Over Again (Pt.III)
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: ZoSan; also has a dash of LuNaUso sorry I couldn't help myself!
Warnings: Uh ...
Beta: The amazing (as always) bronzetigress
A/N: sorry this is kinda late. Been lazy.
Part III
Two weeks after everything is supposed to be fixed, Zoro is sure that something is wrong. He’s not a particularly pessimistic person by nature, but neither does he have his head in the clouds. There are days he feels good and other days he doesn’t. It really depends on whether somebody tried to hurt someone he cares about, or did something incredibly cowardly, or if someone stole his alcohol. Those things tend to put him in a bad mood, but for the most part he’s pretty mellow.
Lately, though, he hasn’t been mellow. For the past several days he’s been happy. He’s been feeling genuinely good. Not ‘this is great wine’ good, but ‘I’m the greatest swordsman’ good. And he knows he hasn’t yet become the greatest swordsman, so something must be wrong.
It’s gotta be something contagious, and that affects different people in different ways too, because the others are also acting weird.
It really makes him not want to join them for lunch, but he’s hungry so he makes his way to the galley.
Everyone is there and Sanji is already handing out plates. He makes his way to his regular seat and plops down, grabbing the bottle of wine waiting for him.
His nakama are staring at him intently. It’s happened enough that he doesn’t bother to ask if there’s something on his face. He knows there won’t be.
Zoro waits as the cook makes his way to his side. Those graceful hands offer the swordsman a dish and he takes the plate, grunting his thanks, already forgetting the blond man. He does notice, however, the very absolute silence that descends and glances up curiously. He’s still being stared at, but this time Robin is smiling at him, Franky’s mouth has dropped open, Usopp, Nami, and Chopper look like they’re trying not to laugh, and even Luffy has paused in the act of stuffing his mouth. Brook - it’s hard to tell what Brook is doing.
He glances at the chef, hoping for some enlightenment, but his words jam in his throat. Sanji is absolutely beet red and hiding his eyes behind that silky fall of hair.
“Wha-?”
“Idiot!” the blond hisses, before stomping away from the table.
Zoro feels his eyes bug out. They’re all fucking crazy. There’s no other explanation.
* * * * *
He stands over the blond, watching that chest he knows so intimately rise and fall in sleep. His watch is up and he should be waking Robin now to take over. Instead he’s made his way quietly to the cook’s hammock. Silently he reaches a hand out and seals it over parted lips.
A second later those eyes have jerked open and are wide with surprise for a moment before they narrow in fury. Zoro can imagine the angry flush that suffuses that pale skin before he leans over, placing his lips centimeters away from Sanji’s ear.
“Wanna fuck?” he breathes huskily, much too turned on already from contemplating this very thing all night. He feels the shudder that courses through that skinny body. Grinning, he sneaks a hand under the blanket covering the cook and slides the roughened flat of his palm over sleep-warmed flesh and tugs. He steps back without another word and makes his way to the deck. Sanji follows.
Zoro's eyes open blearily and the swordsman blinks, groaning happily. He feels good and he's had a great rest. He's slept better than he usually does and he wonders why that is.
* * * * *
Zoro leans back against the wall of the galley, yawning loudly. He’s not usually up this early but he’d cracked an eye open when he’d sensed the cook moving around and hasn't been able to go back to sleep. He stretches and opens the galley door, revealing the chef about to start breakfast. It’s become a bit of a habit for him to come in before the others and grab a cup of coffee and just sit at the table, enjoying the warmth of the place.
Sanji had been shocked the first time he’d done it, but had quickly set about ignoring the green-haired man. The second time, the cook had actually refilled the swordsman’s coffee cup, and by the third day he’d set out snacks.
Zoro makes his way to the table as usual and finds his coffee and even some sort of pastry waiting for him. Grinning, he grunts his greeting to the cook.
The blond doesn’t bother to answer but he lifts his head and glances in Zoro’s direction carelessly, only to have his gaze snap back to the swordsman a second later so fast the green-haired man wonders that he didn’t break his neck. He sees Sanji’s eyes travel slowly down the length of his body, riveting on his stomach in particular. He’s not wearing his usual haramaki and had only thrown on a white short-sleeved button-up shirt, which he hadn’t bothered to button.
Blue eyes are staring fixedly and somewhat dazedly at his chest before the cook seems to remember himself and his gaze jerks up to lock with Zoro’s. The swordsman smirks, watching as the blond turns every shade between cherry blossom pink and flame scarlet. He laughs out loud and the chef snarls and throws him out.
It’s the first time that has happened - him getting stared at and kicked out - but he can’t find it in him to care overly much. He feels too damn good and teasing the cook suddenly seems like the most fun he’s had in a long time. Maybe he should be feeling somewhat disturbed by the look Sanji gave him, by the fact that he’d clearly seen lust reflected in the man’s eyes, but it makes him want to laugh more than anything else so he ignores it.
* * * * *
Sanji is getting damned sick of the insane way that Zoro is acting. It’s nothing big really, but after everything that’s happened it’s damn near trauma-inducing. Worse yet, the idiot seems completely unaware that he’s doing it.
Just the other day, when the swordsman had come in for lunch, he’d taken his regular seat and Sanji had moved to set a plate in front of the other man. The marimo had taken it from him instead, and just as the blond had been pulling his hand back a touch at his wrist had made him flinch. Zoro had slowly skimmed his fingers over the flesh of Sanji’s wrist, moving languidly down to the palm stroking softly, before giving a final gentle squeeze and releasing him entirely.
It was several seconds after that before the cook remembered to breathe. His hand had been left tingling, while, to his utter mortification, his blood thrummed in his veins - namely those in his lower region. He’d never really thought of his hands as an erogenous zone.
He’d stood there for a moment longer before he finally registered the muffled sounds coming from the others - he’d forgotten about the others! - and found them all staring. His entire face had felt near bursting.
And now on top of that humiliating experience he’s practically drooled on the idiot swordsman. He groans and buries his head in his hands. His life is really too damn interesting right now.
* * * * *
He trails his fingers through soft hair and tries not to snicker. The blond has fallen asleep on the floor of the men’s quarters, head pillowed on his arms as Luffy snores in his hammock a few feet away. The cook is supposed to be taking care of their injured captain as the others settle some unresolved issues on the latest island. Well, judging by the dark circles under the chef’s eyes, and the captain’s bulging midsection and wide contented grin, Zoro would say the cook had done an excellent job.
He likes this, catching the blond asleep, unawares. The swordsman places his arms on either side of the cook’s head, bracing himself and leaning over the cook’s back, gently, not giving enough pressure to wake the other man. Sanji curls into himself in his sleep, savoring the warmth. Cautiously, Zoro inches his face closer, until his lips are skimming those of the blond. Even this little bit of contact is enough to send electric jolts of pleasure coursing down his spine. Or maybe it’s the thought of the moments to come. He slowly turns the cook onto his back and settles his lips once again over the other man’s.
He presses harder against that mouth, urging it to open, while one hand moves to the front of the cook’s pants, beginning slow, even strokes over the blond’s heat.
Sanji moans, low in his throat, and parts his lips, giving the swordsman entrance, and pushes his rapidly hardening length against that delicious friction. “Zoro,” he groans, not yet awake, and the swordsman is incapable of denying the sharp thrill that runs through him, hearing his name on the lips of the still-sleeping cook.
Quickly he shifts to undo the belt and unbutton the fastenings to push the chef’s pants out of the way. He’s barely pulled that hardened dick free of its confines when, first sleepy, then outraged clear eyes pin him in place. Lunging forward, Zoro covers the blond’s mouth before he can release his infuriated scream. Glaring warningly into those eyes, inches from his, the swordsman jerks his head to the side to indicate the snoring Luffy. Sanji’s eyes grow wide in alarm, but he relaxes when he realizes the captain is still asleep. Zoro smirks and runs his hand down the cook’s heated length, jerking the blond’s attention back to him instantly.
The cook’s eyes promise a slow and painful death in the very near future, but it’s clear that he’s surrendered for now and that’s all Zoro cares about. He slides down that slim body, breathing on that twitching cock. Desperate hands grip his head, urging him closer, wanting his mouth, and Zoro smirks, opening his lips. He’s glad Luffy’s not a light sleeper.
Zoro opens his eyes slowly, still seeing in his mind’s eye a pearly fog. There’s something important about that fog, something there, or maybe just beyond it. He reaches forward but even with his eyes open he can see as that haze shifts around his hand, repelled by the swordsman’s skin just as he is about to touch it.
His eyelids droop as sleep claims him again and he forgets.
* * * * *
“Double or nothing.”
“Oh hell.”
Zoro grins and pokes the blond on the arm. “I thought you’d have a better game face.”
“I’m the one with the best game face!” Brook pipes.
Zoro waits for it.
“Because I have no face!”
The others groan loudly, all except Chopper who looks at Brook with awed eyes. “That’s so true!” the reindeer exclaims.
“Brook, you haven’t won a single game,” Franky interjects.
“Ehhh!?” Chopper gasps. “Brook, you’re losing!?”
The skeleton stands and leaves the table, making his way to the far end of the room, and the others grow quiet.
“45°!” he yells suddenly, letting his body drop forward. Chopper, Usopp, and Luffy collapse on the floor, howling with laughter. Soon they’ve moved to imitate the musician, as everyone else watches, amused.
Zoro’s grinning widely as he turns back to the cook. “Wanna keep playing?” he offers, motioning to the cards.
“Nope,” the blond answers, smiling. “I now have two weeks of no chores thanks to Brook and Usopp’s losing streaks. That’s good enough for me. Besides, I want a smoke.”
Zoro watches as the cook makes his way to the door on unsteady legs before getting up and following the man. He doesn’t stop to wonder why he’s doing it. He hasn’t stopped to think about a lot of things lately.
He steps outside just as a flame flickers to life and he sees the blond’s features illuminated by the small light as it’s brought to the cigarette hanging from his lips. They’ve all had quite a bit to drink, though Zoro doesn’t feel anywhere near drunk yet.
He moves until he’s leaning over the railing, standing next to the cook and staring out over dark waters. Maybe he is a little drunk, after all, because he’s standing closer to the other man than he’d intended.
“What, you gonna take up smoking too now?” the chef asks snidely.
Zoro’s too content to answer.
It’s not the booze. Every single day he wakes up to a warmth that’s new and very pleasant. He’s decided he wants to enjoy it to the fullest extent because he doesn’t know where it’s coming from and it could disappear without warning.
He turns to observe as the blond inhales deeply from that cylinder at his lips. The cook reaches up with a familiar, graceful movement to take the cigarette out of his mouth and exhale deeply.
Plumes of white smoke curl upward and are swept away but the swordsman doesn’t notice. He’s frozen, staring at the man standing next to him, eyes open but unseeing. At least, not seeing the Sanji before him now - seeing Sanji in his mind’s eye, sometime in the daytime, turning to grin at him and point to something over his shoulder with his cigarette, the motion practiced and graceful. He knows with startling clarity suddenly that it is an image from his dreams. Shit. Good mood dissipating quickly, Zoro moves away from the chef and tries to clear his thoughts.
Sanji doesn’t noticed anything is amiss.
What the fuck was that? he wonders. He hasn’t dreamt about the other man. Or at least - he hadn’t thought so, but that small movement has triggered an avalanche in his mind and now he’s recalling the dreams he’s been forgetting upon waking. Fuck.
He’s been dreaming about Sanji.
For how long?
And suddenly it’s just too sickeningly obvious. The dreams and his good mood coincide. Those dreams are the reason for this inexplicable happiness. He sits in the darkness and glowers at the faint glow of the lit cigarette.
He tries telling himself it’s not a big deal - hell, it’s probably natural; technically he shared a good deal with this man whether he can remember it or not - but it bothers him that he’d had Sanji starring in his visions after-hours and hadn’t been aware of it.
* * * * *
“You should give it a try.”
Zoro doesn’t even bother glancing at the young man lounging at the head of the Sunny. He already knows what this is about. “I’m not interested in him.”
“I dunno, Sanji says you never look at girls.”
“What the fuck does that idiot cook-”
“But it’s true, right, Zoro?”
The swordsman can only gape at his captain. Does the man really expect him to-
Yes, he probably does. This is Luffy, after all.
“I don’t look at anybody,” he growls. “My goal comes before anything and everything.”
Luffy doesn’t look upset, only frowns in confusion. “Well, yeah,” he mutters, still looking like there’s something he’s trying to puzzle out. “I’m gonna become Pirate King and I’m never giving that up. That’s why I need to be stronger.”
Zoro nods in approval. The captain understands; now, if only he could get the rest of the crew to-
“But,” continues the devil fruit user, ignoring the swordsman’s scowl, “I also want to be stronger for my nakama.” Luffy’s gaze has turned to the night sky. “It’s not bad, you know?” he murmurs after a thoughtful pause. “To want that. To want them.”
It makes the swordsman wonder if they’re still talking about the same thing. He remembers the way the boy has pulled Usopp a little too close at times and the furtive way he looks at Nami, with a hunger the rubber man usually reserves for food. It has only caught his attention because he’s been observing the others so closely. He would never before have credited Luffy’s ability to hide his feelings.
“They won’t make you weak, Zoro,” the captain continues.
“It’s not the nakama part, Luffy,” he concedes, “it’s the thing with Sanji - that kind of involvement complicates ship relations.”
The captain refuses to look convinced. Zoro scratches the back of his head, trying to think of a way to explain. “When you get mixed up with someone the way the cook and he- I - got mixed up, then you tend to put that person first. They become the most important one and it means others get hurt.”
Luffy only looks more confused. “But you wouldn’t do that. You wouldn’t let the others get hurt, and anyway Sanji would kill you.”
The green-haired man has to agree that is likely and he laughs at the image of himself carting away a furious chef, leaving his nakama to be hurt.
Luffy is grinning at him.
Never. That will never happen.
He sighs. Talking to Luffy only ever serves to screw things up in his head once he thinks everything’s perfectly clear. He’s starting to understand how he may have gotten roped into being the man’s nakama in the first place. “You’re right, I would still protect everyone the same, but that doesn’t mean that I want to restart a relationship with the cook.”
Luffy purses his lips, staring hard into the swordsman’s eyes. “But you still look at him the same way,” he declares with utter conviction.
The bottom of Zoro’s stomach drops out as that unvoiced concern he’s had is verified in the worst of ways. Hell, if Luffy has noticed it doesn’t bode well for what the rest of the crew has seen.
It’s the fucking dreams.
Slowly he’s begun to recall them during the day. Images triggered by a simple word or movement from the chef. He’s quickly realizing that he can’t stop them. Weeks of dreams starring none other than the lover of the man whose body he’s currently inhabiting. It’s disconcerting how it is by degrees easier and more difficult to think of the man these people made their nakama as himself.
Of course he’s going to look differently at that moronic chef when his subconscious is determined to show him the damned cook every night in his sleep - naked and moaning and thoroughly debauched. He knows the feel of that surprisingly flawless milk-colored skin even without conscious memory of ever having touched it.
So of course it’s perfectly natural to look at the blond in a weird way every once in a while, and maybe even with desire, because he hasn’t so much as jacked off since he realized about the dreams, for reasons he wouldn’t want to observe under the bright light of day. He really should have enjoyed the invitation that woman had freely offered him back at that island all those weeks ago. He’d bought her a drink instead and proceeded to get sloshed himself.
This isn’t something he wants to discuss with Luffy. He bids his captain goodnight and makes his way to the rear of the ship. No way in hell can he sleep in the same room as that idiot cook now.
* * * * *
Sanji is stowing away the cooking supplies after dinner and definitely not thinking.
The guys have more or less left him alone now, so he’s finally managed to find enough privacy to jerk off. Che. It’s what he expected but it’s starting to piss him off that it’s this bad. Jerking off has never been on par with actual sex, but was it always so completely inadequate? And the fact that the marimo doesn’t seem to be suffering the same hell only serves to piss him off more.
He slams the knife drawer shut, disgusted with himself. It’s entirely unacceptable. It’s ridiculous.
It’s starting to affect his cooking.
Nami-san had laughed good-naturedly and asked him if he wasn’t a little wound up and while Sanji had returned the smile, complete with starry eyes, he felt like he’d been blindsided.
Nothing should ever affect his cooking, but as a 1st rate chef Sanji knows that the emotions of the cook become inextricably linked with the food preparation itself. His hands clench around a pot and he’s hard pressed not the shatter it against the floor in his frustration. He will not harm his cooking utensils. That would be an ultimate low for him.
Hell, sex is practically meaningless (well, not quite, but) when stacked next to his reasons for breathing, which are cooking and All Blue and, of course, adoring beautiful women. It shouldn’t be this hard to let go of the sex. Yes, he and Zoro had been enjoying each other’s bodies for the better part of a year, and it had been good. It had been great, and being nakama admittedly gave them a more profound connection, but it’s not like the man had died. Sanji hasn’t lost his nakama, not even after Zoro learned the truth of their involvement. Hell, if anything, their interaction has improved a hundred fold, so really all he’s lost is the sex. Right?
* * * * *
“You’re delusional,” Zoro tells the blond, eyes unfocused as he tries to grasp the rippling image suddenly swimming before his eyes. It’s them - Usopp, Nami, Luffy, himself and the cook. They’re all standing around something - a barrel? His head begins to hurt but he closes his eyes, trying to see more clearly. “All Blue,” he says suddenly, out loud. “You had your foot on top of a barrel and you said that. So, that’s your dream, huh?”
There is a moment of shocked silence.
Zoro raises an eyebrow at the idiot, wondering what the hell the big deal is.
He very nearly makes a snarky comment but the sudden look of what can only be utter longing and damn near vulnerability that clouds the cook’s face makes him snap his jaw shut.
Fuck.
He glances away but sees anyway out of the corner of his eye as Sanji flushes darkly and burrows that blond head in his arms. He’d been so certain they were making headway into leaving that relationship in the past, making it something which had happened between the ‘other’ Zoro and the cook and absolutely nothing to do with who he is currently.
He wants to beat his head into the mast. He was only being deliberately stupid in trying not to see what was right in front of him. Trying not to see what the whole damned crew seems intent on shoving his face into - setting aside is a long way from forgetting. Sanji hasn’t forgotten a damned thing.
Suddenly he’s just sick of tiptoeing around the subject. “So how’d you two get together?” he asks, wincing at the ‘you two’ but unable to say ‘we.’ It has nothing to do with squeamishness at the thought of being with a man and everything to do with feeling like he has no claim on that relationship. That had been something between the other Zoro and Sanji, nothing to do with him. He wonders vaguely if it’s normal for him to think of himself as two entirely different people.
The chef doesn’t look up but his surprise is evident from the full body twitch.
“That’s none of your business,” the blond hisses without lifting his head. His ears are a bright red.
Zoro laughs. “In case you forgot, that’s me you were fucking. So, hell yeah, it is my business!”
For a moment he thinks the other man will tell him to jump off the side of the ship but the cook raises his head instead. He doesn’t look at the swordsman and his words are clipped.
“I told you, we fucked, that was all. We just set up an arrangement that was convenient to the both of us. There was no ‘getting together.’”
The swordsman snorts. “Yeah, and Usopp told me he once defeated a Marine Admiral armed with nothing more than the elastic of his underwear. I’m not any closer to believing that either.”
Sanji lights a cigarette, and sprawls out onto the grass, lying flat, and he laughs before sucking smoke into his lungs. The blond’s probably as sick of pussyfooting around the topic as he is. “That’s pretty much how it really played out, actually.”
Zoro’s mouth drops open. He can’t see how Usopp could have possibly taken on a Marine Admiral with only a band of rubber. He must have said something aloud because Sanji is laughing and coughing at the same time. The idiot could choke. Zoro shrugs. He can’t picture the blond dying that stupidly.
“Not that part, you idiot,” the chef finally grumbles, grinning widely. “I meant about u- … about me and the marimo.”
The swordsman doesn’t comment on that little slip. He figures maybe this is easier for the cook to talk about if the chef thinks of him as just another nakama and not his lover. Ex-lover.
“There really was an arrangement?” he asks instead.
“Not exactly. It was never really official stated. Just kinda started and then gained momentum. We weren’t - I mean, there wasn’t anything romantic. No promises, nothing like that.”
“No promises?” he wonders aloud, dubiously. Well, no, promises for men like them would be difficult. Still … “How long were you guys together?”
The blond has closed his eyes, and though Zoro isn’t looking directly at him, he can see the fan of pale eyelashes against even paler skin.
“Mmmmm. About - eight months?”
Eight!? It’s all he can do to keep his mouth from gaping open. That’s a pretty big fucking promise right there. And yet, he glances at the blond, the other Zoro had never once said anything about it being more than ‘convenient?’
Well, shit. He couldn’t have been that much of a heartless bastard could he? The blond really cared - that was evident to anyone with half a brain and even less eyesight - yet the other Zoro never said anything? The fact that he can never imagine himself doing anything of the sort either is a moot point. This is the ‘other’ Zoro, after all. Anyway, he’s willing to bet his precious Wadou that the blond had never uttered a single word about the relationship either. Idiots, both of them.
The swordsman lets a breath gust past his lips, wondering why the hell he’s getting involved. He’s quickly finding himself in the absolutely ridiculous position of acting as mediator between Sanji and … himself. Alcohol is quickly becoming vital.
He doesn’t want a relationship with Sanji, but now he wants the other Zoro to come back so that the former swordsman can resume his life with the blond?
It’s crazy. This entire fucking crew is slowly driving him into their intricate webs of insanity. It’s the only explanation. It’s the only explanation he’s willing to accept.
* * * * *
Son of a bitch, he thinks in irritation a few days later. He can understand dreaming about the blond naked and needy and begging for more - sex is natural, normal, and hell, his body had been fucking the guy. What he has yet to understand is why now he dreams with nearly equal frequency of the idiot sleeping or cooking or smiling or doing a million other things that have absolutely nothing to do with sex. Things he may well see the cook doing now if he sticks his head out of the crow’s nest. He doesn’t .
He had almost dared hope that he and the chef could share much the same relationship as he does with the others now that most of the awkwardness between them has disappeared.
He doesn’t want the blond, he doesn’t need him, doesn’t wish he could be with the idiot. He doesn’t, but maybe someone else does.
He’s never particularly wished for his memories back. As far as he’s concerned events took place that he can’t remember and that’s it - happens all the time. He doesn’t even know how many things he can’t remember, and not because of some plant either. In fact, lately he’s begun to think he’s glad that he lost his memory. It’s begun to feel like someone else had taken his identity and been living his life for him. He has a captain and nakama and an ex-lover - nothing he would have allowed himself before.
Now he gets stepped on regularly, yelled at, smacked over the head, sneered at, laughed at, worried over, checked up on, argued with, does a fair amount of yelling of his own and is constantly in the company of the others. It’s … not as bad as he once would have thought. He can live with nakama.
But-
He stands reluctantly and glances outside where he can see Sanji puffing away at that white stick. It’s starting to bother him, seeing Sanji like this. And he doesn’t even know what ‘this’ is. He’s never seen the man act differently, he doesn’t know what’s normal for the blond. Hell, even the rest of the crew have stopped trying to coddle the cook. Granted, that might have to do with the guys being kicked through walls one too many times. Still, while he watches those lips form an O and exhale slowly, he feels something is off.
Shit.
Closing his eyes and leaning back, he finally admits it, if only to himself.
He wants to see Sanji happy.