Working Backwards [One Piece, Zoro/Sanji & Mihawk/Zoro]
Title: Working Backwards
Fandom: One Piece
Pairing: Zoro/Sanji, Mihawk/Zoro, and Zoro/Sanji again
Rating: R
Disclaimer: One Piece and its characters do not belong to me.
Summary: The order was wrong. But Zoro doesn’t care as long as it’s all right in the end.
A/N: I just wanted to produce something because I know I’m being ridiculously slow at writing the next Flash Forward chapter. And then even this took me forever FUCK. Also, I stopped caring about any kind of consistency in the writing, so uh. Sorry about that.
[1: the love confession]
Three days after experiencing the greatest pain of his life, Zoro woke up and Sanji was there. The familiar scent of his cigarette hit him before anything else-the post-party smell of spilled rum and the remnants of a feast, the early-in-the-morning silence, the lingering soreness, and the bandages that enveloped his body. He opened his eyes and Sanji was looking at him with a stare that was much calmer than he expected.
“I don’t want to talk about any of this shit.”
Zoro didn’t say anything for a moment, less because he didn’t want to, and more because he couldn’t, like his throat had forgotten how to work while he was unconscious. When he did speak, his voice was faintly hoarse from neglect.
“What’s there to talk about?”
Sanji frowned around his cigarette and seemed to be contemplating either talking about the aforementioned shit he didn’t want to talk about or murdering the swordsman while he was still in a weakened state.
Ultimately, apparently, he decided on neither as he put out his cigarette, turned his head away and exhaled smoke. “The others will be glad you’re awake.”
“Were you waiting?”
“Well, obviously. Chopper wanted to make sure you were all right before we-”
“I meant you.”
Zoro watched Sanji’s shoulders stiffen and that was enough; he didn’t expect an answer in words, but-
“I haven’t slept.”
But things were different now. He could feel it already. Sanji would’ve died for him; there was this kind of understanding now, that no matter what Sanji did or said from now on, Zoro knew a certain important truth about him. Knew something about what was in his heart.
Sanji resented it, Zoro could tell. Accepted it, but resented it, and Zoro knew he had to make things even.
“I love you, cook.”
Zoro’s eyes followed a visible shiver that traveled down the other man’s body, before meeting a wide-eyed stare as Sanji looked back at him. A red flush flooded his cheeks rather quickly, Zoro noted with a mental smirk, and his mouth opened and closed uselessly a few times.
“You…say that so…simply,” he eventually managed.
“Yeah.” Zoro shrugged a little, started to sit up. “I mean it, though-oi.” He frowned in protest as Sanji gently pushed him back down.
“Stay.”
“But-”
“Be a good boy.”
Zoro glared, but it was half-hearted; the blush on Sanji’s face deepened a little as Zoro’s hand moved to encircle his, which was lingering on the swordsman’s wrapped-up chest.
“Cook…”
“You don’t have to say it again. I believe you.” Sanji sighed, a mixture of irritation and embarrassment, and looked away again, muttering, “You would wait until something like this to tell me…”
“Huh?”
“Nothing. Just be still until Chopper gets up, all right?”
Sanji laced their fingers together, a soft and sweet gesture to match his confession. A reassurance. Things were different now, but they were good.
[2: the sex]
It was after the accident that caused him to lose his eye that Zoro and Mihawk started sleeping together. Every night during his recovery, Mihawk sat silently at his bedside. Every now and then, unexpectedly gentle fingertips brushed along the bandage that covered his eye; Zoro was reminded of Sanji and something in his chest ached. What followed was somewhat inevitable, with or without that ache.
That first night, his first time (because handholding was as intimate as he and Sanji ever got), he could barely breathe. Words were whispered into his ear, but he wouldn’t be able to remember them if his life depended on it. He could feel his body tensing everywhere, changing color. He loved Sanji, but no one else made him feel as weak inside as Mihawk did.
And no one else would mark him so completely.
“Ah-hn!”
Zoro seized up slightly beneath the master swordsman as teeth bit deep into his shoulder. Pleasure and pain-Mihawk made them blend so thoroughly that Zoro couldn’t distinguish between the two at all. His entire body was thrumming from the places Mihawk had pierced him in some way.
“Rest assured,” Mihawk spoke into his broken skin, “your back remains unscathed.”
Zoro believed him, trusted him, for whatever reason. Or else he wouldn’t have been here like this. Hands fisted in red wine bed sheets. On his knees. Vulnerable and open in an unfamiliar way, with Mihawk behind him, where Sanji should have been, pressing in.
He came twice before Mihawk finished (something he was sure to work on afterward, until the man’s masterful hand had to work at coaxing completion out of him) and was turned over, so two golden eyes could look down into his remaining one. The other one, permanently closed, received the faintest of kisses and for a moment, Zoro almost wanted…
But Mihawk’s mouth mapped Zoro’s body thoroughly during his stay, without ever once touching his lips.
[3: the kiss]
When he resurfaced from the now-destroyed ship that he’d accidentally wandered onto, Zoro wasn’t too surprised to find that Sanji was there. It made sense. It felt right. And Mihawk’s castle, Mihawk’s bed-those were nice, but this was the first time in two years that he felt at home, just by seeing him, just by following behind him as they headed for Sunny.
“Oi.” Sanji looked over his shoulder at him, his eye. “What happened to you?”
“Life.”
Sanji scowled at the purposefully vague answer and Zoro’s thumb twitched with the urge to trace that frown and commit it to memory. He had missed even that.
“The fuck is that supposed to mean?”
Zoro shrugged and Sanji faced forward again, muttering underneath his breath. He would’ve smirked, maybe, if he’d had time, but he didn’t. Sanji stopped suddenly, turned around, walked right up close to him and there was that cigarette scent-
“All right, look. I don’t want to talk about any of this shit.” (Yeah, Sanji hadn’t changed all that much.) “But I don’t want to waste any more time, got it?”
“Then don’t.”
And he didn’t. The bit of distance between them was gone before Zoro’s eye could close and the cook had his first kiss now, to go along with his heart.
Things were different, still, Zoro knew as shaking fingers gripped his hair and he pulled Sanji closer. They were different. But they were together. So they were good.
Fandom: One Piece
Pairing: Zoro/Sanji, Mihawk/Zoro, and Zoro/Sanji again
Rating: R
Disclaimer: One Piece and its characters do not belong to me.
Summary: The order was wrong. But Zoro doesn’t care as long as it’s all right in the end.
A/N: I just wanted to produce something because I know I’m being ridiculously slow at writing the next Flash Forward chapter. And then even this took me forever FUCK. Also, I stopped caring about any kind of consistency in the writing, so uh. Sorry about that.
[1: the love confession]
Three days after experiencing the greatest pain of his life, Zoro woke up and Sanji was there. The familiar scent of his cigarette hit him before anything else-the post-party smell of spilled rum and the remnants of a feast, the early-in-the-morning silence, the lingering soreness, and the bandages that enveloped his body. He opened his eyes and Sanji was looking at him with a stare that was much calmer than he expected.
“I don’t want to talk about any of this shit.”
Zoro didn’t say anything for a moment, less because he didn’t want to, and more because he couldn’t, like his throat had forgotten how to work while he was unconscious. When he did speak, his voice was faintly hoarse from neglect.
“What’s there to talk about?”
Sanji frowned around his cigarette and seemed to be contemplating either talking about the aforementioned shit he didn’t want to talk about or murdering the swordsman while he was still in a weakened state.
Ultimately, apparently, he decided on neither as he put out his cigarette, turned his head away and exhaled smoke. “The others will be glad you’re awake.”
“Were you waiting?”
“Well, obviously. Chopper wanted to make sure you were all right before we-”
“I meant you.”
Zoro watched Sanji’s shoulders stiffen and that was enough; he didn’t expect an answer in words, but-
“I haven’t slept.”
But things were different now. He could feel it already. Sanji would’ve died for him; there was this kind of understanding now, that no matter what Sanji did or said from now on, Zoro knew a certain important truth about him. Knew something about what was in his heart.
Sanji resented it, Zoro could tell. Accepted it, but resented it, and Zoro knew he had to make things even.
“I love you, cook.”
Zoro’s eyes followed a visible shiver that traveled down the other man’s body, before meeting a wide-eyed stare as Sanji looked back at him. A red flush flooded his cheeks rather quickly, Zoro noted with a mental smirk, and his mouth opened and closed uselessly a few times.
“You…say that so…simply,” he eventually managed.
“Yeah.” Zoro shrugged a little, started to sit up. “I mean it, though-oi.” He frowned in protest as Sanji gently pushed him back down.
“Stay.”
“But-”
“Be a good boy.”
Zoro glared, but it was half-hearted; the blush on Sanji’s face deepened a little as Zoro’s hand moved to encircle his, which was lingering on the swordsman’s wrapped-up chest.
“Cook…”
“You don’t have to say it again. I believe you.” Sanji sighed, a mixture of irritation and embarrassment, and looked away again, muttering, “You would wait until something like this to tell me…”
“Huh?”
“Nothing. Just be still until Chopper gets up, all right?”
Sanji laced their fingers together, a soft and sweet gesture to match his confession. A reassurance. Things were different now, but they were good.
[2: the sex]
It was after the accident that caused him to lose his eye that Zoro and Mihawk started sleeping together. Every night during his recovery, Mihawk sat silently at his bedside. Every now and then, unexpectedly gentle fingertips brushed along the bandage that covered his eye; Zoro was reminded of Sanji and something in his chest ached. What followed was somewhat inevitable, with or without that ache.
That first night, his first time (because handholding was as intimate as he and Sanji ever got), he could barely breathe. Words were whispered into his ear, but he wouldn’t be able to remember them if his life depended on it. He could feel his body tensing everywhere, changing color. He loved Sanji, but no one else made him feel as weak inside as Mihawk did.
And no one else would mark him so completely.
“Ah-hn!”
Zoro seized up slightly beneath the master swordsman as teeth bit deep into his shoulder. Pleasure and pain-Mihawk made them blend so thoroughly that Zoro couldn’t distinguish between the two at all. His entire body was thrumming from the places Mihawk had pierced him in some way.
“Rest assured,” Mihawk spoke into his broken skin, “your back remains unscathed.”
Zoro believed him, trusted him, for whatever reason. Or else he wouldn’t have been here like this. Hands fisted in red wine bed sheets. On his knees. Vulnerable and open in an unfamiliar way, with Mihawk behind him, where Sanji should have been, pressing in.
He came twice before Mihawk finished (something he was sure to work on afterward, until the man’s masterful hand had to work at coaxing completion out of him) and was turned over, so two golden eyes could look down into his remaining one. The other one, permanently closed, received the faintest of kisses and for a moment, Zoro almost wanted…
But Mihawk’s mouth mapped Zoro’s body thoroughly during his stay, without ever once touching his lips.
[3: the kiss]
When he resurfaced from the now-destroyed ship that he’d accidentally wandered onto, Zoro wasn’t too surprised to find that Sanji was there. It made sense. It felt right. And Mihawk’s castle, Mihawk’s bed-those were nice, but this was the first time in two years that he felt at home, just by seeing him, just by following behind him as they headed for Sunny.
“Oi.” Sanji looked over his shoulder at him, his eye. “What happened to you?”
“Life.”
Sanji scowled at the purposefully vague answer and Zoro’s thumb twitched with the urge to trace that frown and commit it to memory. He had missed even that.
“The fuck is that supposed to mean?”
Zoro shrugged and Sanji faced forward again, muttering underneath his breath. He would’ve smirked, maybe, if he’d had time, but he didn’t. Sanji stopped suddenly, turned around, walked right up close to him and there was that cigarette scent-
“All right, look. I don’t want to talk about any of this shit.” (Yeah, Sanji hadn’t changed all that much.) “But I don’t want to waste any more time, got it?”
“Then don’t.”
And he didn’t. The bit of distance between them was gone before Zoro’s eye could close and the cook had his first kiss now, to go along with his heart.
Things were different, still, Zoro knew as shaking fingers gripped his hair and he pulled Sanji closer. They were different. But they were together. So they were good.