TITLE: The Way to a Man's Heart
AUTHOR: endsoftime
PAIRING: ZoroxSanji
RATING: M, or something like that
NOTES: I wish I were Oda...however, I cannot tell a lie...le sigh...
Chapter Six -- A Matter of Heterosexual Inconvenience
Three days was enough time for Usopp to have the Merry repaired from the most recent Marine fight. It was enough time for Luffy to undo most of those repairs. It was enough time for Chopper to have completed almost fifty new rumble balls, and to have fallen for twelve new deluded stories from the sharpshooter. It was enough time for Robin to finish reading five books, and start on the sixth. It was enough time for Nami to have their next stop at port mapped out. It was even enough time for a certain sea-weed head to suddenly start eating again. Yes, three days was plenty of time for the ever-gleeful Strawhat pirates to overcome and move on from anything.
Everyone but one frazzled, chain-smoking cook. Three days was no where near enough time for him to sort through all the unpleasant things that Fate seemed determined to dump on him. His trembling had stopped, thankfully, and he hadn't had any recurrences of the "freakishly-early-cuz-I'm-too-fucking-distracted" breakfast catastrophes. His cooking was more or less back on track; maybe the presentation wasn't up to par, but the mouth-watering quality was still undeniably excellent. But still…there was a haze in the air of badness and noxious vapors that seemed to center around the green-haired bastard. It put poor Sanji on edge all day, every day, not to mention the (still!!) lack of sex wasn't really helping matters. After the blowjob in the storage room that one shitty afternoon, Sanji hadn't dared to even look Zoro in the eye. The fact that the stitches from the asshole's most recent gun-wound hadn't come out yet might have had something to do with it, also. Sanji even refused to get off himself, afraid that the second his pants were undone, the crazy bushido would come charging through the door and chop off his head/dick. Maybe both.
Did he have any real reason to be that paranoid? No.
Did he give a shit? Abso-fucking-lutely not.
Sanji would peer around every corner of the ship before he rounded it, fearing he would slam into the object of his distress and self-loathing at any moment, as if Zoro made it a habit to lurk around corners for the explicit purpose of ramming into people. Well…in retrospect, that had actually happened to them a few times. He'd crack open the door to any room he was about to enter, and sweep it from floor to ceiling to make sure he wouldn't end up cornered in an enclosed space with the fucker, because that seemed to happen way too often, too.
Hrmmmm…maybe my paranoia isn't totally misplaced…
For his part, Zoro was surprisingly neutral about the whole thing. He'd started eating with the crew again, seemingly at random; not a one of them bothered asking about any of it. He trained and slept and annoyed Sanji with the same easy, snarking banter as always, acting as though nothing out of the ordinary was going on; as if nothing abnormal had ever gone on, nor that he would wish certain not-normal things to ever happen again. He was…totally fine with it. With everything. Zoro never even mentioned the wound he'd scored that shitty day; the bullet that was meant for Sanji that the bastard swordsman took instead. Not a bit of tension or residual anger, or lust, or even fucking recognition could be seen in his dark eyes, that may or may not have been closed off anymore, Sanji couldn't really even tell at that point. To all eyes, Zoro was perfectly calm. At peace with the world.
It was seriously starting to piss Sanji off.
He didn't trust that unaffected façade for one single goddamn second! He could just tell that the shitty-bushido was waiting for the right moment to strike; to seek his revenge. Not that Sanji would entirely blame the swordsman if he did…after all the shit Sanji's mouth spat out after being commandeered by his libido, he figured the asshole was more than a little entitled to some payback. Sanji was just pretty sure that whatever payback the green-haired moron dreamed up would be pretty painful, and not in the "Ow, you fucker, what do you think you're doing," sort of way, but more of a "Holy shit, where did my arms go," sort of way. He would cut out his tongue before he admitted it aloud; shit, he barely managed to finish the statement in his own head without his ego interjecting, and if he was ever asked about it later ─if Zoro allowed there to be a "later"─ he would deny it unto death, but it was sort of true that maybe…uh…just a little bit, couldn't even consider it a problem, really, it was nothing, but…uh…he kinda…might be a tiny bit…nervous around the swordsman. Not scared! Like fuck was he afraid of that marimo fucker! Not a chance in hell! Sanji was a real man, goddamnit! He wasn't afraid of that shitty old man, so no fucking way was he scared of the shit-swordsman.
He spent every night in the galley because he couldn't sleep through Usopp's snores. And the door was locked to keep Luffy from stealing anything while he was unawares. The reason there were four or five stacks of rice piled in front of the door and the windows all boarded up and barricaded was because….er….
Fucked.
That's what he was. Sanji was fucked. Luffy might as well have stuck a fork in him and started munching away, because from the way things were looking, he might as well already be dead. If Zoro didn't slit his throat, Sanji would probably bash his own head in with a frying pan, just to end all the guilt and chest pangs and fucking-foot-thick-tension that followed him like a renegade black cloud holding a grudge. Sanji wanted to just brush it off; pretend it was nothing or, better yet, that it wasn't even there, but he couldn't get over the feeling of foreboding that weighed on his mind every moment of every day. Something was going to happen. Soon.
Something Sanji very much wasn't going to like.
Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
"LAAAAAAAAAND HOOOOOOOOO!! LAND! LAND! LANDLANDLANDLANDLANDLAND!! LAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA─GACK!"
Luffy's triumphant and ever-amazed cry for land ─ as though he'd never even seen the stuff before ─ met a very well timed demise at the lovely fist of Nami-swaaaaaan, before Sanji had to go out there and shove his foot down the idiot's mouth himself. The cook turned away from the sink full of dishes from breakfast, drying his hands on a towel, and making his way out on to the deck to join the rest of the crew, with only the slightest drag in his step.
"What island is this that we're docking at, Navigator-san?" Robin-chan asked serenely.
"It's a small place called Belo-Jai," the stunning Nami-swan replied, checking the map again, "It only has one notable port town, Gensi, so our options for restocking are gonna be a bit slim, but at least it's modern, thank gods! If we'd run across one more primitive civilization, I think I might have hung myself."
The archaeologist nodded mildly, obviously not quite sharing the orange-haired girl's sentiment ─ although everyone else on the crew, sans Luffy, most certainly did. One can only be hog-tied to a roasting skewer by small people with bone jewelry so many times before it becomes a tad vexing.
Plus, Sanji thought, practically giggling with glee, civilization means tobacco imports!
The poor addict had run out of cigarettes about a day and a half ago, and the withdrawal was so bad, his fucking teeth had started crying! It also played negatively against his already shitty set of circumstances involving crew-members-with-green-hair-who-shall-remain-nameless.
"Hey Usopp," the little doctor asked, tugging at the boy's overalls, while Luffy began running and hooting in the background. "You don't think there's…y'know, anything kinda dangerous on this island….right?"
Usopp swallowed, trying to control the sudden shuddering in his knees. "W-well, I hope not….I MEAN! I mean, of course there'll be horrific dangers! I, the Great Captain Usopp would have it no other way!"
"AAAAAAH! Really?" Chopper screamed, yanking the brim of his hat down low. Luffy started circling the ship, wailing in delight.
"Of course! Why, just last year I vanquished the Legendary Fanged-Poisonous-Seal-of-Doom, saving the town's entire supply of orange pudding!"
"AAAAAAAAAAAH!!" Chopper screamed, hiding the wrong way behind a barrel and trembling. Luffy was starting his fifty-second lap around the ship, the whooping getting louder with each pass.
"Can you lunatics shut up for two minutes?" Nami shrieked, near to pulling her hair out.
"My poor Nami-swaaaaan!" Sanji cooed, sidling up to her. "Is there anything I can do to calm your headache? A refreshing drink, perhaps? A romantic walk along the beach with me, followed by a night of passionate ─" but a fist to the side of his head sent the cook slamming onto the deck floor. "Nami-swan's so glorious when she beats me!!"
"At least things are never boring, Navigator-san," Robin-chan pointed out, chuckling behind a demurely placed hand, causing Sanji's heart to melt all over again with adoration.
"Oh, Robin, don't encourage them."
Luffy had just started his one hundred and third lap, when Zoro came tramping over from wherever he'd managed to stay unconscious through all the racket, and caught the annoying rubber boy around the neck as he passed, dragging him still-hollering into the group.
"So where are we?" he asked, rubbing the sleep from his eyes with his free hand. Sanji grumbled inaudibly and dug around in his suit for his pack of cigarettes.
Oh wait. I don't have any, right? Fuck. So he gnawed the inside of his cheek and sulked at the ocean.
Nami-san rubbed her forehead, trying to control her irritation since the big moron had just shoved his fist in Luffy's mouth, effectively muffling the awful noise still coming from the captain. "If you'd been here paying attention like the rest of us, you would have heard me the first time!"
He growled half-heartedly. "Whatever. Just tell me where we are, woman."
"Bello-Jai. A small island with only one port town, Gensi. It's relatively modern."
"Good," Zoro said, nodding his approval. "I'm sick of those damn savages ─ AH! Goddammit, Luffy, that's my hand!"
But Luffy just ignored him, wiggling inhumanly under Zoro's arms. He wrapped his rubbery legs around the larger man's waist, and swung around to plaster himself against the swordsman's back, pushing on the broad shoulders and shielding his eyes from the sun as he looked out over the blue waters. Sanji tried very hard not to draw blood as his teeth raked over his cheek more harshly with each passing second. And the fleeting fantasies including Luffy, a carving knife, and a deserted field to hide the body needed to end, too.
"I can see it!" the captain cried, apparently just remembering that land, in fact, was a visible thing. "There it is! Zoro! There it is! ZOOOOORRRRROOOOOO!! THERE IT IIIIIIIIIIIIISSSSSSSSSSSSS!!" And the shrieks went on and on, punctuated by excited and repetitive blows to the back of the first mate's head.
Zoro merely grunted incoherently, and resigned with a long-suffering sigh to the thrashing, knowing it would end when someone, or something else managed to catch their captain's attention, and therefore the effects of his exuberance.
"Luffy, can't you calm down? I think Zoro's gonna pop a vein, soon," Usopp said. The rubber boy's large, twinkling eyes turned on him. Usopp gulped.
The poor, poor bastard.
"So when do we reach port?" Zoro asked, rubbing his sore head. The sounds of joyous screams, resounding thwacks, and desperate sobbing went more or less ignored by the rest of the crew. No one else was dumb enough to try and stop it.
Nami checked the map once more. "We should get there in roughly ten, fifteen minutes. There should be some cheap inns in the area; I think a break from the Merry is definitely in order…"
"LUFFY STOP, MY ARM DOESN'T BEND THAT WAY!!"
"LAAAAAAAAAAAND!!"
The rest of the crew looked at each other, all wearing the same, doomed expression. A unanimous chorus of "Yeah," went up, before Chopper hesitantly tottled off to see if their sharpshooter was still among the living.
"Should someone stay and watch the ship, Navigator-san?" Robin-chan asked.
"Oh yeah, thanks for reminding me! Sanji-kun?" Nami-swan asked, folding the map and stowing it, obviously and marvelously, in her bra.
"HAIIIIIII, NAMI-SWAAAAAN!!" he cried, pirouetting to her side and nearly slipping in the pool of blood that had dripped from his nose.
"Would you please get the straws from the galley? We'll do the usual draw to see who'll stand on watch."
"RIGHT AWAY, NAMI-SWAAAAN!" And he was just about to twirl away when a conspicuously placed boot tripped him up, nearly sending the cook sprawling to the deck. "Oi asshole, the fuck do you think you're ─"
He stopped when he realized it was the first time he'd spoken to Zoro in three days, and suddenly remembered that, in the grand scheme of things, he had a very, very good reason why that was, namely: preserving his life.
But Zoro was, as always, totally unaffected by Sanji's behavior, which could not have possibly been anything close to normal. "Nevermind it, ero-cook, I'll do watch tonight," he said, sounding tired and uninterested in any of the discussion.
Nami blinked at him, more than a little surprised at this sudden show of responsibility in the lazy swordsman. "Are you sure, Zoro? We can do the draw like always…"
"I need to catch up on training," he said, shrugging, as though that explained everything. And to Sanji, whose insides had once again filled with bubbling acid, it did. Zoro did have to catch up on his training, because a week of starvation and two days of bed rest after getting shot had put him behind on his usual monstrous regimen. And the cook tried very, very hard not to feel like he was the most despicable person on the face of the earth, but the fact that there were still dark circles under Zoro's eyes, and that the swordsman's brow twitched every time he lifted anything made it utterly impossible.
Roronoa Zoro had been weakened.
He'd been hurt.
And it was Sanji's fault.
And he didn't want to admit it, because it smacked of a different kind of weakness, but it really sort of made him hate himself. He'd failed as a cook, failed as a man, as a nakama, and as a lo─
Stop it! Sanji growled in his head, clenching his jaw so tightly his teeth nearly cracked. We're just crewmates! There is nothing else! There never will be anything else, because he's a guy, and I love women, and it's just weird, and wrong and kinda hot, but fuck all if the shitty swordsman even remembers anything, and good, I don't want him to, I'm glad everything's over, it probably shouldn't have even happened to begin with! Fuck it!
Holy hell, Sanji needed to take a break from this fucking place! His sanity depended on a few quiet moments alone, just him, a box of matches and a fresh pack of cigarettes…and the awful, messed up, guilt-ridden thoughts in his head.
Fuck.
Who the hell was he kidding? He couldn't be alone tonight. He'd just end up smoking the whole pack in one go, brooding all night until he was a twitching, drooling nutcase. No, what he really needed was distraction. He needed to shut his brain down for a night. He needed stress relief in the worst way; to be reduced to a weightless, exhausted state, leaving him free to drift off into deep, but more importantly, dreamless sleep.
He needed a goddamned brothel. And now.
Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Gensi really wasn't sizeable at all. From the pier, one could throw a stone and, given proper aim, land it in the memorial fountain in the village plaza. It was a clean place, small but well kept, with cobblestone roads and quaint, closely built buildings no taller than three stories. There were maybe only seven or eight streets total, each fairly long, and every corner was either an inn or a restaurant, sometimes both.
The crew settled in the cheapest, not-quite-as-quaint-inn in town, near the docks for easy escape purposes ─ one could never be too cautious with Luffy in tow. Nami-swan only purchased two rooms with two beds each, one for her and Robin-chan, the other for the four guys that came ashore. After handing the boy's key off to Usopp ─ the least likely to lose it ─ she turned to the cook, angling a teasing eyebrow at him.
"Lucky break that Zoro's on guard duty, ne? I don't have to fork up the beli for a third room."
A nasty something scratched at Sanji's ribs, and he tried to keep all forms of mortification, and guilt, and fucking pain out of his voice when he said, "Th-thank you, my thoughtful Nami-swan, but…that wouldn't have been necessary, anyway…and tell Usopp he can have his own bed, tonight."
Nami blinked her lovely lashes in confusion. "He…can…what, you aren't going to sleep here─"
She broke off, suddenly realizing the meaning behind his statement. And Nami-swan had taken issue with Sanji and his love of women ─ and love of her, specifically ─ before; she'd been irritated, and infuriated, understanding, and coyly playful. But he had never, ever seen those light brown eyes look at him with such cold disappointment before. And when he said cold, he meant subzero-burning-straight-through-bone-marrow cold. Drum Island had nothing on the narrow glare Nami now leveled at him. He gulped, heart hiccupping slightly.
"Well, do whatever you want, Sanji-kun. But don't come crying to me when you regret it in the morning," she said in a low, warning voice. A well-manicured finger thrust into his slender chest just then, and what followed was a fierce growl. "And don't you dare let me catch you blaming this on Zoro. From here on out, whatever happens is your headache, Sanji."
It was with that unpleasant-yet-true sentiment echoing through his mind that Sanji made his way down the main thoroughfare, looking for whichever alley might lead to the edgier side of town. He muttered fitfully, trying to block out Nami's harsh words, and another voice that sounded an awful lot like Nami, which kept pointing out the fact that Zoro wasn't getting any sleep that night, and Zoro didn't get to unwind in a bar, enjoying himself, and Zoro wasn't going to a brothel to screw his problems away with some whore, and didn't that sound just a shade too much like cheating, and wasn't it simply wrong and unjust and fucking despicable of Sanji to even dare to find release when Zoro never got any?
It was nearly enough to make the cook hang his head in shame and scurry back to the inn. Nearly. Not quite though. Whatever fucked up property in Sanji's mind that had managed to smother all those nagging voices of guilty reason up until then were what now allowed him to shrug the ugly sentiments off just enough to turn down that darkened alley that opened, suddenly, on lace-covered lanterns and loud catcalls and flashes of bright, elaborate costumes. Music, low and sultry, floated from some unknown source, curling around Sanji's head, whispering sinful suggestions that promised to justify all the awful things his mind and heart had had to endure on the trek over. It was supposed to soothe and entice him; really it just made him want to throw himself under a passing carriage. Why he felt like such an atrocious asshole was sort of lost on him. He'd been to brothels and strip shows near religiously and he hadn't stumbled over annoying moral dilemmas before. One of those nagging voices tried muttering that, well, honestly, if the cook thought hard enough ─ though not too hard, dear, since you obviously aren't good at it ─ that Sanji could probably find a reason for his self-loathing. Perhaps a tall, muscled, green-haired sort of reason.
Sanji merely scowled at his scuffed shoes making headway down the glowing street, tempted to tell the voice to shut the hell up, but decided he wasn't actually crazy. But he couldn't shake the uncomfortable feeling that eyes were following him, namely Nami's, tailing him, judging him, making him feel guilty. It felt like ice spears bearing down on him, and more than once Sanji nearly reached up to brush the frost off his shoulder. He did his best to push that from his mind, too, but his brain was so damn preoccupied trying not to think about all the shit he was walking away from, and the worse shit he was walking towards, that Sanji couldn't really pay attention to where the fuck he was going, and when he managed to lift his own gaze from the dusty road, and saw the lantern-lit sign over a shady bar stating The Gentleman's Hideout, he made a sharp veer for the door, and ducked inside without a backwards glance, because the forwards one had been hard enough.
When looking back over the occurrences in his life, Sanji would mark the moment he walked through that dark wood door as the catalyst for all the life-altering events that followed. It was, without a doubt, the most informative, insightful, and mortifying experience he had ever suffered, and that included that one time the shitty old man caught him masturbating behind a crate of spare rigging in a closet on the Baratie, and proceeded to trip agonizingly through a shit-discussion about the "Seagulls and the Cod." And he should have seen it coming, really. Even if his eyes had been trained on the ground, and even if his brain had been tied in a knot and left for dead three islands back, in a small town called Pandina; it was still so very obvious that, with his track record of being fucked for luck, something bad was bound to occur. That god-fucking-terrible moment fell when, figuring he was safe now that he was inside the strip joint, away from pissed off glares, he allowed his eyes to pan up, and the first thing they feasted on was a naked man's ass.
What…the…fuck!?
A quick, cursory view of the bar's interior revealed that this man's naked ass was not, as Sanji had desperately been praying, a horrible mistake. There were three stages, lit and set up like any other strip joint the cook had ever frequented, except that the entertainment was definitely the wrong gender. Well muscled, oiled up bodies swayed and rocked provocatively to the raunchy beat emanating from a large den den mushi perched on a ledge at the back of the room. Everywhere Sanji looked, his poor eyes were speared with images of men built like Adonis, and hung like a mule, twisting, thrusting, shimmying, wearing fucking high heels. A few guys looked like girls, but the raging hard-ons very much not hidden by thongs were a dead give away. There were all of two women in the bar, and they were throwing money, not collecting.
How could this have happened? How! The fucking place was called The Gentlemen's Hideout! What part of that equaled "SWEATY MAN SEX"? This was re-fucking-diculous! Sanji's mind whirled as his spasming brain finally managed to process what he was seeing, and realize where he was.
A gay bar. He had just stumbled into a goddamned gay bar.
His life was now completely over.
"Hey, sweetie, you new in town?" asked a pleasant voice just behind him.
Sanji's brain concurred with his twitching legs: Pleasant-Voice-Man must die. In a fit of panicked rage, the cook whirled around, screaming, "Why the fuck couldn't you name this place 'Gay Guy's Corral!'"
The brown-haired man blinked. "Ummm…"
"And I'm not gay!"
"Right…"
Sanji narrowed his eyes, scrutinizing the man very closely. "I don't like that tone, asshole."
"What─"
"Fuck it, I'm leaving." And with that, Sanji turned haughtily away from the Homosexual Guy, heading for the door, and he would have made, too, would have left with plenty of time to find another bar, a straight bar, with naked girls and shit, if his goddamned eyes hadn't seen the goddamned flash of green attached to a tan body on the main stage, which made his nervous system utterly die.
Legs now the consistency of linguini, the cook flailed to the hard wood floor, gasping and making odd gurgling noises in his stunned attempt to turn around and figure out what the fuck that had been about!
No…no fucking way, not a chance in hell would the shitty marimo really be a─
And he was right. It was a guy wearing a green shawl which, when removed, revealed a mop of curly blonde hair. It wasn't Zoro wearing relatively nothing, and it wasn't Zoro grabbing a pole and twirling around it with flexibility that the swordsman probably did have, probably more, and it wasn't Zoro rolling his hips in time to the deep baseline coming from the den den mushi, and the flicker of disappointment Sanji felt was merely due to the fact that he was fucking insane.
A soft chuckle from above him. "So, what's his name?"
Remembering he was on the floor, and who knew what else was on that floor with him, Sanji got up, brushing off his slacks and pouting like a six-year-old.
"Fuck you," he muttered, reaching instinctively for a cigarette before recalling the ingenious decision he'd made to take care of his dick before his addiction. So he gnawed his lip to compensate. "Why the fuck would I bother telling you?"
"'Cuz you look like you need to get something off your chest, that's why," the Homosexual Guy said, friendly grin in place.
There was something about this guy's nonchalance that made him spin the fuck out, and before he could stop himself, he was shrieking, "I don't need to talk about anything! I'm not some fucking girl, weeping and sulking over some fucking guy, I'm a man goddamnit, and fuck the marimo, I don't even give a shit, I've got a clear fucking conscience, he's the asshole who decides he's a fucking plant, doesn't need the fucking sex, so fuck him and his goddamn determination and goddamn stoicism, and goddamn face!!"
Homosexual Guy looked cowed for all of two seconds, before a shrewd smirk slowly slid up his ugly mug. "So things aren't going well, I take it?"
A deep sigh, long and tired, full of surrender and defeat, and Sanji was just so sick of pretending everything was all right, when it very much wasn't. And he gave in.
"Yeah. Something like that." Sanji's eyes tried to focus on anything other than the Homosexual Guy in front of him, but the constant assault of man-ass all around the room made it hard to find a safe spot to look.
"Don't be so nervous, hon. It's not like we're gonna rape you, or anything," Homo Guy said, misinterpreting the action.
"I know that," Sanji growled petulantly, and resumed his pouting.
"Well whatever," Homo Guy said, shrugging. "Come on, Blondie, I'll get you a drink; you could really use one."
Sanji felt like arguing, but he didn't even know what to say, and being less sober seemed really enticing at the moment. So with some degree of reluctance, he followed the Homosexual Guy to the bar, sitting so that his back was absolutely facing the dance stages. H.G. ordered them drinks ─ what, exactly, Sanji wasn't paying much attention to, and silently prayed the guy didn't slip him a mickey ─ and was served promptly.
"Here," he said, handing him a stein of amber liquid, "This ought to help."
The cook muttered some unintelligible thanks, and took an unflinching slug of the shit, needing to forget as quickly as he could. It burned all the way down, but he didn't concentrate on that, on concentrated on getting as much of it inside of him as he could. Three swallows and the mug was empty. H.G. chuckled again, and ordered a full round; the bartender raised an eye, but didn't bother asking, as bartenders tend to do.
They drank in silence for a while. The other patrons more or less left them undisturbed, which the cook rather appreciated. Four and a half glasses in, and Sanji was feeling a little hazy, a little relaxed, and surprisingly more okay with his current surroundings. The music was pretty catchy, really, and the guys could actually kind of dance; people seemed friendly and in a constant good mood. And the paint. The walls were a nice color. This place wasn't too bad. Maybe.
Fuck it, I'm drunk. Or close. Or something. Whatever…
The room was just the right amount of blurred, and candles on the wall flickered and swayed along with the dancers. Magical, almost. Yes. This was what Sanji needed right now. Dulled attention and lax nerves. So much better. The only thing that could be better was total unconsciousness, but it might be rude to sleep in a public place, so he just kept drinking.
He belched contentedly after the fifth ale, and that seemed to prompt H.G. into conversation.
"Hey," he said, only vaguely slurred. "What's yer name, anyways? Mine's Ed."
Sanji's bleary eyes studied Homosexual-Guy-called-Ed, who wasn't quite as ugly as he first seemed. His face was shaped…good. Or something. And his hair was a brown…good…color. Fuck, the cook couldn't hold his liquor for shit.
"'m Sanji."
H-G-Ed tried not to laugh, and sort of snorted into his mug; the blonde's lip curled at that. "Sorry. Don't hear that name too much." Another deep gulp. "So. What happened? Y'know, with you and…whoever he is."
Sanji sobered about a fraction, so he polished off another two ales to make up for it. He had to be hung to the gills if he was going to go into any of this shit. No way he could have any awareness, or else he'd never fucking talk, never fucking get it out, never fucking be able to stop the awful feeling of wanting to fall in a pit of fucking lava. Drunk was so much easier. When his brain was muzzed and thrown to the four winds, he didn't have to organize his thoughts; he could just run his mouth without any fear or shame. And babbling nonsensically was better than thinking.
"'e's my crewmate. We sail together. And," he slung his head back to finish another glass, "we were, y'know…doin' it for a while. 'Bout two months. Jus' fer somethin' to do…plus I was horny as hell n' it seemed like an okay idea. Or something." Sanji glared moodily at the new stein put in front of him before wrapping a thin hand around it and dragging it close. "Shoulda known better'n to start somethin' up with a nakama…no where to fucking get away from each other…"
Ed took a swallow and said, "Yeah, but…how'd it get all fucked up?"
"Um," Sanji said before he paused, staring at the booze in his mug that swirled slightly.
When had it gotten fucked up? The cook was pretty sure it had started when Zoro refused to have sex with him about nine days ago, but looking at the whole situation from the drunkenly honest perspective, it had been fucked up from the very beginning. Just like Sanji'd said: what happened between him and the swordsman never should have happened at all. It had been a dumb, immature mistake, and it was probably a good thing Zoro ended it when he did, for whatever reason he'd decided to.
Yes. This was good. Not having sex with the marimo was a good thing.
That didn't really make Sanji feel any better though, and he kept staring into his mug, waiting for the answers to fall into it so he could swallow them, and maybe then he could catch a fucking clue as to why he felt so guilty and why Zoro was so completely blameless, and why the thought of never having sex with him again made Sanji sort of feel like puking.
He sighed. I'm drunk, goddamnit. I shouldn't be thinking this damn much…
"It was fucked up from the start," he finally muttered, giving voice to his musings. "Shouldn't of happened….'sall a big mistake…won't happen again…"
He saw the ripples in his ale before he realized there were actually tears dripping off his chin. He didn't really give a fuck at the moment though; if they were there, then they needed to be, was what his swimming brain concluded. So they rolled steadily down his face, and Sanji the Strawhat pirate, the White Knight of Love, Mr. Prince and all that jazz, did absolutely nothing to stop them.
"Hey," Ed said quietly, a kind hand resting on the cook's thin shoulder, "you okay? You look pretty wrecked."
"'m drunk," he said by way of explanation.
"That's not what I meant."
All of a sudden Sanji wanted to leave. His buzz wasn't going how he wanted; he was still thinking and feeling too much. He was feeling more, in fact, than he had sober. And he didn't want this total stranger coddling him, telling him "it'll be okay," like he was some weepy little girl, and it wasn't okay, it hadn't been okay for two months, and even less okay these past nine days, and with the way things were going, nothing was ever going to be okay again. And that was scary. Sanji had ambition and reckless dreams he wanted to pursue; that's why he joined that psycho-crew in the first place. And now all his plans of finding All Blue and shoving it in that shitty old man's face were about to crash and burn, all because of one jackass who had to go and ruin Sanji's everything.
And it scared him to realize that all of this was utterly true, and utterly, heart-wrenchingly unfixable.
"Look, I'm sorry, I just ─" Ed tried, stopped, and then tried again. "Look…just take a breath…tell me what happened."
"'What happened'?"
"Yeah. From start to finish. Tell me what went on with you guys."
"It's long as shit," he warned.
"Whatever. I've got nothin' better to do."
Sanji laughed once and took another large swig of booze. "Right, well…we were in this shitty town called Pandina, about three islands back…"
Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
After an hour and a half, plus another round of ale, Sanji and Ed sat in relative silence. The bar was still full of patrons, and the music pumped through the room, making the cook's bones rattle and his head throb slightly. These people never got tired of partying, apparently. Sanji wasn't drowning himself in the alcohol anymore, because he was a little worried that illness or death was right around the corner from his current state. He could hardly fucking sit up straight, and after a while he quit trying, and simply sprawled out on the bar top, his hair slightly damp from where the bartender failed to wipe around it. Ed was in better shape, considerably more upright than Sanji. He'd been quiet all through Sanji's harrowing, tragic tale, and the cook merely sat there waiting for the kind words and sympathizing pats which, after having to relive all the shit a second time, didn't seem like such a bad thing anymore. Ed would probably say something like, "I'm terribly sorry," or "Oh dear, you've suffered so much," or even, "How did you ever manage to survive all this, dear, brave sir?"
Then Ed took a deep breath. Yep, Sanji called it. Here came the consolation.
"You're kind of an asshole, aren't you?"
The cook blinked. And again. "Wha─"
"And you're dumb."
"Wait, what─"
"No, hang on, let's see if I've got all this straight!" Ed barreled on, shifting in his seat so he faced the speechless blonde. "So you were at this place?"
"Right," Sanji nodded.
"You see your crewmate tonguing some whore who then tried to pick his pocket. He sees you watching him, and corners you later, wigs you out, and then kisses you just because?"
"Yeah."
"So later that night, when you're all back on your ship, you attack him in his hammock, and the two of you go at it like sex-starved bunnies?"
"Y-Yeah…"
"And you keep doing this every day, two or three times a day, for two months before this guys suddenly calls it quits nine days ago, no explanation, no nothing, just over?"
"Yep."
"And during those two months, you said this guy seemed pretty upbeat, he hung around you more, which bugged you, and he did small, nice shit for you here and there, which was really weird?"
"Well…"
"And after every single time you guys fucked during those two months, you'd always remind him it was just a distraction, and he was to keep absolutely silent about it?"
"Um."
"And you said it was odd that this guy was always keyed up and ready before the sex, and then afterwards, after you said that shitty mantra every time, he always seemed really down?"
"I-I─"
"And you don't fucking get what happened?!"
The cook's mouth snapped shut. Ed was suddenly pissed, and Sanji hadn't a damn clue what to say, and it looked like the other was about to go on a tirade, anyway.
"Shit, look, I know you're probably a nice guy, and intelligent n' all, but when it comes to important stuff like this you're a fucking moron, aren't you?"
"Stuff like what?" Sanji demanded, feeling himself bristle slightly, forcing himself to sit up and having to claw at the counter to stop from tilting right out of his chair.
"This kind of stuff! Relationship stuff! You don't get it!"
"Now, you listen!" Sanji said, wobbly finger pointed at Ed's chest. "I'm drunk, I'm tired, n' I've had a shitty-ass week, n' you aren't makin' any sense! Essplain! Now!"
"I shouldn't have to explain. It should be fucking obvious!"
"Fucker, I─"
"He fell in love with you, idiot!"
There was a pause in Sanji's life just then. The dancing on the stages, the music playing from the back, the people passing by outside, Sanji's heart; all of it halted for the span of a second. He was pretty sure this had to be a dream. Or maybe a hallucination. It couldn't be real. That just wasn't fair. It wasn't a relief or a fucking epiphany; it was fucking awful. Sanji's insides rebelled so fitfully at the thought, that he couldn't even entertain it for longer than a breath, and he was seriously afraid that he was just gonna keel over and fucking die right there! And he still couldn't figure out why!
"If…" Sanji started, surprised by the sound of his own voice floating free, asking what only his subconscious could think of. "If he loves me, why'd he stop…being with me?"
Not sex. He hadn't called it sex. And that was fucked up too.
"'Cuz," Ed said, calmer than before, "you kept saying it was a distraction. You made it clear that you didn't want anything else from it. But he did. And you were taking advantage of him. So he quit."
And without warning, Nami-san's words from the day of the Marine fight floated back to him just then, as if they'd suddenly taken on deeper meaning, "Please, Sanji, we're talking about a guy who tried to chop his own damn legs off… don't you think he could handle a few days without sex…insignificant things like that don't get to him…"
Marimo hadn't been in it for the sex. Sex wasn't a big deal for him, he was a swordsman; he'd trained himself not to need that sort of attention. Sure he might enjoy it, but he didn't fucking need it. Which only left one other reason he'd crawl into bed with Sanji every single night: because Sanji needed it. He'd been doing it for him. Because Zoro wanted to be around him, with him, and it should have been fucking obvious.
That was it. That was why. That was the reason behind it all; the guilt, the confusion. In a way, then, he'd always known. Always suspected there had been something under the surface. He felt it but never acknowledged it. It was too big. Always had been. Much bigger than he. And he'd heard stories about people in love. Had heard the expression "falling in love," over and over. But that was misleading. One can't simply fall into love, and that's the end. Eventually you hit the bottom. And who knows what the hell is down there. Maybe Sanji felt that; felt his toes at the edge of the cliff, and panicked, because it hadn't been the cliff he had wanted, it was too high up, the bottom was too dark, he couldn't see what was there. Maybe nothing was there. But if nothing could be there, didn't that mean everything could be there too? Maybe he should jump. Maybe he already had, and all this shit, all this torment and sleepless nights and ugly thoughts were simply the fall. The long fall before the sudden stop.
He didn't know if this was really love. He thought love would feel more floaty, and less of a guilt-and-frustration Molotov cocktail. But maybe this love was different. Maybe it was more real than all the "loves" he'd ever had before; countless, faceless girls he'd never see more than once. And maybe it wasn't there at all. But Sanji had a feeling, as he stared at the freshly cleaned bar top, that he was going to find that particular answer fairly soon. And suddenly the calm that he had been waiting for, the clarity like a new day dawning that he was supposed to get from being so toasted, swept over him at that very moment. And really, he preferred it this way.
"He loves me?" Sanji had to hear it again. Just one more time. Just to be sure.
Ed nodded. "I think he does, yeah."
He sighed, deep, exhausted, but determined. "Okay."
Sorry I take so long to update here!! College is crazy-in-a-can, right now, and my brain pretty much doesn't exist. The next chapter is the last, and I'll try and update faster!!