"It's my birthday, you know."

Sanji's breath, heavy with liquor, ghosted over Zoro's brow, which was creased in concentration. The blond laughed heavily, deeply, and lightly bit at random sections against the cropped hairline.

"You said, Cook." Zoro reminded him, relaxing some of the tautness in his body as he settled deeper into the downy mattress. He absently felt the scratch of wayward feathers poking through to nip at the skin along the tight width of his shoulders, the rough patch of his elbow, the flush of his thighs.

A lesser man than he may have proved ticklish as the unusually soft strands of yellow hair moved down his body in the wake of slick inebriated lips. But he made no noise, showed no such weakness, and spread his legs just a little wider granting the access sought by a clever tongue.

His mouth twisted in smugness as slender hands pressed his folded legs close to his chest. There was no resistance from his body; the strain was not too great for him to bear. He had trained for years, was still training, to ensure that his body moved easily when circumstance demanded.

Positioned, Sanji smiled sloppily down at him, and he smiled back with victory.

"It's my birthday, you know."

"Yeah, you said."