voice softened slightly. "But you know, even if it's that, I don't particularly mind."
Zoro nodded, the faintest hint of a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.
"Feels like it's getting colder out here," Sanji commented as a gusty wind blew past them. He hugged his arms around him.
"Ah, I could warm you up," Zoro mentioned, taking the tiniest step closer to Sanji, so that their elbows faintly brushed together.
Sanji's eyebrow twitched. "That line sounds really disgusting coming from your shitty mouth."
Instead of retorting, Zoro just laughed, and Sanji couldn't help but smile widely as he stole a glance in his direction. This was a side to the swordsman that was rare, but he had caught a glimmer of it a few times before; that unbridled laughter, the relaxed expression on his face.
That they were able to stand here and talk like this, to bullshit like normal, actually gave him an inexplicable feeling of relief. Considering how many times he had wanted to stop having any contact with the swordsman, being able to be with him normally felt... well, it felt surprisingly free of the heavy anxiety he had been experiencing, at any rate.
His thoughts drifted back to his dream, which he could not quite remember the details of, but the remains of the emotion still fluttered in his chest. Pensively, he flicked his cigarette butt into the water below.
"Oi, Zoro," Sanji called out quietly.
Zoro raised an eyebrow, studying him carefully. "What?" he asked, a bit cautiously.
"Are you..." The cook's heart pounded thunderously. "Are you going back to the Crow's Nest?"
Zoro scratched his head, a puzzled look on his face, as though he had been expecting a very different question. He nodded affirmatively. "Ah, it is still the middle of the night," he replied, his tone slightly condescending, like he thought it was a stupid question.
Sanji glared at him. "I just meant, is that where you're going, or are you going to pass out in the middle of the floor like you usually do."
"Hah... I guess so."
"As in the floor?"
"No, the Crow's Nest!" The swordsman snapped. "Dumbass cook," he added after a moment for good measure. "Why are you asking?"
Sanji knitted his brow, frowning deeply. "Well, I was going to ask if I could go, but never mind," he retorted irritatedly, crossing his arms and turning his back slightly to Zoro. He had barely said anything, but he couldn't force away the wave of embarrassment he felt. He tried to conceal what he was certain felt like a blush across his cheeks.
Zoro's hand—which somehow, even in the chilled night air, felt so warm—shot forward and grabbed his shoulder.
"You should," he said adamantly, his tone suddenly deadly serious, fingers slightly tightening as he spoke.
"No, I won't," Sanji said dismissively, trying to step away and wrench his body out of the swordsman's grasp.
But admittedly, he wasn't trying very hard. When Zoro yanked him backward, Sanji didn't struggle too much, and he found himself pressed against the swordsman.
Eye level with one another, he studied Zoro's expression, which was surprisingly serious as it looked back at him. Then Zoro reached around the back of Sanji's head, thrusting his head forward as he pulled him into a kiss that the cook was pretty sure fell somewhere between frustration and longing. But then his mind went blank, and Sanji could do nothing but simply respond, the warm tongue more than welcome in his mouth.
"You should," Zoro repeated as their lips parted from each other. "Come with me, cook."
Sanji leaned forward, connecting their lips one more time, lightly brushing his tongue against the inside of Zoro's lips. The swordsman let out the tiniest low moan, tightening his grip on Sanji's shoulders. Eagerly, he deepened the kiss, a ferocious tongue gaining entry in his mouth.
"Only for a little while," Sanji finally replied, when the swordsman paused long enough to allow Sanji to speak. Perhaps a bit too briskly, they made their way to the Crow's Nest.
The trapdoor clicked closed. Wordlessly, Zoro grabbed a barbell laden with enormous weights and placed it on top. With several hundred pounds holding it down, it was less likely anyone would try to enter.
As Zoro rose to his feet and took a deliberate step toward him, Sanji knew they were already past the point of turning back, even if they had not really started yet.
He was strangely accepting of it, though. In a way, they had been gradually working their way up to this for years now.
When he was finally standing in front of him, Zoro stared at him a long moment, his single eye looking the cook up and down. A difficult expression crossed his face, and Sanji opened his mouth to ask what the problem was.
Then a rough hand brushed the side of his cheek, and Sanji swallowed the words back. Leaning forward, Zoro connected their lips, first softly, and then much more urgently.
The swordsman's hands were slow and deliberate as they set to work. Under normal circumstances, there would have been numerous ties and buttons and belt-buckles to deal with, but right now, Sanji was wearing nothing but the clothes he had slept it. Zoro helped him pull the shirt off over his head, intermittently pausing to plant tantalizing kisses on the cook's neck and chest.
Meanwhile, Sanji set to work removing Zoro's clothes as well. He untied the sash keeping the long robe tied closed, letting it slip to the floor. By the time Sanji had slipped his hands beneath the fabric, he realized the swordsman's hands were now focused on his trousers.
But it didn't really matter; this wasn't a race. Rather, it was something Sanji wanted to savor. Like a decadent dish, he wanted to relish in the flavor and the scent and the way it made him feel, until there was nothing left but the sensations that made his body seem to ache down to its very core.
Focused on nothing but the feeling of fervent lips and skilled hands working their way all over his own body, the cook took the opportunity to explore Zoro's body thoroughly as well.
"Ero-cook," Zoro murmured in his ear, as he nipped at his earlobe sharply, a rough hand sliding up the inside of his thigh as he felt his pants slip to the floor. Sanji couldn't help but moan in response to simultaneous actions, feeling his cheeks burning hotly, surely earning him that detestable nickname.
And then, there were no more clothes to remove. The two men had seen each other naked many times—they had frequently taken baths at the same time before, after all—but this was the first time Sanji had ever really been able to study his body to his heart's content. And even more, to touch and explore all the little nicks and scars, the sinewy muscles, the exposed skin.
Zoro had a ravenous look in his eye that made him almost feel like prey about to be devoured... and this particular predator was very, very greedy. But it made him want to fight for his life, to desperately suck the other man into a kiss just as deadly as his own.
At some point, Sanji realized he was giving the greedy swordsman too much control. The blonde man roughly grabbed his arms and pushed him down, forcing him to the floor and toppling him onto his back. Straddling him, he bent downward and started sucking at his exposed chest, his tongue tracing the curvature of his bulging muscles, the jagged line of scar tissue, the surprisingly hard nipples—anything he could.
Stealing a glance up at Zoro's expression, he was pleased—and irrationally aroused—by the incredibly unusual face he was making. Even when in pain, he couldn't remember Zoro making such an intense expression. He had never seen his cheeks and nose so red, never heard him cry out so loudly.
Shit. He was so turned on, he could barely stand the unbearable ache of longing, the way every touch seemed to send a shock-wave through his body. And he could feel Zoro's desire, as well, as he straddled him; those burning places could not help but make contact.
With each caress, each brush of the tongue, each grind against each other, the inevitable came closer.
For some reason, Zoro's cheesy words flickered through his mind. Maybe it was the startling fondness of the touch, but he couldn't help but muse over those strange words, that had seemed so much like a confession. Those inconceivably penetrating words that he never would have imagined the dense swordsman to string together.
The swordsman surely wasn't going to offer any uncharacteristically fond words tonight, though. In fact, Zoro seemed incapable of saying anything beyond guttaral moans and whimpers, ranging from barely audible to deafeningly loud, depending on just what Sanji did, and where he did it. If Zoro said anything, it was undoubtedly with his body—and what he was saying was a message Sanji could understand loud and clear.
Still, those silly, cheesy words flitted through his mind, giving him a strange solace that he didn't want to think about too hard.
Even as their bodies finally came together in a crashing crescendo of pleasure, the unsettled feeling that had been wreaking havoc in Sanji's heart never once reared its ugly head.
There are times in a man's life when time becomes irrelevant, and that night they spent together became one of them for Sanji. If he had to estimate the time they spent in that limbo of coital bliss, for all he knew, they could've been locked in the Crow's Nest together for years.
The only thing that told Sanji they hadn't was how dark that infinitely long night was. It was only when exhaustion overtook them that they finally ceased their lovemaking.
Tired limbs entangled, the swordsman and the cook finally allowed themselves a moment of rest. Sanji thought he heard the swordsman murmur something near his ear, but he couldn't quite make out the syllables. A moment later, he was asleep, and the words were lost forever.
Even though breakfast was being served inordinately late, Sanji could not quite move at his usual brisk, fluid pace to make up for the lost time.
He had clearly underestimated just how sore last night's activities were going to make him. It was taking all of his effort to walk normally, so dashing around the kitchen as he multitasked was not proving possible.
Sanji wondered if he looked as out of sorts as he felt. He had slept far later than he meant to, every inch of his body having been thoroughly worked over by Zoro. When he finally woke up, he had to scramble to get to the men's quarters for a change of clothes, to the bath to scrub off the evidence of the activities of the night before, and to the kitchen to prepare a very quick breakfast.
No one was complaining, but he couldn't help but feel like he looked disheveled. He was certain that his clothes weren't as perfectly adjusted as he would have liked; his hair was still drying, instead of already being styled; and he had even knicked himself shaving.
The thing he was most concerned about, however, was his movement. He hadn't expected to be feeling the effects from last night this prominently.
His normal habits of agilely whizzing back and forth across the large kitchen were severely limited. Even as he affectionately dashed back and forth behind Nami and Robin, showering them with excess compliments as he poured their coffee, the discomfort was excruciating.
He wondered if his body just might stop moving in protest, if he kept trying to do things like that. A bit more cautiously, he set the rest of the food on the table, still maintaining his characteristic flourish—it was just a little less flourish than normal.
When he himself finally took a seat at the table, he bit down on his lip to hold back a pained wince. Hesitantly leaning back in the chair, he took a sip of his coffee, glancing down the length of the table.
That shitty swordsman seemed to still be sleeping. He thought that he would at least come down after a few minutes, but apparently, he had opted to go back to sleep.
His mind drifted as he pensively smoked a cigarette while he finished his coffee, idly chiming into the conversation with the rest of his crew mates, here and there.
Lost in his own thoughts, Sanji didn't notice that there were several pairs of eyes that kept casting furtive glances in his direction. He also didn't notice it was probably because the corner of his mouth kept involuntarily tugging into a smile, as he thought about the events of that morning.
As his eyes tentatively flickered open, the first thing he noticed was the pair of strong arms firmly clamped around his body.
It made it difficult for him to move even an inch, but there was something oddly comfortable about those familiar, solid arms holding him like that.
His body felt completely exhausted; the swordsman had barely given him a break all night long. Or maybe it was the other way around, he wasn't even sure. All he knew was that his body sort of pleasantly ached.
He wanted to go back to sleep, to stay in those unyielding arms a bit longer, but the sleepy veil was gradually being lifted from his mind. When it finally disappeared, he realized with a start that it was already very bright outside.
"Shit," he cursed, struggling to pull himself away from Zoro's vice-like grip.
"The hell are you doing," Zoro murmured reflexively, retaliating by tightening his grip.
Cursing how stupidly strong the shitty marimo was, he struggled to peel the muscular arms off of him—even as, with a pang, he realized he didn't want to.
"Let go, marimo. I have to go make breakfast."
"Tch, you can sleep in a little."
"I already slept in," Sanji replied, forcefully twisting his body in another attempt to free himself.
Suddenly, the grip was released and Zoro pressed a hand on his back, shoving him forward. "Then quit slacking off, ero-cook. It's your damn job to make food."
Sanji's eyebrow twitched. "That's what I was trying to say. And at least I have a damn purpose. What the hell is your job on the ship?"
He stared upward thoughtfully for a moment. "I pick up the anchor."
"How is that a job?!" Sanji said sharply, pulling himself to his feet. He had considered aiming a jestful kick at Zoro, but as he rose to his feet, there was a sharp throb that made his body almost go slack in surprise.
"The hell," he muttered under his breath. Embarrassed, he looked up at Zoro, expecting the swordsman to be smirking at him. However, he had already laid back down and looked suspiciously like he had instantly fallen asleep.
"Shitty marimo," Sanji muttered, a bit more amused than he would ever care to admit.
The restlessness within the cook was finally subsiding. That compiling anxiety and stress had been devastatingly toiling on him, but he was starting to feel a semblance of normalcy again. A few things had changed, sure—like how the cook spent more and more nights in the Crow's Nest—but deep within himself, he was feeling a little more balanced at least.
It was a bit strange how, when they were together, he and the green-haired man still fought just as much as they had before. In fact, sometimes the arguments got so heated, Sanji could barely remember that he had shared an intimate moment with the other man just a short while earlier—or thought about how he would be having such a moment again soon.
With the absence of anymore untimely interruptions, or nights of agony and panic, Sanji could almost describe it as a kind of blissful feeling—but of course he wouldn't. The idea of that kind of happiness stemming from anything relating to the shitty swordsman was still implausible. But, it was something like that.
Maybe it was a bit unreasonble, but in his rip-roaring life as a pirate, he sort of hoped the thing with Zoro could remain simple and pastoral.
Sometimes he caught Zoro with an uncharacteristically content look on his face, and he wondered if he hoped for that, too. Not that he would ever ask such a cheesy question to the shitty marimo.
A hinge had been loose on one of the cabinets in the kitchen, and it had finally gotten bad enough to motivate Sanji to find a screwdriver to fix it. Or better yet, find a sniper or a shipwright to do it, since they could undoubtedly do it better.
As he headed down the staircase leading to the bowels of the ship, where he was likely to find either Franky or Usopp in their respective workshops, he placed a cigarette between his lips and fished for his lighter. Just before he ignited it, however, he heard his name echo faintly across the empty space.
Normally he would have disregarded it and just kept descending downward. They were on a ship together, so it was only natural that they spoke about each other a lot. But the thing was, he was pretty sure he had heard his name next to the swordsman's, as well. He felt a cold sweat start to form on the back of his neck.
He let the lighter's flame extinguish and listened for a moment, curiosity-and perhaps fear-getting the better of him. After a moment, he definitely heard his name again, so he soundlessly took a few more steps down, until he could make out more of the conversation.
Taking a seat on the stairs, he replaced the lighter in his pocket, his unlit cigarette still hanging out of the edge of his mouth.
"—Yeah, and they were going at it real hard in the bathroom at that bar. It was super intense in there until you came in," Franky said.
"I can't believe you just sat in there the whole time," Usopp told him, his tone incredulous and maybe a little bit appalled.
Meanwhile, Sanji was clamping down on the cigarette, biting into the filter, suddenly wishing very desperately that it was actually lit. In fact, one measly cigarette hardly seemed like enough; he felt like he needed to suck down two or three at once. And maybe run far, far away, never to return, while he was at it.
Franky laughed, unfazed. "Well, why not? Besides, they started at it so fast, I didn't think about doing anything else."
"So when Nami and I walked in-"
"Yeah, your timing was the worst," Franky emphasized. "That's probably why one of them couldn't stay quiet."
The anxiety and the dread that he had thought was gradually fading away returned tenfold and it felt like it had punched him right in the gut. He leaned forward, arms wrapped around his abdomen, wondering if he might vomit.
He knew he had been overheard—there was no way to deny that. But for some reason, hearing it from the shipwright's mouth made the wound seem fresh. Even worse, Franky had also confirmed that he, Usopp and Nami had undoubtedly been able to identify what it was; they knew it was him unable to hold back his aroused whimper.
Shit, even Nami-san, he thought achingly. Wiping his forehead with the cuff of his sleeve, Sanji realized it was dripping with sweat.
Usopp made a strained-sounding noise. "That wasn't the first time, though. I walked in on them once, and it was awful."
"Hah, you did?!" Franky exclaimed. "When was that?"
"A couple weeks ago, maybe," Usopp said grimly. "In the Crow's Nest."
Franky made an enthusiastic noise that sounded something like an ow! "So you saw them right while they were-"
"No," Usopp said adamantly before the cyborg could finish the sentence. "No, they were already done with... whatever they were doing," he muttered.
Shit, but that time, we didn't even... we hadn't even... Sanji thoughts careened out of control as he leaned forward, clutching his head between his hands, unsure if he wanted to flee or stay and listen awhile longer.
"They were just getting dressed," Usopp went on. "Ah, no, wait. Sanji was getting dressed, but Zoro was just sort of lying there under a blanket. He just kept looking back and forth between me and Sanji."
"No way!" Franky bellowed, laughing heartily.
"It was pretty awkward," Usopp winced. Meanwhile, Franky just continued cracking up, his booming laugh echoing up the stairwell.
"Now you're just being impolite, Franky," Robin said calmly, and Franky's blaring laughter abruptly ceased.
As her voice joined in, Sanji was pretty sure he was having a cardiac arrest.
"I didn't mean it in a bad way, it just surprised me," Franky quickly explained himself. "I mean, we all know the two of them have been sleeping up there pretty much every night, but this super confirms it."
Sanji couldn't breathe.
"I-I shouldn't have mentioned it, though," Usopp stammered apologetically, as if he had been scolded too.
"Hmm?" Robin said nonchalantly. "I wasn't directing my comment at you."
"Ah, you're right, but... I just, I don't know, I felt like maybe I should said sorry, too."
"And why is that?" Robin asked serenely.
A long pause followed.
"Perhaps because you said it was 'awful'?" Robin said, filling in the quiet gap.
"Y-yeah," Usopp said, voice trembling slightly. "I didn't mean it was terrible it had happened, though, just... I didn't really expect to see that, y'know?"
Robin sighed lightly. "Really, you two, think about how you'd feel if someone was speaking of either of you like that."
Another lull of silence followed, and Sanji realized he couldn't take it anymore. If he heard another word, he just might scream. Trying his best to remain silent, he scrambled to his feet, gradually increasing his pace and lighting his cigarette with a trembling hand as he half-ran back to the deck.
This can't be happening, he thought frantically.
Feeling ill and uneasy and like he no longer wanted to face anyone in general, he retreated to the back of the ship, where there was a place on the deck with low visibility. He wanted to stay there and chainsmoke until he could clear his head. And maybe throw up; the need was feeling more and more inevitable, as his stomach churned violently.
Collapsing on the ground, he inhaled deeply, sucking down cigarette after cigarette, until he had flicked at least a half a dozen butts into the ocean below and his head had stopped swimming quite so much.
He realized he felt exhausted. Leaning back against the wall, he soon started to doze off, a burning cigarette haphazardly hanging out of his lips.
"You're going to catch on fire like that, dumbass cook," a jeering voice called out to him, suddenly wrenching him awake.
"Hah?" Sanji burst out, instantly wide awake and immediately irritated. The cigarette, now burned down to barely a stub, tumbled out of his mouth and landed on his lap. "Shit!" he shouted, scrambling to snatch it before it burned a hole in his pants.
"That's what I was saying," Zoro smirked, taking a seat next to him, stretching his arms upward and resting his hands behind his head as he leaned backward.
The cook agitatedly hurled the cigarette into the ocean, suddenly wanting nothing more to do with it. Well, at least with that particular cigarette. He reached into his pocket and pulled a new one out of his pack.
Instead of lighting it, he simply stared at it, brow slightly furrowed.
"So?" Zoro asked, glancing at him.
Sanji narrowed his eyes and glanced at the swordsman. "What?"
He paused, closing his eyes. "So, as in what happened," he finally clarified.
Now it was the cook's turn to pause, as he contemplated whether or not he should say a word to the other man. But finally, he caved in, and in not-so-many words, told him about what he had just overheard from their nakama.
"Hnn, is that all?" was all Zoro had to say.
"What do you mean, 'is that all,' like it's no big deal?" Sanji asked with frustration.
Zoro shook his head negatively. "No, I mean, I'm surprised that was all of it."
The cook broke into a cold sweat. "What's that supposed to mean?" he asked nervously.
"I mean, that's nothing compared to what I overheard a little while ago..."
