Title: One to a Thousand
Rating: M for language, adult themes and sexual content
Disclaimer: I do not own One Piece
Spoiler Warning: Takes place after the time skip. References to several previous arcs and events. Heavy spoilers from the end of the Thriller Bark arc, particularly chapter 485/episode 377.
CHAPTER THREE
Zoro's nostalgic kiss forcibly dredged up all of the memories that Sanji had beseeched his mind to forget countless time over the years. Even now, they remained far too vivid and painful… yet he couldn't help but reflect as their lips softly pressed together.
After the battle was over at Thriller Bark… After Bartholomew Kuma's mysterious disappearance while everyone was unconscious from his shockwave… That day, Sanji felt a feeling in his chest unlike any other.
What was he supposed to do? He'd witnessed something he wasn't supposed to see; to almost see the life of a crewmember snuffed out in front of him (or rather, to miss the crucial moment, due to his own weakness), and to find him barely on his feet, dripping in blood.
No, bathed in blood.
Who wouldn't feel some kind of sympathetic despair toward the man? Even if they never got along, they never really hated one another, either. Their mutual animosity toward each other, partly sparked by a ridiculous rivalry and by incompatible traits.
Isn't it normal to feel like his heart had been crushed, as he watched an indomitable spirit hanging between life and death, anxiously watching the hours tick by to see if he would ever awaken? They were all shaken, certainly, but only Sanji knew the truth behind why he had become that way.
Only he knew it was out of self-sacrifice and not his usual bull-headed notion of fighting whatever strong thing was in front of him. That it hadn't been in a blaze of glory, but rather, in an obscure, joyless encounter, in which the swordsman did not even raise his sword to fight back.
The despair of knowing he was too weak to take it on himself; his pathetic attempt to step in and take the swordsman's place. Even now, he could not rationalize why he did it, but just hearing the man talk about sacrificing his life for his nakama made him want to stand in his place. After all, what was his life worth, his ambitions, compared to the rest of them?
Barely able to stand, barely able to take in a breath, he had pathetically tried to make his trembling legs stand. He could still feel the pain in his ribs, where the hilt of Zoro's sword had surely cracked his ribs.
The ire and the desperate fear as he clutched at the other man's arm as his consciousness started to fade. The terrifying revelation that he may never see him again, as the world around him slipped into darkness.
When Sanji awoke, there was room for nothing else in his mind but the swordsman. Frantic and despondent, he forced his aching, useless body to stand, to hurry and find him.
And when he was found, the relief in his chest barely lasted a single heartbeat, as he saw the state the swordsman was in. The blood-soaked man could only speak enough to firmly tell him nothing had happened. When his knees finally buckled and he nearly fell to a heap, Sanji someone managed to keep him upright with his pathetic, useless body, and distraughtly rush him to Chopper, all the while praying that he would not die of blood loss before they got there.
How can there be so much blood? he thought over and over. And then the swordsman's life was in someone else's hands, and there was nothing he could do but wait and try to pretend he wasn't torn completely inside out. To act natural. Nonchalant. The thoughts in his mind carried a much greater desperation than they should have, and he knew there was something abnormal about the way he was thinking, but the thought of Zoro dying filled him with uncontrollable trepidation.
After all, doesn't everyone have a moment where they confuse caring for someone as something more?
Doesn't everyone drop their guard, every once in awhile?
When coherent thoughts finally began to form in Sanji's head again, these were the form they took. The egregiously injured Zoro, who slept for far too long as he recovered, looked worse than he had ever seen. Even Chopper admitted he barely survived.
And only Sanji knew why. Perhaps the crew would have liked to know the sacrifice he nearly made, but for Zoro's sake, he kept his mouth shut and prayed none of the other residents of Thriller Bark told them of what happened. (Their newest crewmember knew as well, but Sanji felt that he would keep silent; just a gut feeling.)
They could not know, especially Luffy, because the pain of knowing they all knew the truth would probably be worse for Zoro than taking on all of the pain and fatigue from Luffy's fight. It wasn't what Zoro would have wanted; he understood, because he felt the same way.
If he had avoided Zoro's blow to his ribs, would it have turned out differently? Could he have shared in that pain with him? Could he have spared Zoro from it? (Why did he so desperately want to?)
After what felt like an eternity of waiting, when Zoro's eyes finally fluttered open, Sanji tried his best to keep up his usual act. A biting comment. A subtle insult. Maybe a non-so-subtle insult. The tiniest tell that he was glad he was okay, but he couldn't be direct. He could never let the other man know the anguish he had been going through and the uncertainty he felt in his own mind. Besides, whenever he saw Zoro, someone else was always around, so it was easy to act like he always had.
And there would be no point of having any other kind of interaction with him, anyway; he was okay now. And hopefully—no, probably—the fluttery feelings of sympathy in Sanji's chest would dissipate in a day or two. And mostly, they did, or at least he was able to ignore them for the most part.
Until they came crashing back down in full force.
Chopper had asked Sanji to bring Zoro something to eat. It was late, long past supper, but Chopper noticed that Zoro was awake when he last checked on him. Since the swordsman had had so many days of not being able to eat solid food, now that he could, it was important for him to be well-nourished. Sanji hadn't minded complying; he was, after all, the ship's cook, and he already had some of the biting comments he would make to the green-haired man prepared in his mind.
Yet upon opening the door, he saw that the idiot marimo had tried to move around even though he was supposed to stay in bed. As the swordsman nearly collapsed, so had Sanji's resolve.
"Stupid bastard!" Sanji bellowed, while in a fluid motion, gracefully setting down his tray on a table near the door and leaping forward to stop the other man from tumbling to the ground.
"Why the hell are you here, ero-cook?" Zoro asked. Despite the fact that he had just saved him from falling (and potentially reopening his innumerable wounds), the swordsman somehow managed to give him a dirty look, as though he had thwarted his intentional plummet to the ground.
Sanji was seething with anger. He was so pissed off, he almost wanted to throttle the shitty marimo into the wall. With his injuries, he just may not have gotten back up again, he thought with a strange sense of satisfaction.
But instead, all he could do was tremble. Clenching his jaw, he gingerly held the other man upright by hooking his own arms under Zoro's. He didn't really know where else to grab; there were wounds over so much of his body, and he had so many broken ribs, he felt like he might break anything he touched.
"Just shut up and tell me how I can get you back to the bed without making anything worse," Sanji muttered, looking downward, not wanting to make eye contact with the green-haired man.
A hand startlingly full of strength reached forward and grasped his shoulder. "I'm not that fragile," he told him, his tone a bit too irritated to be reassuring. "But oi, what's with you?"
Of course the other man felt it; their bodies were entirely too close for the swordsman to miss his shaking, no matter how badly he wanted him to.
Silently, he repeated the words calm down in his head, over and over, until he finally mustered up the will to guide Zoro back to his bed.
A bit aggravated, Zoro allowed himself to be set gently down, leaning back against the bed's elevated headrest. Sanji hesitantly started to back away, but before he could put any distance between them, the swordsman pulled him back toward him by yanking his fucking ear.
"What the hell is your problem?" Sanji yelped. He tried to twist out of the other man's grasp, but Zoro continued firmly clutching the sensitive cartilage and it hurt like hell to even move, let alone pull away.
"That's what I should be asking you, dartboard-brow," Zoro said calmly. The nearness of the baritone voice to his ear made Sanji suddenly stop; he had not been aware of just how close they were.
He looked at Zoro. With his face being only inches from his own, it was very clear that there was some kind of expression there that he usually didn't see... Something that looked a bit like concern.
What the hell is wrong with you? You don't get to be concerned about me, you shitty swordsman. Not after how much you've made everyone worry about you, Sanji thought, a twitch of anguish in his brow.
Zoro's face was so close, too. Every detail in crystal clarity, the faint smell of antiseptic lingering on him from his numerous bandages, and the shallow breath lightly billowing by his face.
So close.
"You didn't tell anybody," he commented.
"Ah," Sanji nodded affirmatively—as much as he could, with the vice-like grip on his earlobe, anyway.
Zoro did not speak, but the faint nod as the grip on Sanji's ear loosened was more gratitude than Sanji would have ever expected. He probably could have backed away. For some inexplicable reason, he didn't.
So damn close.
As he studied all of the cuts and abrasions on the green-haired man's face, the emotion that gripped him was nothing short of paralyzing. It was foreign and appalling, something he didn't understand and certainly didn't want to try to.
A kaleidoscope of feelings seized him, spinning together into something unrecognizable. Fear for his death. Relief over his recovery. Uncertainty about what to say. Apprehension over how that person could shake him so thoroughly, down to his very core. That skip of happiness, when he realized eyelids had finally fluttered open after days of teetering on the edge of life and death. The anger at what he had done for the sake of the rest of them. The indignation that he had been prevented from taking his place. The despair that seemed to loom over all the other feelings.
Goddammit, why are you so close to me? he thought, only vaguely aware of his hypocrisy for being outraged when he, too, failed to back away.
Is he moving...
"...closer?" Sanji accidentally murmured aloud, his voice just barely audibly, even in the unnaturally silent room.
Yet it seemed Zoro heard the fragment of a question. It could have been interpreted in many ways, but apparently, the swordsman took it as a request as he leaned in until their lips were just touching.
An aching longing resonated through his body as they tentatively pressed their lips. He could feel the roughness of a small cut, scabbed over and mostly healed, near the corner of the green-haired man's lower lip, but if the sensation hurt, he did not flinch away from it.
Sanji deepened the kiss, parting his mouth slightly, unsure of whether he should continue, expecting the swordsman to fling him away at any moment. Instead, Zoro responded by parting his own lips as well, cautiously flicking his tongue forward, until his tongue braised the edge of Sanji's lip.
The cook let out the tiniest sound, indicating that the gentle, barely noticeable touch had nonetheless caused him some degree of pleasure. Sanji repeated the other man's action, moving his tongue slightly farther into the swordsman's mouth, until their tongues connected.
Sanji leaned forward, and the other man let himself be gently pushed back until his head was resting on the elevated headrest of the bed. Unconsciously, Sanji rested one knee on top of the bed, to better brace his body as he leaned over Zoro.
The soft, cautious brushes of their tongues were in stark contrast to their usual sharp, violent interactions. As they kissed, Sanji felt a desperate need to keep going, to kiss him more deeply, more urgently. Maybe it was because it felt so wrong and so confusing. Maybe it was because of the ineffable relief that he was still there before him, warm and alive, able to be spoken to, able to be touched. No matter what the reason, his body felt incapable of pulling away.
Zoro began to respond a bit more hungrily as well, his tongue slowly building up a more aggressive approach, sliding into Sanji's mouth to explore every secret crevice. Occasionally, a small, deep grunt sounded from his throat, making Sanji's heart race just slightly more than it had in the preceding moment.
It was a wince of pain, however, that forcefully ripped Sanji back into reality. As Zoro had shifted his position in his eager response to the kiss, he had also irritated one of his many wounds.
A bit regretfully, Sanji pulled away, pleasurable sensations still lingering on his tongue and lips.
Zoro looked like he was about to speak, but after a long moment, he seemed to give up on whatever words he had. With a heavy sigh, he folded his hands on his lap, staring downward with a slight furrow in his brow.
Sanji nodded faintly; they mutually understood that there was really nothing to say, nothing to do. Whatever this moment was, it was a fleeting fancy that would probably turn into a remorseful memory the moment Sanji exited the room.
Wordlessly, Sanji grabbed the tray he had left on the table by the door, placed it on the tray next to Zoro's bed, and without so much as making eye contact, exited the room.
Indeed, he felt the tinge of regret, but it was mingled with something else he could not—or perhaps did not want to—identify.
With resolve, he tried his best to bury the feeling deep within his heart. After all, if he made it sink down deep enough, then it was unlikely to ever resurface again.
Neither man had ever alluded to that encounter until that moment. And now that it was there, plainly sitting in front of them, as obvious and as tangible as the lips smashed against his, and the strong arms that were now wrapped around him.
"Dammit, shitty swordsman," Sanji muttered, somehow mustering the will to pry himself away from the other man, despite his own body's protests. Shoving the swordsman away, he rose to his feet while Zoro stayed seated on the narrow crate, the faintest hint of a smirk crossing his face.
Holding one hand over his mouth, Sanji turned away from Zoro, staring down at the ground, trying to figure out how to proceed. All he had wanted to do was get back to the ship to begin with, to get off this wretched island; if they had just made it back, this wouldn't have happened. Sanji still felt light-headed and weak from all of the physical manifestations of his stress... and from the nostalgic sensations on his lips that stubbornly refused to fade away.
And yet, oddly enough, even though something devastating had just happened, he felt steadier on his feet than he had a few moments before. His heart pounded a bit harder than usual, sure, but wasn't the frantic, dizzying pace that had plagued him all evening.
He couldn't ignore Zoro's reasoning. This and that really were two different things. His trauma from Momoiro Island—from his own personal hell—was undoubtedly part of the whole, but that shitty marimo had ripped the other issue open, painfully exposing it to the dizzying neon lights surrounding them.
At some point, he had developed feelings... shitty feelings for a shitty man that made him more angry than possibly any other person in the entire damn world. And now, he was forced to chase after him on an island that was a prime destination for male couples.
And the source of that feeling had existed before Momoiro.
The swordsman had made him reach an epiphany he had never wanted.
Rage and confusion bubbled up inside of him, until suddenly, he swung his body around, a heavy black shoe becoming airborne as he started a sharp kick. As if he was prepared for it, though, Zoro already had one sword drawn to block.
He grinned, his single eye mirthfully fixated on Sanji, one corner of his mouth twisted up slightly more than the other, almost tauntingly.
But taunting me to what?
Several times, he tried backing away, changing his direction, and attacking again, but each time he was adeptly blocked. It was the same fight the two men had fought a hundred times over—maybe more. One man struck. The other blocked, then took his turn to strike. Endless repeat until they grew bored or until something more pressing came up. The never-ending draw.
His anger slowly faded away into a feeling more akin to despair, and finally, he lost the urge to keep it up. He waved his hand in a gesture indicating he was through.
Sanji felt like there was a void within him that needed to be filled, but each interaction just left him feeling more and more empty.
"That's an awfully stupid look on your face right now, dartboard-brow," Zoro commented, sheathing his katana.
"Same to you, shitty marimo," Sanji scowled.
"Actually," Zoro commented, "it reminds me of the look you were giving me at that time."
The statement was vague, but there was no ambiguity as to what that time referred to. Really, the feelings he had buried deep within himself had never been exposed since that time, when Zoro was still recovering from his near-death experience, until this very evening. It wasn't surprising to him if he was making a similar face.
The strange, alluring mix of anger, hopelessness and something faintly resembling longing made Sanji want to feel the swordsman's touch again. He knew it was an urge he should fight, though. He just had to focus on getting back to the ship.
If they left that place now, he wondered if they would ever get the opportunity to be in this situation again. Alone together, with the heavy atmosphere of normally obscured feelings, floating around and exposed.
Considering all the years that had passed since that incident, he wondered if it would be many more years again. Or perhaps, something unexpected would happen, and the right ambience would never show itself again, and this would be the last time he and Zoro would ever share such a tender moment. When he thought about it logically, that would undoubtedly be the most ideal outcome. But when he thought about how he really felt...
I don't want that to happen, he admitted to himself with difficulty.
There were a thousand things that could happen in his life that would be easier... Something simple and easy to explain, in a life that was often unexplainable.
He had never truly visualized himself as having a normal and proper life; after all, from his childhood onward, his life could never have been described as typical and pastoral. Since he came into the world that way, it was unlikely his life would suddenly take a turn for the average. Yet still, the possibility wasn't entirely gone. The universe was far too big for his comprehension, and there were an infinite number of plausible outcomes.
He was aware that each decision he made shut doors, though—and often, they were doors he didn't want to voluntarily close. Maybe someday, either Nami or Robin would decide that he was a perfect man for them, and give into his flirtations. They could become a normal couple, two crewmates who were also lovers. Or maybe he'd meet a beauty at some point on their journey, and they would fall madly in love with each other. Though he had never thought much beyond that, it was even possible they could go through those typical steps; marriage, family, spending their lives together.
He was young and more things were possible in this world than he could ever know or imagine.
There was one thing he was certain of, though… any one of those infinite prospects, most assuredly, would be indescribably less troublesome than the man standing before him right now.
Maybe if it had been only a physical attraction, one of those sloppy, reckless moments where two people unthinkingly collide with each other without considering the consequences, it would have been okay. After all, a lot of people have those sorts of encounters—he suspected that such a thing may have happened once or twice between some of his crewmates, in fact—but they get over it and move along with their lives, because a physical attraction was all there was to it.
But for Sanji, this spark wasn't created that way... And once it ignited, the possibility of ignoring that unwanted feeling became closer to zero. All this time, he had tried to snuff the flame by depriving it of oxygen, because he was convinced that if they went even a step further, the vast conflagration that would ensue would surely bring that probability to zero.
He raised a hand to his mouth again, his lips filled with the remembrance of the several kisses they had now shared.
As Sanji was lost in his sea of indecision, Zoro simply watched him. His brow was slightly knitted, and the corner of his mouth was twisted in a small, barely identifiable frown. It was unclear what he was thinking, or how he felt about the current situation... But if there was one thing that was certain, it was that there was no indecision in his posture.
When Sanji finally noticed that decisive stance, the murky veil over him seemed to lift, and suddenly his mind felt clearer. For all the hesitation he was feeling within his own body, the swordsman had none; he simply stood, waiting for whatever decision Sanji would come to. The other man's resolve reminded Sanji of one very simple thing: Zoro must have considered the exact same things as he had, and yet, his body did not hesitate.
Tch, that's something I wouldn't have expected.
The cook closed his eyes and took a deep breath, preparing his already racing heart for its next shock.
He lacked the certainty of the other man, but he undoubtedly wanted whatever was about to happen. Even knowing the remorse he would feel, he wanted it.
Nervously, he took a step closer to the green-haired man. Zoro raised his eyebrow slightly, his frown disappearing from his countenance.
Sanji took another step. How many more would it take—perhaps three? Was it already too late to turn back?
Those three short steps felt like the farthest distance he ever had to travel. With each fractionally small increment he crept, he felt he drew nearer to some kind of ominous landmark warning him of certain misfortune if he dared enter. The point of no return.
Abruptly, he stopped, realizing how ridiculous it sounded.
What the hell kind of coward am I, anyway? he thought angrily.
No wonder Zoro had called him weak. He was acting like a wuss, scaredy-cat, a wimp—absolutely appalling behavior. The weakness seemed even more apparent as the swordsman's own calm reflected back onto him.
That shitty marimo wasn't turning away from this. He hadn't run, hadn't let things just happen. He had forcibly taken Sanji aside and made him come to terms with his weakness—no, I don't think that's quite right, he realized.
Actually, the reason Zoro was here was completely mystifying to Sanji. After all, although he had started having these unspeakable feelings, it was infeasible that the swordsman experienced similar emotions. And certainly, Zoro would not try to help him out of sheer benevolence—if anything, the other man should have been using this as a point of ridicule. (But then, it didn't make sense that he kissed him, if that were the case.)
The reason was bewildering and unfathomable—yet here Zoro was, waiting, looking at Sanji with a calm stare, surprisingly devoid of judgment. Whatever the reason was for him being there, now the next move was on Sanji, and he had to do something.
You shitty coward, stop acting like a brat, he scolded himself again.
The final steps were made with a newly-found determination. The distance between them gone, Sanji reached upward toward the other man, pressing his hands tentatively on either side of Zoro's neck, his fingertips loosely grazing his jaw as their lips met. His heart pounded heavily as he felt strong arms wrap around his back, firmly clutching him and drawing their bodies nearer.
That feeling that he had submerged again and again finally surged forward and broke free of the dark waters that had been entombing it; now free, Sanji doubted he would ever be able to contain it again.
The hesitation from the kiss was gone, and now they pressed their lips together more confidently. Their tongues gently met, sweeping back and forth together. Sanji let out a quiet moan as the other man's tongue eagerly flitted into his mouth, exploring all of the new nooks and crannies it had never felt before. Meanwhile, Sanji's tongue danced with the new visitor in his mouth, his brow furrowing slightly from the effort and the desperation he was beginning to feel.
Zoro's low voice, reduced to pleasurable moans and murmurs as they kissed, seemed to send a tremor though his body as they pressed together tightly. He had tried, for so long, to keep himself from imagining this scenario in his mind, but he felt his body shudder with excitement now that it was finally here. He was already berating himself for all the wasted time…
Their lips broke apart, and Zoro pressed his forehead against Sanji's, brushing his cheek with a surprisingly tender gesture. This was surely a side of him he hadn't seen before.
"What do you want to do now?" he asked simply.
His heart jumped into his throat at the direct question. Yet it was clear from the enunciation, now wasn't referring simply to the present moment, but rather, a much longer span of time that might be difficult to capture in words.
The warmth of his forehead was surprisingly reassuring. Unthinkingly, Sanji reached up and ran his fingers through the other man's short, surprisingly soft hair, then trailed his fingers down his left ear until he reached his earring. Absentmindedly, he played with the three dangling pieces of metal as he considered his reply.
"If you want to act like nothing happened again, then it's fine," Zoro continued, a peculiar tinge of sadness coloring his voice. "I just need to know, that's all."
Sanji took a deep breath before responding. "How the hell am I supposed to know how to answer a question like that?" he asked, his voice absent of its usual irritation he had when he answered Zoro with a question.
"Then will you stop ignoring it, at least?" Zoro asked directly, his unblinking stare fixed upon him.
Sanji averted his gaze. "Tch, again, what am I supposed to say to that..."
"It's a yes or no question. I don't get what's so hard about answering."
"Of course it's hard!" Sanji replied sharply. He took a deep breath, closing his eyes as he considered. "Maybe," he said finally. "That's all I'm saying for now."
Zoro nodded, appeased enough by the answer. He brought in his face slightly closer until their lips touched again.
When they pulled apart, Sanji thought he saw an unexpected emotion reflecting in Zoro's eye. The uncharacteristic emotion disappeared quickly, however, as Zoro's face reverted to its most typical arrogant smirk. Pulling away, Zoro waved a hand at him impatiently, as if urging him on. "Well, what are you doing? Didn't you want to go back to the ship?"
Sanji's brow twitched in annoyance. "Shitty marimo…" he muttered under his breath. Inwardly, Sanji was a bit startled at just how quickly his heart could be pulled in so many directions.
But somewhere beneath the foreign feeling of elation fluttering in his chest, there was something dreadful and apprehensive; too focused on what was currently before him, he chose to ignore it.