TITLE: The Way to a Man's Heart
AUTHOR: endsoftime
PAIRING: ZoroxSanji
RATING: NC-17
NOTES: I own nothing regarding One Piece...other than Ed. I take full responsibility for Ed.
Chapter Seven--Falling Through to Life
Sanji ambled through the mostly silent port town, trying not to stumble enough to catch anyone's attention. There weren't many people around, but still; the cook kind of wanted to be invisible for a little while.
Ed had wrung his hand when Sanji first mentioned leaving the Gay-Bar-He-Was-Only-At-By-Accident-Goddamnit, making continual offers of more booze, or more advice, and perhaps some cuddling, to the point that the cook was afraid he'd have to inflict bodily harm on his new "friend." Ed eventually got the point, and disentangled himself from the slightly growling blonde. He chatted amicably with Sanji as he walked him to the door, as if he owned the fucking place ─ and maybe he did, Sanji sure as shit hadn't bothered to find out ─ but once they reached the exit, Ed abruptly sobered, and stopped the cook before he could leave, gripping his thin wrist firmly.
"You have to talk to him," he said, utterly grave. "Seriously. Tonight."
"Yeah, I will," Sanji sighed. Ed looked at him pointedly. "I will! Tonight. Seriously."
That had been three hours ago.
And Sanji was really no closer to being okay with this than when he walked out of the bar. The epiphany concerning the swordsman and…all this shit had felt like a soothing balm on Sanji's overworked mind; for a while, he was just content to finally know what the fuck, exactly, was going on. But now…now he was slowly beginning to feel terrified. What was he supposed to do with this information? Obviously, Ed thought he should scurry right over to the Merry and confess everything to his scorned lover. And that was all great and grand and wonderful, except that Sanji wasn't even totally sure what he should be confessing. Zoro might lo─…have certain, non-hateful feelings towards the cook, but he wasn't sure he felt the same way.
Which made very familiar claws of guilt tickle unpleasantly at his insides all over again, but he couldn't help it. He'd never honestly thought about whether he lo─…also felt certain, non-hateful feelings towards the swordsman. The thought never even occurred to him before his drunken gay-bar conversation. Really.
Well, sort of.
Maybe not.
Whatever! the cook raved in his skull. Even if I have thought about it ─ just a little bit, purely hypothetical ─ that doesn't mean…I mean, it doesn't make me…ugh…fuck.
Sanji halted, sighing deeply for perhaps the millionth time since he'd begun wandering through Gensi. There, dead ahead of him, was exactly the place he didn't want to be; Merry, floating happily in the moon-lit port, the ram figurehead almost seeming to wink at him. He'd been turning down every street and alley he came across, trying as hard as he could to get desperately lost in the tiny town, because then at least he'd have an excuse for why he wasn't rushing off to confront Zoro that very second. But where the swordsman seemed chronically unable to go the right way in any given location, Sanji apparently couldn't go the wrong way. Every time he was positive he'd gotten himself thoroughly turned around, he'd look up and suddenly BAM! That goddamn ship with the goddamn ram who had the goddamn gall to wink at Sanji would always be there, right in front of him, no matter where the fuck he was in town.
Is this a fucking parallel dimension, what the hell right now?! This is nowhere near as easy as that shitty swordsman makes it look. He probably practices, or something equally as retarded.
But seriously, since when was getting lost was such a fucking art form? And why the hell was Sanji failing so miserably at it? It was as if some Higher Power had nothing else planned in His Almighty Agenda, and now saw fit to throw Sanji's problems right in his face, making it impossible to forget, even for a second. Although, in some fairness, his own treacherous mind wasn't helping, since all it seemed to want to focus on included Zoro, and sex, and love, and Ed, and Zoro having sex with Ed and loving it, and that last image made Sanji roar fitfully, grab onto a lantern pole and attempt to bash his head in, until he realized he'd actually stopped next to a sidewalk bistro, a bistro with innocent customers who were watching him rather concernedly, and Sanji decided he should save the self mutilation for a more secluded spot. Hushed whispers followed his rapidly retreating back.
So much for being fucking invisible.
He spun around and walked the other direction, making a couple more futile attempts at buying himself some time. Time to do what, he didn't really know. Maybe he should be preparing a speech or something. But what would he say? What did he need to say? An apology? He'd rather be dumped in a vat of live, wriggling spiders big enough to swallow his head whole. Apologies were high on the list of things that never happened with him and the swordsman, and given other, more intimate things that had happened, it seemed sort of ridiculous that a simple, "I'm sorry," would be so impossible to force out, but no one ever said their relationship wasn't dysfunctional. If they even had a relationship. Which they didn't, not really. There wasn't actually anything between him and the marimo other than a disturbingly fierce rivalry, a few weeks of sex and one horrifically fucked up chasm of a situation that looked to be getting wider by the second. And, honestly, even if he was willing to smother his pride enough, Sanji kind of doubted that a, "Whoops, my bad," would really patch this problem up. But he still couldn't figure out what would fix it.
He sighed, trailing to a stop again. There was Merry, floating in front of him just like he knew she would be when he looked up. She always was, it seemed. She winked again, inviting Sanji over; apparently even his goddamn ship wanted him to talk to the shitty swordsman. And, his Male Pride which had been silent the last couple of days growlingly pointed out, why shouldn't he just do it? Sanji was a man. A real man, not some fucking coward. And since when did real men pussyfoot around shit? Never. And, more importantly, when had Sanji ever missed an opportunity to piss the moss-head off? It was what he lived for, practically ─ besides fawning over the ladies, of course! ─ and he didn't know why he was so hesitant to go give that asshole a piece of his tormented and overly strained mind, when he wouldn't even have to think before doing it any other day.
The cook lit up the first of his new pack of cigarettes, surprised that he'd actually forgotten about them up 'til now. He exhaled the smoke in a heavy sigh, and he'd been doing way too much of that for his tastes.
Yeah, he was a coward. Yeah, he was pussyfooting around it. Yeah, he was hesitating even broaching this subject with his hulking idiot. Because this wasn't like all the other times he'd gotten pissed at Zoro. He wasn't even actually sure he was pissed at him. Really, Sanji didn't think the swordsman had done anything wrong, although that did sort of irk him; he didn't want to admit that this was all his fault. But Sanji wasn't a liar, and he knew Zoro sure as shit didn't force Sanji to be a complete asshole to him. And if he was totally honest with himself, he'd have to admit that he sort of did know how to fix all this. It wouldn't be easy, but it was fucking obvious. And yet….
And yet he couldn't go through with it. Too much was riding on this moment; this conversation that needed to happen, but was too complicated to start. Sanji knew ─ oh, he knew very well ─ what could solve all of this. Ed practically drew him a goddamned diagram back at the bar. But still….it wasn't as simple as all that, and…..and Sanji didn't want to get too deep into something he couldn't get out of, especially with the swordsman, the last person he ever figured he would fall in─…
It wasn't fair though, to make Sanji go through all this; this was his life, and things might get way too fucked up if he has this little shitty chat with the marimo, and he didn't think he could handle that sort of lack of control in his own goddamn life, and really, hadn't he suffered enough?
Hey, smile shitty bastard…
That's what Zoro said, the day the Marines attacked, and Sanji wasn't sure what made him think of it. That's what Zoro said in the storage room, after he'd…
You got what you always wanted…
But it wasn't what he…but Zoro just kept going, eyes black, sealed, and that fucking sneer…
I'm out of the picture…
"No!" Sanji muttered, flicking the cigarette from his lips and crushing it under heel. No, he hadn't suffered enough, because someone else had suffered more. Suffered because of him. And like hell was Sanji gonna let that shit slide. So with one last, steeling sigh, the cook turned and marched straight for the Strawhat ship, and that particular green-haired nakama keeping watch. He refused to think about what he was doing; refused to think about any of the shitty consequences that might come about. Sanji was a man, goddamnit. It was time to stop thinking about shit and start doing some shit, if he was ever gonna get what he wanted. And maybe he didn't actually know what he wanted, but fuck all if he was gonna think about it anymore.
Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Going Merry wasn't hard to find, given how ridiculously hard she'd been to lose. But, Sanji-The-Fearless-Cook was a tad bit dismayed to find that Zoro also wasn't too difficult to locate. Really, he never had been; the swordsman was very much a creature of habit, and he had relatively few habits, meaning there were only a handful of places he would be. Plus, the ship was tiny as hell. It wouldn't have taken long to track the bastard down, even if he hadn't been standing right out on the deck, leaning over the rail slightly with his back to Sanji, staring at the moon.
Sanji swallowed thickly. Zoro'd heard his footsteps, he had to have; he was the fucking swordsman, after all. And the fact that he wasn't acknowledging Sanji at all meant he knew exactly who had just boarded the ship. So there was no backing out now. Resisting the temptation to heave another, reassuring sigh ─ because real men never sigh as fucking much as the cook had in the last few days! ─ Sanji lit up another cigarette for something normal he could latch on to, and made his move.
Smooth, quiet, completely non-confrontational, the cook slid up beside the swordsman, resting his back against the rail. He took a deep lungful of smoke and exhaled it as evenly as he could. Phase One: Approach the Fucker was complete, and his nerves were on high alert. He didn't know what he'd expected would happen when he invaded the moss-head's tranquility, but he figured he'd get at least some sort of reaction. But no; Zoro's eyes never once left that spot in the night sky, and he didn't even twitch or fidget or anything at having Sanji so inexplicably close. True, there were a good three or four feet between them, but it was the closest the two had been since…well, in a while, anyway. It made Sanji's gut do weird, squirmy things, but he was ignoring that, just like he was ignoring all the misgivings and second thoughts his brain was firing off rapidly.
"Hey asshole," he started, "you're on watch, aren't you? Shouldn't you be watching something threatening? I don't think the moon's gonna launch a sneak attack when your back's turned." Paused for another draw of smoke. "I mean, shit, I managed to sneak up on you."
"Like fuck," Zoro grunted, gaze tilted up. "I've smelled that shitty girl-perfume you steal from Nami waft by here about twenty damn times. The hell were you pacing around for, aho?"
Sanji bristled on two counts of embarrassment, all sense of caution and tact flying out the window as he bit the bait, just like he always did. "Fucker, I'd never steal anything from my darling Nami-swan! And I wasn't pacing! And shut up!"
"So then you buy that smelly shit yourself?"
"No I don't I borrowed it, and─OI, fuck you!"
Zoro cracked something like a grin, a sharp sound sort of similar to a snicker squeezing through his defenses, and Sanji didn't give a shit if he had just admitted to using perfume, because really, it didn't seem so bad at the moment. The squirmy things in his stomach were mating and causing more squirmy things to begin wiggling there, and it was a little uncomfortable, but he preferred it to the acidy sickness any damn day. So he pursed his lips around his cigarette to fight the grin pulling at his own mouth, and sort of forgot about his mission, wanting simply to live in that one quiet moment without guilt and anger and pain and all those other fucked up things that had hung so heavily between them for way too long a time. 'Cuz just then, it was simple. For just that moment, it was nice.
"So what were you pacing for, cook? Some chick give you slip again?"
But, Sanji figured, his karma probably wasn't good enough yet to allow nice things to last. He snorted, leering around the cig in his mouth, "Ladies never give me the slip, man."
"Then what the fuck were you doing?"
"I was…" What? Wandering around, trying to figure out what I could say to you to make everything go back to normal? To try to explain how I feel, 'cuz hell if I even know, but all I'm sure of is that I'm hurting you and I'd leap off the highest peak in fucking Skypeia and fall all the way back down, if I thought it'd make you not hurt anymore?
Somehow it seemed like a bad idea to just blab all that, or maybe it was a genius idea, but Sanji wasn't ready for Zoro to know any of that, even if he was only putting off the inevitable for another ten minutes or so. It made a fucking difference to him!
"I'm drunk, asshole. Couldn't figure out where the damn ship was," he half-lied.
"Sure as shit don't seem drunk to me," Zoro said, but how could he even tell, he hadn't glanced Sanji's way since the cook had shown up. But, again, Zoro was odd like that. Sanji guessed the swordsman already knew him well enough to tell whether he was wasted without even needing to look at him. The thought was creepy and strangely flattering all at once, and Sanji wished some more mugs of ale would magically appear next to his elbow on the ship's rail, to perhaps make some of this shit make more sense. He was still partially drunk, but sober enough to make things confusing.
"Well I am, marimo-head!" the blonde spat back, proving once and for all what a fucking child he could be about some things.
"If you're drunk, why'd you wander your ass all the way over here? Your inn's about three buildings down that way," the swordsman countered, and twitched his head vaguely in the direction of the town. And those eyes never fucking left the moon. Was it healthy to feel jealous of a lifeless, celestial orb billions of miles away? Most likely not.
Sanji growled. It was a very, very bad sign indeed when Zoro was kicking his ass in a battle of wits. The bastard had an answer for everything, and he refused to give the cook any leeway, as if he knew why Sanji was there, and he was just tormenting him. And he knew he shouldn't let it get to him, he'd lose sight of what he really came here for, but fuck it, Sanji let it get to him. The shitty swordsman always got to him.
"Well you're so fucking smart, you tell me, asshole!"
The swordsman turned on him, just then, and Sanji finally had those eyes to himself, but now he wished they were looking at anything else but him. Those dark eyes distant, cold, edged like a deadly blade, boring into his, and he wished he were on a different island entirely, or dead.
"What do you want, Sanji?"
Not so much a question as it was a demand, low and suspicious, carrying traces of that old malice, and maybe a dash of hurt, just enough to really make sure Sanji hated himself, in case his self-esteem might have lifted in the past few hours. Which it hadn't, and he didn't think he could sink any lower, but there he was, knee-deep in hell, and no where to go but further down.
Shaking. The shaking had started again, duller than before, but unmistakably there as Sanji yanked the spent butt from his mouth and jammed a fresh cigarette into place, taking some extra strikes of the match to get the fucker lit properly. "I don't want anything," he muttered, another half-lie. He did want something. Just not what Zoro thought he wanted. Hell, Sanji wasn't even sure what he wanted still, but he knew it wasn't that.
You got what you always wanted…
No, nothing like that. Nothing that would cause that much fucking pain. Not again.
"Then why the fuck are you here?"
A sigh. "Listen, Zoro, I just wanted ─"
"No! Do not pull this bullshit with me, shit-cook, I don't wanna hear you justifying any of this fucking mess, so just ─"
"Fucker, if you'd listen, I could explain ─"
"I don't wanna hear your shitty explanation, I just want you to tell me what the fuck you want from me so you can hurry the fuck up and get the fuck out of ─"
"That's what I'm trying to do, asshole!" Sanji screamed, hearing it echo off the still water for the brief halt in the argument following his outburst. He heaved dramatically; Zoro was utterly motionless, face and eyes shadowed by the moon light directly behind him.
"Then what?" Quiet, but so, so powerful.
Sanji sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, trying hard not to gnash straight through the filter clenched in his teeth. "Look, I just wanted…uh…I-I just…wanted….FUCK!"
Sanji ripped the cigarette from his mouth and fisted a hand in his hair, cursing and cursing and cursing himself to an ugly, early death for being such a goddamn coward he couldn't even do what he'd come here to do. So pissed and so ashamed that he'd let anything get in the way of what he wanted, even if it was pride, even if it was dignity, it was no fucking excuse, 'cuz with how much the swordsman fucking hated him,he might never get another chance, and things would always stay this painful and wrong, and Sanji might've cried, except it wouldn't help his situation anyway.
Why? Why is this so fucking hard?
"What is it?" A little gentler, maybe, then the other times the swordsman had asked, but that was probably just Sanji being pathetic that made it seem that way.
Eyes locked on the wooden deck drenched in moonlight, the cook heaved another sigh, and decided fuck it. He was sick of thinking. His tired brain simply shut off, his mouth opened, and…
"You never told me."
Sanji didn't know what unholy things his subconscious was spewing forth, or why he somehow felt he needed to say whatever his inner mind had wrapped up and hidden from him, but obviously thinking and planning had failed him dismally, and he didn't think things really could get worse, but with his luck all new levels of "shitty" were about to be discovered, and yet…he couldn't help but think that following his instincts was honestly his best hope for…well, something.
There was a gut-wrenchingly tense moment following that statement, where nothing stirred, no one moved, Sanji wasn't even breathing anymore, and he almost expected to be murdered right there for his insolence and insensitivity.
A deep sigh, sounding like defeat, came from the swordsman just then. "No," he said calmly. "I never did."
Four words. Nothing more. Simple as that. But there was absolutely no way in hell that it could possibly be that simple! Zoro was supposed to turn livid, see red, shout and rage denials and accusations and fucking pummel Sanji's fat head into the ground! Retribution! Hatred! Disgust! Why had all of that suddenly vanished? The cook had taken advantage of Zoro! Then mocked him about it afterwards! Okay, so maybe he hadn't been aware of it at the time, but that didn't fucking matter, not really! He'd rebuked him, used him, and fucking got him shot!
So why the cool solemnity? Why the sudden acceptance and patience? And why did Zoro seem so fucking sad about it? Why the fuck would Zoro feel bad about all this instead of pissed off like any other of their petty fights?
Because, idiot, that nagging, Nami-esque voice muttered in his head, There's nothing petty about love.
Sanji really needed to get these voices checked out some fine day. In the meantime, however, he simply marveled at how amazingly insightful they were. Was it healthy to want to fall prostrate and adore a disembodied voice because it reminded him of one of his goddesses, even though the voice was merely an extension of his own subconscious? Probably not.
He frowned at the swordsman, whose gaze had since left him and rested now on the gently rolling waters below. "Why?"
"Well for one," Zoro said, allowing a trickle of humor to touch his otherwise dark tone, "I kind of got the hint that you weren't interested shoved in my face a couple hundred times a day. And for two, you're a dumbass."
He fixed the side of the swordsman's head with a stony look. "Don't fuck around. Seriously. Why?"
Zoro sighed again, and there really, really had been too much of that coming from two grown-ass pirate men, and Sanji was a little disgusted with them both, but mostly himself. Zoro shifted slightly, his eyes still trained on the ocean shallows. Sanji watched the small waves play moonlight off the swordsman's dark skin, making the dips of his furrowed brow sharper; his black eyes glittering slightly. Sanji doubted he'd ever seen the other man think this intensely about anything, and kind of wondered if he ever had before. Zoro was never one for lengthy consideration. He let his swords do the talking for him, and they were wonderful conversationalists, if you were a fan of bleeding. It was definitely the weirdest sight Sanji had ever witnessed, and only slightly weirder than the suddenly apparent fact that Sanji knew so damn much about the swordsman.
"You're staring at me."
The cook started out of something like a trance, blinking stupidly, only to turn away with a sulky pout. "I asked you a fucking question, and I want an answer," was his shitty defense.
Again Zoro sighed. "Words are stupid."
"So are you!" Sanji bit back. "Shit, is it that fucking hard for you to come up with a reason why─"
"That's not what I─" but Zoro broke off with a barely-contained roar of frustration. "You see? That's why I hate explaining shit! It's too damn easy to take it the wrong way!" Sanji was about to argue back, but Zoro was already talking again, voice like a forced calm. "Words are…I don't like using them to explain things. Important things. Words are awkward and…they get twisted too easily." He paused, his features evening out a bit. "Actions are better; more direct. It's pretty damn hard to get a fight confused with something else. You put your all into a good fight, and no questions are asked, 'cuz they don't need to be; there's no confusion. It doesn't matter how many different motives and feelings are behind it, at the end of the day a punch is still a punch, and no one can twist that."
And yeah, that was wonderfully astute, but it didn't answer Sanji's damn question. "Actions can be confusing too, though," he said, just wanting to contradict, because that's what he always did.
"They are when you don't fucking know what you want," Zoro growled back, making the cook's eyes go wide and his mouth snap shut. A blow, very, very close to home, but a much deserved blow at that.
"Zoro, just…" Sanji had to literally stop breathing to intercept the next shitty sigh that tried to escape him, "Just tell me why you…y'know, never…told me…"
"You suck at conversations."
"Shut the fuck up!"
"You just said you wanted me to explain."
"I─…fuck, I hate you. Just talk already!"
Zoro's frown returned, and any tiny little twitch of his lips that might have been a result of their familiar, much-missed jibing was utterly gone now. He shifted again, turning around and leaning his back to the rail, muscled arms crossed over that broad chest, and his dark eyes seemingly fascinated with the wood beneath his feet.
"I meant what I said about words; about not liking to have to explain certain things. Well, yeah, it can be hard to get my point across, but especially…if I don't even know what I'm fucking talking about."
Sanji's curled eyebrow quirked. "Huh?"
Zoro groaned, not quite a sigh, which was definitely a step in the right direction. "I'm talking about…this whole 'love' thing, aho-cook. I know fuck all about it. I assume that's what…all this weirdness is, but I don't fucking know. 'S not like I've ever been in love before, or really ever had someone love me, so how am I supposed to know what the hell this is? I can only guess, and that works fine for me, but it doesn't really go over too well when I have to explain it to inconsistent fucktards like you."
"Oi, watch it asshole!"
"So, why didn't I tell you?" Zoro went on, without missing abeat. "Because I wasn't even totally sure what it was myself. Do I know now?" Zoro shrugged slightly, "All I can tell you for sure is what it feels like."
It may have been the soft light from the moon overhead. It may have been the echoes of romantic music from the sidewalk bistros that managed to waft all the way out to the docks. It may have been the immeasurable amounts of alcohol Sanji'd downed back at goddamned gay-bar. Whichever it was, it grabbed hold of the cook and refused to let his attention drift even a centimeter from the swordsman as he spoke.
"It's sort of like drowning," Zoro said. "That sort of helplessness when you can't breathe and your whole body's like lead. And everything goes black. You can't see, you can't move, you can't really even think beyond the need for air…the need for that person. And it's kind of like falling. Like jumping into a dark ravine, or something, where you can't see the bottom, but you know there's something down there that you have to find. And you know you'll probably die in the fall, but it doesn't matter, 'cuz without whatever's down there, you'll die anyway. So it's like falling and drowning, but it's also like a long nap, or getting drunk; that sort of muzzy, floaty feeling, like nothing can touch you and the whole world's gotta move aside when you walk by."
A slight breeze ruffled the swordsman's choppy hair, and laughter from a gaggle of adorably stumbling girls drifted on the wind, but there was a weird swelling in Sanji's chest suddenly, and Zoro was talking again, and nothing else seemed as important.
"That's what it feels like whenever I'm around you; doesn't matter when, or why, or for how long. It feels like all of that at once. And I don't know if I love you, but I know that I never want those feelings to go away. I don't know if I love you, but I know that I want you. Only you, all of you, everything about you, I want all of it. Always. I don't know if that's love; I guess you can call anything love, if you wanted." Zoro looked up, his dark eyes locking with a wide, startled blue one, as he said, "It's what you feel and what you do with it that's important. Love's just a word, anyway."
Some animal or something was making a gentle sound off in the distance somewhere, and the wind was carrying a refined lady's perfume over to their docked ship, and she smelled beautiful, she very well may have been, but there wasn't much of anything that Sanji thought was important enough to tear him away from whatever this was.
"You're staring at me."
In a way, he didn't want to believe it. He wanted to run away and hide from all the frankness and honesty. It was too much. And yet he was slowly leaning in, hand raised slightly, not knowing why, and hoping one last, desperate time that it wasn't this, was anything but this. It was too vast. Too much. Too terrifyingly close to everything Sanji had been feeling the last two months, and especially these past nine days. But when his eyes met those eyes, and his hand touched that strong jaw, he knew he couldn't blame it on moonlight or romantic songs, or inebriation. The moment his gaze met those burning, intensely truthful orbs, Sanji knew he could be in a barren wasteland, with no light, no sound, no booze, and still be this enthralled, this entranced, this completely ensnared.
Because he was looking over the edge of the cliff. And he was going to jump.
Slow, agonizingly slow, Sanji moved them together, him leaning in, Zoro allowing himself to be pulled forward. Their breath mingled for no longer than a second, Sanji shivering at the lovely charge he got just before his lips finally pressed against the swordsman's. It had been so long, but felt so familiar.
Deep, probing, kisses that burned and pleaded for more, and before long Sanji felt a hand cradle his neck, angling his head back as a confident tongue slid between his lips, curling around his own tongue, and the cook was starting to realize exactly what he'd done when he suddenly couldn't feel the floor beneath him. Warm breath gusted lightly over his face, as another hand was planted firmly on his lower back, dragging him closer so he could feel every ripple of muscle under warm skin, and a tiny whimper was swallowed into Zoro's mouth. His thin hands gripped at the short, green hair forcing Zoro's tongue deeper, more desperately, kisses now almost frantic. A hot, curling fire was building in Sanji's gut, and it was getting harder to breath, so he hung on tighter even as the tremors started shaking him when his chest got too tight. He needed air, but he refused to let go. Too scared to pull back and look reality in the face. It was all whirling by too fast, even as he kissed harder, sucking on the swordsman's tongue as though that alone could keep him alive.
Falling. It felt like falling.
The trembling was getting worse. Those strong hands ran up and down his back, soothing, trying to tell Sanji it would be okay, but how could they know? Sanji stepped off the cliff, and now he couldn't tell what the hell was going on, or where he was, or what he was even doing, and he was too frightened to open his eyes, to look around the bottom, fearing what would be there. Nothing might be there. And that would utterly kill him.
"Sanji." He hadn't even noticed when they stopped kissing, but his lungs were heaving for air, and there was heat that was getting hotter spreading over his cheeks and neck. He could feel his pulse hammering in his veins. "Sanji," that voice murmured again in his ear.
With a shuddering sigh and a silent prayer, he slowly opened his eyes, finally owning up to everything he'd started, everything he'd fought for, and looked around to see what was at the bottom of his cliff.
Zoro.
Not love, or sentimental words, or romantic, candle-lit evenings. Just Zoro.
But he was worth more than all that other shit anyway. He was all Sanji really wanted. All he had ever wanted. All that was finally his.
And he couldn't believe what a fucking moron he'd been.
And he pulled Zoro's mouth back to his roughly, needing his taste, needing him more than he'd ever needed anything. Hooking a long leg around the swordsman's muscular calf, Sanji rolled his hips slightly, moaning at the friction and the soft gasp from his lover, and the way those hands gripped his hips harder, dragging their fast growing erections together slowly but firmly, feeling every inch of each other that they could through the clothes.
"Bed," Zoro growled as he bit Sanji's lip and yanked his shirt from his pants. "Now!"
The cook shivered but made no move to break away from his lover, in fact he held on tighter, licking at the other's jaw and clinging to his shoulders. They stumbled awkwardly towards the storage room, nearly falling in a heap as they tried to make it over the threshold while hands gripped and tore at clothing, their lips never far from a patch of skin. One of them kicked the door shut behind them, although Sanji wasn't sure if it'd been him or Zoro, but it didn't seem to matter, because before he ever got his bearings, he was being shoved onto the cot that'd been stowed in the corner of the dark room for occasions just such as this, although not quite as meaningful. Sanji was very suddenly aware of how long it had been since he was last thrown down on this shitty pile of blankets, and how much he'd missed it.
But the time for reminiscing was well and over when the shirtless swordsman crawled up Sanji's sprawled body like a tiger stalking his prey, and just looking into those eyes was enough to make the cook shiver straight to his core. And then Zoro's mouth was on him, catching his lips in a searing kiss that left him panting and lifting his hips and wanting more. Large, calloused hands ran up his back underneath the open shirt still draped over his shoulders, and he really needed to fix that. But it seemed Zoro had been thinking the same thing, and without any bullshit or a second wasted, the swordsman grabbed two handfuls of the material and ripped it soundly from Sanji's body, and he didn't even give a shit. If anything, it just made him whine harder and wrap his legs around Zoro's waist, rolling into him and seeing sparks as the intense pleasure washed through him, stoking the fire even hotter. Zoro just snarled and bit down hard on the cook's collarbone, making him yelp and writhe helplessly beneath the other's solid frame, clawing at muscular shoulders while those skilled hands worked at relieving him of his pants that were tight to the point of painful.
His belt went first, followed by the klunk of his shoes hitting the floor. The sound of his zipper being pulled open made him shudder again, and the sudden release of pressure on his throbbing cock had his head thrown back, panting harder. He couldn't ever remember getting this hard, this fast before. He figured it was just something about Zoro. Something that made Sanji need to be taken and utterly ravished. He didn't really give a shit why or how, he just hooked his heels in the swordsman's pants and started edging them down, because that fire in his gut was getting hotter and if something didn't happen now he was pretty sure he'd die.
Sanji's slacks and boxers hit the floor, followed quickly by heavy boots and a second pair of pants, and finally fuck yes! Sanji could feel it, feel everything, hot and sticky and exactly what he'd missed so much during those shitty nine days; not the pleasure, or the release of tension, but the fucking feel of it. Those corded thighs between his, spreading him wide, that impossibly hard cock rubbing against his own throbbing member, firm hands running over his chest and a long tongue leaving a burning trail of saliva along his neck. It didn't take long for that tongue to get restless, and slowly Zoro licked his way down Sanji's throat, biting at his Adam's apple slightly before trailing down, playing in the hollows of the cook's collarbone. Long pale fingers tugged at green hair, encouraging, demanding more, and the swordsman did not disappoint, leaving a trail of wet kisses and sharp little nips along the smooth chest before finding a rosy nipple. That tongue lashed at it once, experimentally, and Sanji cried out shamelessly, jerking and twisting his head from side to side as that warm mouth enveloped the sensitive flesh, teeth worrying the hardening nub with just enough pain to make the cook crush Zoro's head against his chest, clench his legs around that waist, and moan slack-jawed at the ceiling, all coherent thought about a thousand miles away, and not returning any time soon.
It wasn't until Zoro's expert tongue had started darting in and out of his belly-button, making Sanji gasp little whimpers of pleasure that were decidedly unmanly, did a grey, very vague sort of notion descend and actually managed to cut through Sanji's blissful haze to unsettle him somewhat. He didn't know what it was, until that tongue had travelled further down, licking at his hip bone while a large hand massaged his thigh, teasing him, prolonging what the next obvious action would be. And without really knowing why, or even giving a shit, Sanji's hands gripped at the swordsman's head, and rather abruptly hauled him back up for a deep, powerful kiss.
"Don't," he whispered against moist lips, and with no further explanation, he rolled them both over with a twist of his strong hips and attacked Zoro's own chest with a vengeance.
And it was worth the agony of his ignored cock to hear those deep, rumbling groans and to feel that utterly perfect body arching and shuddering underneath him. He wasn't really sure why, but Sanji just knew that this was something he wanted to ─ no, had─ to do. He had to tweak and lick at dusky nipples, hearing the swordsman's breath hiss through tightly clenched teeth, and he had to trail his tongue down every inch of that massive scar, savoring the hard muscles that shook all around him, choked off moans making the blonde shiver with want, and that other, strange feeling from earlier that was steadily swelling in his chest. It was only fair, his sex-addled brain decided as he tongued gently at the angry gun-shot wound, dancing tenderly around the coarse thread of the stitches, nibbling at the soft flesh between hip and thigh, nuzzling slightly into the sticky heat that smelled strongly of sweat and musk and made Sanji's mouth water. It was only fair that after all the times he'd been ravished beyond belief, and all the times he had sneeringly refused to do anything of the sort, and after all the shit he'd put the swordsman through, and after how much he'd fucking missed being so close to him, after all that, he ─ he figured the marimo at least deserved ─ he ─ oh fuck, what was this, this…this didn't feel…
"Hnnn!" Sanji whimpered like a kicked dog, as a violent shudder stole down his spine, and not the pleasant kind. Without any warning that odd-ass feeling in Sanji's chest erupted sharply, and he had to halt his downward journey when he realized tears were streaming from his eyes and his body was trembling to the breaking point. He had no fucking clue what this was, he'd never felt anything like it before, but all he could do was bury his face against Zoro's stomach, cling until his muscles begged for mercy, squeeze them together as close as they possibly could be, and cry. It might have been horrifically embarrassing, if that hot, strange feeling in his chest wasn't still radiating like his heart was overflowing with lava and too many emotions he didn't really understand, but knew he never wanted to stop feeling. He burrowed his face deeper into the sweat-and-saliva-streaked flesh, either trying to hide or because, inexplicably, the closer he was and the tighter their bodies pressed together, the better his chest felt, his lungs less choked with whatever this weird fullness was.
Drowning. It felt like drowning.
His breath gusted in hard, uneven sobs against the heated skin, and he heard a low moan from somewhere above him that was quickly bitten off. Rough fingers reached down and were combing gently through his blonde hair, pulling back the fringe that hid his left eye, and Sanji didn't even need to look up to know what he would see in the swordsman's eyes at that moment. It had been there countless times before, he'd seen it, but never really acknowledged it. So he kissed lovingly at the rock-hard stomach, an apology and a promise, and just as quickly as that overwhelming sensation had exploded, it ebbed away, not disappearing entirely, but at least Sanji's eyes weren't leaking ridiculous tears anymore.
Deciding that the time for teasing was well over with, Sanji didn't waste a second before wrapping a long hand around Zoro's huge dick, feeling the heat burn his palm and the blood pulsing fiercely. Pre-cum already seeped from the tip, and his tongue slid out again, lapping at the salty taste, earning a deep groan from the man beneath him and a slight jerk of the hips. The cook grinned wickedly, eyes flickering up to lock briefly with other man's gaze, dark and hooded with lust and something more real as Zoro propped himself on an elbow, watching Sanji's tongue lick slowly up his entire length. That hand never left blonde hair, massaging and squeezing as Sanji rethought the whole teasing thing. Light, tickling touches danced over the swordsman's throbbing length, never giving him enough of what he needed. The devilish tongue swept over the balls that hung heavily, streaking back up to leave one harsh lick at the sensitive head, nipping slightly and tasting another well-up of that tangy liquid, and before long Zoro was practically snarling something about tearing the cook's dick off if he didn't quit fucking around like that, but the sentence was never actually finished. It broke off in the middle, the exact second that Sanji's mouth plunged down over the twitching cock, taking it as deep as he could on the first pass. The surprised cry of pleasure that was strangled from the swordsman nearly made Sanji come on the spot, and he groaned around the hard member hitting the back of his throat, feeling his own cock jerk with anticipation. . He'd never heard the other man make that kind of sound, not ever. It was intoxicating. Addicting.
He figured he'd make him do it some more.
Pursing his lips tightly, he slowly dragged his mouth back up, squeezing the hard flesh as it slipped from his mouth, rolling his tongue over the enflamed tip, before heading down again, letting teeth scrape ever so gently as he took the cock all the way in, throat muscles working as best as they could without making him gag. The thighs near his head were shivering almost violently as he continued his drawn-out torture, the swordsman's breath coming in such heavy pants it ruffled Sanji's sweat-drenched hair. His left hand squeezed and rubbed at Zoro's thigh, while his right mercilessly teased his balls, rivers of drool and pre-cum dripping from Sanji's mouth and wetting everything, making his touch slicker and all the more fleeting. The swordsman's hips rolled just barely, desperate for more, faster, but trying hard to let Sanji set the pace. Fingers clutched at his hair, constant moans of his name burning his gut white-hot, making him need as much as his lover needed, and suddenly Sanji was devouring the cock in his mouth, all torment and teasing thrown out the goddamn window. His head bobbed harder and quicker over Zoro's lap, taking him deep, massaging the tip with his throat as his tongue slid like lightening over the slick flesh, lips tight, demanding Zoro's release. Moans became low, guttural growls, muscles tensing and relaxing all around Sanji's head, breath hissing through bared teeth, and those fingers clutched hard enough to be painful, and just as Sanji hummed his eagerness, that hand slammed his head down 'till his nose was buried in green curls, the cock in his mouth jerking and spasming out of control, and the hot, sticky cum burned its way down the cook's throat, but he just moaned harder at the taste as he swallowed desperately, making Zoro snarl once before gently tugging Sanji off of his length.
Gasping, trying to even his breathing, Sanji looked down and had just enough time to smirk, impressed but a little guilty, at the sight of Zoro's cock still hard as steel, before his lover was pulling him back up for a slow, grateful kiss.
Hmmm…the cook thought, even as Zoro's tongue dragged across the roof of his mouth, chasing his own taste…idiot must not have even jerked himself off those nine days. That's some severe dedication…baka probably tried to train it out of himself…
...wait a minute….
He didn't know why, they weren't even related ideas at all, but somehow the thoughts of training and no-sex managed to cause some unresolved cogs that had been stewing in his brain for the last week to suddenly fall into place, bringing with them a vague, sneaking suspicion. And so Sanji broke the euphoric kiss to ask, without a trace of segue, "Why were you skipping meals, asshole?"
Zoro's eyebrows knit together, eyes still glazed and voice gurgling a bit in his throat. "Buh…?"
"You skipped meals for seven or eight days, shithead. Why?"
The swordsman blushed as the words sunk in, and Sanji decided it was the cutest damn thing he'd ever seen, and he would have taken the piss, if the other man didn't look so suddenly uncomfortable. "Well, it…it was kind of hard being around you, when I first decided to…call it quits."
Sanji arched an eyebrow at that. "So you skipped meals 'cuz you felt weird around me?"
"No, I felt the same way around you as I always did," Zoro said, seeming almost irritated by the fact. "But you weren't interested in…anything else, so I figured I'd just try to, I dunno, put all that shit behind me. So I stayed away from you for a while, fasted ─ stopped eating for a week; something physical like that would've made me focus on something else. But it's not like I just quit eating; I always planned to start up again after a week was over. And I did."
Sanji knew it wasn't fair of him to take any of that personally. After all, he'd probably put the poor bastard through hell, unwittingly treating him like no more than a convenient fuck for so long, not to mention some of the heinous shit he'd said when he had gotten a little too desperate. Sanji knew he didn't have any fucking right, but…the fact that Zoro had tried so damn hard to forget about his feelings for the cook sort of stung. A lot actually. He had no right but…damn.
"You were training yourself to get over me…" Sanji was pretty ashamed at how meek and hurt he'd managed to sound.
But Zoro just scoffed. "Yeah, not like it fucking worked anyway." When Sanji failed to be comforted by that, the swordsman chuckled, his face softening as he moved in and brushed his lips against Sanji's ear, whispering, "And I'm glad for that, shit-cook."
"Like I care," the blonde groused, but all the unpleasantness had vanished abruptly, and he couldn't help but grin down at the big moron under him. How did Zoro know all the right ways to piss him off to the point of contemplating homicide, and still say all the right things that make him forget why he hates the asshole in the first place? It didn't seem fair, but Sanji wasn't really disposed to give a shit.
With a smile that made Sanji's heart trip, the swordsman pulled him into another kiss, soft at first, slow and meaningful. The fire kicked back in before long, and soon teeth dragged at swollen flesh and tongues rolled and tugged at each other, struggling for the upper hand, as their lower bodies started rocking together, friction coiling in Sanji's gut and making him gasp, making him kiss more ferociously, making him need Zoro all over again.
Their cocks, slick with saliva and pre-cum slid together, and Sanji felt those wonderful hands trail down his sides, eliciting hums and purrs from the blonde, before they gripped at his ass, squeezing, and Sanji groaned and rocked harder into Zoro. He couldn't get the leverage he wanted, though, being draped over the swordsman like he was, but he didn't want to move, didn't want to ask Zoro for anything else, even though he knew they both wanted it.
But Zoro was obviously thinking the same thing, or at least something similar, as he reached his arm behind them, clawing blindly at the edge of the blankets and pulling out a small vial from its perpetual hiding place. He held it up, mumbling, "How do you ─ mmmh…" Sanji interrupted him with a kiss, because he fucking could, "How do you want to do this?"
And despite how much they'd done this very thing in the past, Sanji still had the grace to blush at the question.
"Uh…like this is fine…"
"Top or bottom?"
His face was about the temperature of molten lava, he was sure, 'cuz it definitely felt that way, and he knew it was pretty dumb of him to be this embarrassed, but some last vestiges of his Male Pride still made him hesitant to voice his obvious preference of positions. Plus, he was irritated that he couldn't quit feeling like such a bastard, because this bastard was being to goddamned courteous about everything, and that was a word that really should never be applied to Zoro, at least not during sex, and Sanji swore to all things holy that if he felt one more flicker of guilt over this whole thing, he was gonna force himself to get real intimate with the ocean floor.
"Oi, dumbass?" Zoro broke through the cook's cloud of freak-out. "It isn't that hard of a question. If you're that conflicted, I'll bottom, I don't give a shit." He unstopped the vial and poured some of the cool, slick liquid onto his fingers. "But you're givin' me blue balls just sitting there with that blank look on your stupid face, and I don't really feel like waiting."
Sanji watched with stunned amazement as those glistening fingers traveled beneath them, and he could only assume where they had gone, and suddenly Zoro's breath hitched and there was a deep stain of red across his tanned skin, his mouth hanging slightly open, and Sanji's ignored cock was twitching desperately at the sight. But, and he hated thinking about sex in terms of justice, since that seemed like a weird thing to do anyway, he couldn't help but feel that this somehow wasn't fair. Plus he…he maybe sort of liked being bottom. Maybe he had this thing about relinquishing control to someone else, since he mostly maintained control in every other aspect of life, and the bedroom was the one place he ever really let go. Maybe it was a little fucking important to him that those roles didn't change. Whatever. He just knew he didn't want it like this.
"Oi, dumbass," Sanji growled low, grabbing Zoro's arm and stilling his rather distracting movement. "Did I say I wanted to top?"
"You weren't really saying much of anything, shit-for-brains," Zoro growled right back, his voice hoarse and croaked, and fuck Sanji was pretty sure his cock would explode if they didn't do something now. He pulled at the swordsman's hand sharply, hearing the quiet squelching noise that sent violent shudders up his spine, followed by a strangled snarl from the man beneath him and a, "Watch it, bastard!"
Sanji then guided that still-slick hand behind him, blushing more than he'd ever admit as he silently asked for Zoro's touch. He leaned in close, naked abdomens rubbing together teasingly, causing little half moans from both of them. "I want to be on top," he whispered in Zoro's ear, voice wavering as thick, wet fingers probed questioningly at his entrance. "I want to be on top…with you in me."
A dangerous sound rumbled from somewhere deep in the swordsman's chest; Sanji felt it vibrating through his own ribs, and there were suddenly teeth sinking into his throat as a single, lubricated digit pressed through the tight ring of muscle to plunge into the cook's heat, and Sanji jerked hard, crying out as his hips rocked slightly, knees squeezing at Zoro's waist as his hands gripped firm shoulders. It burned, but not overwhelmingly, and soon he felt a different kind of burn blaze white-hot in his gut, and he panted, cock hanging heavy between his spread legs, as a wet tongue slid over the new bruise on his neck. The finger inside him started moving, slowly back and forth, Sanji's hips following it helplessly. That tongue dipped teasingly into his ear.
Sanji shivered.
Another finger joined the first.
Sanji's head collapsed onto Zoro's chest and he whimpered.
The fingers crooked just right, brushing at that one spot…
"Ah fuck!" Like a switch being flipped, Sanji's hips started snapping desperately, all composure shattered, and he thrust himself backwards even as those wonderful digits thrust forwards, Zoro sucking and nipping at his collarbone, Sanji's cock positively drooling on the swordsman's hard stomach. He moaned low and constant with every fleeting graze of fingertips over his sensitive nerves, and he knew he was close, but held it back as much as he could. He knew something better was about to happen.
Zoro grunted just then, and Sanji dazedly realized that he was lubing his thick cock, and the cook moaned loudly again at the sight, rolling his hips against the two fingers still buried inside. Zoro usually worked him up to three before removing his hand, but both of them were too close to the edge, and it had been too fucking long, and Sanji would have honestly torn Zoro's throat out if he denied the cook the bone-melting fuck he was craving worse than nicotine.
He whined softly as the fingers were removed, strong hands moving to grasp his bony hips to keep him steady, while the cook's own hand reached beneath him, feeling out his lover's hard cock and getting into position. Sanji bit his lip when the throbbing head kissed his entrance, and taking a deep breath, he impaled himself on Zoro's member, taking it all in on one go.
They both cried out at the sensation, Zoro gnawing his cheek to keep from coming, Sanji squeezing his eyes against the sharp spear of pain and unbelievable heat and the ohfuckinghellshityes! feeling of being utterly filled for the first time in way too long. Breath coming in heaving, almost painful gasps, Sanji fell forward, laying his forehead in the curve of Zoro's muscular neck, groaning as the pulsing dick inside him shifted slightly. Zoro pressed his forehead against Sanj's temple, breathing hotly into sweat-soaked hair.
"Fuck, Sanji…" Light kisses pressed against his burning skin. "F-fuck…"
"Nnnngh…" Words were lost on Sanji, disappearing into an unimportant haze, and the only thing that mattered was that Sanji had to nip at the strong neck, trail fervent, wet kisses over every inch of flesh he could reach, desperately asking for more, now!
And Zoro, unwaveringly, obliged.
The swordsman rocked his hips experimentally, seeing just how relaxed Sanji was. The cook gripped at muscled arms hard enough to bruise, mouth panting into Zoro's ear, loving the sharp little flutters of pleasure that sparked across his skin, pooling in his gut, slowly, too slow, almost like some kind of delicious torture. But soon it wasn't enough, and Sanji found himself biting at Zoro's shoulder hard and growling for something deeper. And suddenly those hips beneath him snapped up hard, and Sanji's vision flashed white. "Ah! Oh god!"
Hands gripped his hips punishingly, dragging his ass down, even while Zoro thrust up, sliding his dick as far as it would go, the tip brushing against that unbelievable spot inside the cook. Already Sanji felt like he couldn't breathe, like his heart would just explode, and he knew he wouldn't last long; not with the inferno raging through his body, fire and electricity rushing in his veins, and the deep, guttural moans that poured from the burning body underneath him, twisting that fire so it sunk deep, like a blade, and he couldn't help it, he cried loudly.
"Oh shit…Z-Zoro, oh god, oh fuck…ah!"
Sanji felt a feral noise rip through the swordsman's chest, rumbling below the surface, and before his mind could even catch up, those hands slid lower, clamping down hard on his ass. Zoro slammed into him, faster and harder, spurred into a frenzy as Sanji moaned and writhed above him, dragging his swollen, blood-dark cock against the ridges of the other man's toned stomach. And Sanji gave up on composure, gave up on trying to last, and he welcomed the steadily growing tide of pleasure as it roiled through his gut.
Zoro's hands squeezed unbearably, spreading Sanji's ass even wider, fucking him with lightening speed while the cook's arms latched around his neck and he pressed his face against the slick, warm flesh. The sound of skin slapping skin was so loud in the otherwise still room, Sanji barely heard himself warbling, "I want you, I want you, I want you," over and over into the swordsman's ear, whimpering and choking on noises that were half sobs and half deep, desperate moans.
"Sanji ─ ugh! ─ Sanji, I'm─" Zoro panted, blunt nails digging harder into the smooth muscular flesh in his grip, "I'm…fuck…"
No more words, just low, snarling groans and vicious thrusts into Sanji's tight heat, pummeling that sweet spot exquisitely, so hard tears leaked from his eyes and dripped onto Zoro's cheek, but Sanji didn't care, felt the edge rising, and rocked himself back as roughly as he could, loving the bliss and utter ecstasy of having his spine liquefied, the feel of being so full of everything he wanted and needed and couldn't live without. Zoro's rhythm fell apart, and Sanji screamed, shivering, unraveling and falling apart fast.
"Ah ah ah, I ─ oh, oh fuck ─ Zoro," Sanji shuddered violently, so close, snapping his ass down as hard as he could, searching for that completion. "I can't─I…I'm gonna…gonna─AH!"
Clutching so tightly at the swordsman's neck he was surprised he hadn't choked him to death, Sanji's jaw fell slack, loud, wanton yells of pleasure getting louder and louder with each slam home of the twitching cock in his ass, his chest heaving, pressed against the sweaty chest beneath him, Zoro grunting like a beast, and he couldn't─fuck! ─ he couldn't last, the heat spiked sharply, spearing his gut, lifting his balls, pulsing so hard and…and…
"Sanji!" Zoro growled, ramming up and burying his cock as deep as he could.
"Oh fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck ZORO!" White speared through Sanji's vision, bright and blinding, and then washed with red as every nerve in his body shorted out, muscles seized, brain overloaded with the most perfect…perfect…oh god!
Floating. It felt like floating.
Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
In. Out. Back. Forth. Breathing was pretty much settled, in time to the wafting shallows against the hull, and Sanji figured he hadn't felt like this before in his entire nineteen-almost-twenty years of living. His ass had probably seen better days, and he'd be feeling it in the morning, but he couldn't get rid of that weird fullness in his chest, and the future pain didn't seem important anymore.
No words were spoken during their post-coital euphoria, or even afterwards. Sanji wasn't surprised, and didn't really mind. Zoro was retarded anyway, and conversations weren't his strong point. But he did stay awake long after his lover's snores began rumbling in his ear, wondering. Wondering why, exactly, Zoro was okay with everything. Wondering why the swordsman hadn't needed a long, heart-felt confession from Sanji, or at least some sort of explanation. Wondering why all he had needed was to look in Sanji's eyes, to feel the emotion and fire behind his kiss, to know how badly Sanji needed him. To know how much Sanji had regretted what he'd done, and how much he wanted another chance. And Zoro had accepted that, needed no retribution, no promises of faith, needed nothing more than Sanji. And he honestly wondered why that was…
The voice in his head that sounded like Nami was about to inform him of what an idiot he was, but this time, Sanji beat her to it. He was an idiot and he knew it, but he was learning, at least.
No words were spoken in the quiet hum of the ship as the two men lay curled together on the stack of old blankets in the corner of the dusty storage room. And Sanji thought it was kinda odd that he didn't need any reassurances or soothing sentiments after stepping off his cliff, and he was about to wonder about that, too, except that he was finally starting to catch on to this whole strange, wonderful business, and the voice in his head figured it was about damn time.
In his own way, he figured Zoro had been right about words. Words were obtrusive, and heavy-handed, and way too limiting. Not everything could be expressed to their fullest with words; trying to define something could cheapen its beauty and meaning. And this, Sanji decided as he nuzzled into his lover's solid warmth, was much too important to fuck up with stupid words.
Besides. The fingers absently trailing through his hair and the light scratch of stitches against Sanji's bare side were more of an I love you than any "I love you," could ever hope to be.
Hee heee...not quite done yet...;)