Sanji/Duval....woot.
He thinks about it all the time. The compromise he made with himself on that day.
Would he be able to live with himself? Technically he’s already dead and company will help keep him sane.
Sanji had attended almost half of his nakama’s funerals by then. He could have saved them all (and had been begged to by a few of their remaining families) which came with it’s own profound guilt. His only saving grace that kept him from giving in to their pleas was the thirst he could still feel even as he offered his condolences.
How easy it would be to tear open the throats of these grieving loved ones and feast until he was full. A bloody massacre that promised euphoric delights and thirst satiated for at least a while.
He could never wish such a hellish existence on his friends. Never mind what turning them would do to their relationship. He would become their everything; father, brother, lover, and most disturbingly- master.
But still his loneliness in his travels makes the thirst louder and more tempting. No one left to care what happens afterward, mirrors no longer able to reflect his image.
Then he stumbles across Duval, not a friend. An annoyance, really. But he’s older now, more mature and flirts with the vampire cook, inviting temptations too strong when in the heat of finally feeling contact once more with someone who strangely gives a damn.
He drinks accidentally at the height of passion and realizes he didn’t have to finish.
Duval already calls him young master, after all.
It could work.
So far, it was.
“Young master! Are you awake? They’ve sent another assassin!”
“You can have him, I’m not hungry.”
Maybe he shouldn’t be surprised a Rosy Life Rider makes him feel more human.