Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"Demon."

The nagging, high-pitched voice in Zoro's earpiece rang through his eardrum. "I told you to go left."

He stopped in his tracks, breathing heavily. "Yeah, but-"

Nami- or, Cat Burglar, as he's supposed to call her on the job- huffed loudly into her mic. "You feel like he's down there. Yeah, I know. But you're wrong! I'm looking at the fucking GPS!"

"Okay, but-"

"I'm adding a tally if you don't go left right now."/p>

Zoro blew harsh air through his nose and spun around on his heels. He followed Nami's directions, stomping loud enough for her to hear his begrudging obedience through her headset. She led him through their target's mansion, through halls and bedrooms and rooms Zoro couldn't possibly name the purpose of. He weaved around effortlessly, shielding himself behind walls and bookcases with ease. While he had never been in this particular mansion, it was the same routine for each one; get in, slink about without being seen, eliminate the target. Alone, he could do this with his eyes closed.

Unfortunately for him, he wasn't alone.

"Alright, he should be in the room on your right," Nami directed. Zoro bit back a snide remark as he crept into the room.

The short, slender figure walking openly around the room failed to notice Zoro's presence. Zoro dropped to his knees behind a sofa, watching gauntlet-covered hands pick and prod at fancy looking decorations.

"I have eyes on Strawhat," Zoro mumbled into his wire. Strawhat, who earned his alias due to his everyday headwear, remained blissfully unaware of Zoro's presence.

"Good." Nami sighed, as if letting out a held breath. "Now. Slowly. And. Carefully. Grab that idiot and put his earpiece back in."

"Copy."

He tiptoed on bent knees behind his Team Leader (though, at times like this, Cat Burglar seemed to be the real leader), his abandoned earpiece in hand. Stuff like this always happened when Luffy- sorry, Strawhat- was on the mission. He'd abandon his earpiece, or his mic, or he'd ignore the plan completely and go straight for the target. It was annoying at best, life-threatening at worst. Still, he got results. Zoro wouldn't still be following him otherwise.

"Blackleg, do you copy?" Nami asked, which Zoro did his best to ignore. Just the mention of that alias could spoil his good mood- not that he was in a good mood to begin with.

He was close enough to Luffy that he could reach out and grab him.

"Yeah, I copy," that grating voice replied. It made Zoro itch under his skin.

"Do you have eyes on the target?"

"I do, my sweet."

Ugh. Zoro began to slowly extend his arm towards the black-haired Strawhat.

"Perfect. Now, since someone abandoned the perfectly laid-out plan I had set for the mission, you're gonna be playing by ear here. Listen very carefully. You're going to...."

Zoro looped his arm around Luffy, clamping one hand over his mouth as he shoved the earpiece into his ear with the other. Luffy squirmed for a second, yelling something that got lost within Zoro's hand, and brought both elbows back to meet Zoro's ribs. The contact forced Zoro to hunch into himself. He stumbled back, letting go of Strawhat as he tried not to cough violently loud. Strawhat whipped around to face him, a hard expression breaking immediately into a wide, goofy smile when he realizes who was behind him.

"Hey, Zoro!" Luffy greeted exceptionally loudly. He placed his hands on his hips proudly.

Jesus, Strawhat, use the aliases!" Cat Burglar yelled. Luffy's shoulders shook with laughter.

"Sorry!"

"Shit, I'm losing the target," Blackleg hissed into his mic. "He's headed for-"

Footsteps approached the entrance to the room. Zoro dove behind a desk, tackling Luffy in the process. His hand returned to Luffy's big mouth.

Light from the connecting room coated this... study? Mini library, perhaps? Book room. The light coated the book room, followed by a tall shadow. "I know you're in here," the deep, gravelly voice of their target boomed through the room.

Shit, shit, shit. Damn it, Luffy.

"Demon, Strawhat, do either of you copy?" Nami's voice shook. Luffy once again tried to speak through Zoro's hand. Zoro grit his teeth and held Luffy down a little tighter than necessary. "Jesus Christ. Blackleg, do you have eyes on anybody?"

"I believe I have eyes on Scholar."

The clanking of heavy boots grew closer and closer to the desk.

"Okay, okay. Is she restrained?"

"Yes. To a chair. Inside a guarded room."

A huge, dark shadow fell over the desk.

"You can handle the guards alone, right? Free Scholar and go find the two idiots."

The target loomed over the desk, looking down at Luffy and Zoro lazily.

"Speaking of which, do either of you copy?!"

"Found ya," Crocodile stated, words slithering past the cigar between his teeth.

Zoro let go of Luffy completely. "Copy."

Luffy wound his arm back, nearly elbowing Zoro again, but this time in the face. "Gum-Gum..." he began, clenching his gauntlet-clad hand into a fist.

"PISTOL!"

With that, he pushed his punch forward, triggering the springs in his gauntlet. Zoro watched as that metal fist left Luffy's physical one and ricocheted against Crocodile's scarred mug. It was a nifty tool, he'd give Strawhat that. He had commissioned Franky, or Cyborg, to make it for him after dreaming he was made of rubber. At the time (and still a bit now), Zoro thought the idea was ridiculous. Still, as he watched Crocodile's head snap back and his body stumbling helplessly away from the desk, he had to admit that the gauntlets had their moments.

"That's a tally for Strawhat."

Luffy hopped to his feet, pouting. "Awe, man!"

"And a tally for Demon."

Zoro scrunched his face up into something ugly and disbelieving. "What did I do?" He spat back, rising to his feet in turn.

"You were supposed to be careful!" Nami argued back. "Alerting the target isn't careful!"

Zoro's hand found his swords. He clicked one out of its sheath with his thumb. "You try wrangling Strawhat without him making noise, then!"

Crocodile brought his non-hooked hand to his nose, wiping away the blood dripping from his nostrils. A long, sinister smirk paints his face. "I've been expecting you all," he grumbled.

Zoro's eyes rolled instinctively. Those five words have been said by almost every target from the past three months or so. Forgive him if he's a little tired of it.

Luffy threw another punch, landing it in Croc's side. Does this guy even know how to fight? Zoro wondered, watching the oh-so scary Warlord cough and wince in pain from a punch Zoro could've and would've dodged.

"Z- Demon!" Luffy called over his shoulder.

That one word was all Zoro needed to hear. He hopped over the desk and in front of Strawhat, bit the handle of his sword, and unsheathed the other two.

"Sniper King, are you in position?" Nami asked over her headset.

"In position," Usopp's voice replied sternly.

Zoro got into stance; one foot behind him and the other in front, both turned outward and planted firmly on the ground. He swung his swords as he had done a million times before, slashing into the target in an x-shaped fashion. The blades split the skin like a knife gliding into a soft stick of butter, as they had a million times before. He shut his eyes as the blood sputtered out to avoid being temporarily blinded by splatter in his eyeball, as he had a million times before. He had this charade down to a science.

Usually he did, anyway.

He could've sworn Crocodile crumpled backwards as Zoro sliced into him. Could've sworn his job was completed, that all Luffy had to do was sink the final blow or signal for Usopp to take the shot. The golden hook sinking into his left side, however, told a different story. A burning, stinging, wet story. One that left Zoro's teeth and hands clenched dangerously tight around his weapons.

Crocodile's good arm raised. He clenched his fist around Zoro's throat and thrust his hook deeper into his side. The burning sensation spread throughout his torso. He gritted his teeth, sucked in the little amount of air Crocodile allowed to enter Zoro's windpipe, but kept his feet firmly planted. The hook curved into his torso, tearing the stab wound further open. The scarred man grinned through puffs of cigar smoke as he twisted and dug into Zoro's flesh.

"You disappoint me," Crocodile sneered. "I thought the Demon Swordsman was meant to be a challenge."

Zoro grinned back at him, sweat beading down his face. "Funny. I thought the same about you Warlords."

Strawhat- who Zoro honestly forgot was in the room with them- leapt forward, looping around to face Crocodile's back. He hopped onto it like a monkey, hooking his legs around his torso with all his might (which was a lot). One gauntlet grabbed the top of Crocodile's head, craning it back to face the ceiling. The other began absolutely wailing on him, punching his right cheek repeatedly. Zoro took this opportunity to plunge the swords in his hands into either side of the Warlord.

"Sniper King, NOW!"

"Copy."

Not a second later, glass blew from the window in tiny shards that sliced little cuts into Zoro's arms. Blood gushed from Crocodile's neck like a chocolate fountain. Zoro dug his swords into him a little deeper, watching the powerful Warlord gurgle and choke on his own blood.

Zoro waited for the eyes to roll back before he yanked his swords out of the body. He flicked them clean and carefully slid them back into their sheaths with a gentle click. Luffy hopped off of the body as Zoro pulled the hook out of his side and dropped it, the rest of the body following suit.

Zoro pulled his haramaki tighter around his waist and held a hand to the wound on his left side. "Target down," he heaved, wiping sweat from his brow.

"Demon, Strawhat, and Sniper King; good work," Nami responded, voice clearly shaking. Luffy grinned at their handiwork.

"Does that mean you'll erase our tallies?"

"Tallies are permanent, Strawhat!"

"Awe... but Na-"

"Cat Burglar."

As their squabble continued through his earpiece, Zoro strolled out of the room. He looked from side to side, keeping an eye out for any stray guards or witnesses. Only fancy gold trinkets, dark swirled decals, and a plush couch (the kind that earns the title of Chesterfield) in front of a fireplace accompanied him.

"Our location is clear," he spoke, sauntering over to the couch. He plopped down, lazily nabbing a decorative pillow and pressing it to his side. He tilted his head back, sinking into the sofa. "Waiting on the order to head out." He closed his eyes and let out a tired grunt, shimmying further into the couch cushions.

"Alright," Nami's annoyance-laced voice responded. "Blackleg, what's your status?"

"Scholar has been retrieved unharmed."

Zoro's face twisted into something ugly. That voice.

"All guards in our area have been eliminated. The location's clear." Zoro could hear Sanji flicking a match from over his wire- lighting a cigarette, no doubt. One of many nasty habits Sanji freely flaunted to the crew. "Waiting on your order to clear out, my sweet."

"Perv," Zoro muttered under his breath, thinking aloud.

"I heard that."

"Good." Zoro rubbed his eye sluggishly. "Who don't you reflect on it, Eyebrows?"

"Don't even start!" Nami hissed. "I've had it with you all. Meet up at the rendezvous point and clear out. Now."

***

Chopper's delicate, childlike hands applied the last of Zoro's bandaging. "You have to be more careful," he scolded in his little high-pitched voice as he pressed down gently on the adhesive. Zoro chuckled, which sent jabbing pain through his side. "Stop that!"

"My bad."

Zoro brought his sake to his lips and took a generous swig. The short, surprisingly hairy doctor by his side shook his head in exasperation.

"I'm serious!" Chopper planted his hands on his hips like a disappointed soccer mom. "You're too reckless out there. You're gonna run yourself thin!"

"Listen-"

"No, he's right."

Nami slammed her newspaper down on the table in front of her, eyeing him bitterly. "We had to up our medical budget because of you," she spat.

"Of course that's all you care about," Zoro scoffed, leaning back in his seat.

"We take these jobs for the money, Zoro!" She raised her voice. "Money which we get less of because of your stupid injuries!"

"Yeah, and my stupid injuries get us the money in the first place!"

"Well, aren't you arrogant," Sanji commented.

Zoro swung his head around- a bit too fast for his recovering body's liking- to glare at the stupid cook. Sanji stood in front of the stove, head to toe in a fancy designer suit, flipping meat around in a frying pan. His free hand scratched absentmindedly at his facial hair as a cigarette hung from his lips. Zoro had seen this sight practically everyday for over two years. It never got less aggravating.

"You have no room to talk," Zoro grunted at him. "You didn't even land a single hit on the target."

"For your information," Sanji began to retort, swiveling on his heels to face Zoro as he continued tossing food around in the pan, "I was busy saving a lady. Which, by the way, forced me to go through way more enemies than you."

The two men shot daggers at each other with their eyes- or, eye, with Zoro's scar and Sanji's stupid bangs. Nami sighed, rubbing her face. "Can you two not?"

"How many of those guys did Robin take out, huh?" Zoro provoked.

"What was it like getting the final hit on the target?" Sanji put the pan down on the stove, stepping towards Zoro with hands in pockets. "Oh, wait, you wouldn't know. Usopp did it for you."

Nami rose from her seat, approaching the two.

"At least I hit the target at all. All you did was lose him."

"You are not the one-"

Nami's fists rose, planting down heavy on the bickering boys' heads. "ENOUGH!"

Sanji muttered a sheepish apology to his "sweet" Nami and retreated to the stove. Zoro grimaced, rubbing his head. Chopper, despite not being hit whatsoever, yelped.

"And don't go thinking that that goes towards your tallies," she hissed. She was also a bit like a disappointed soccer mom, just a meaner one. "That reminds me, I still have to give out the tallies." Nami rubbed her hands together sadistic. "Where's our fearless leader?"

"He's in a meeting," Chopper piped up, gathering his supplies together in his comically large Doctor's bag. "Something about an undercover mission."

"Undercover, huh?" Zoro echoed. He hadn't taken a job like that in awhile. None of them had, in fact. They'd become less like freelance intelligence agents and more like full-blown hitmen in the past few months. Likely because most of the gang didn't do all that well undercover; Franky and Brook always stuck out like a sore thumb, Chopper and Usopp got scared far too easily, and Luffy could barely keep their normal codenames straight. Zoro wasn't awful at it, as long as he didn't have to talk too much. The only ones who did well undercover were the girls... and the pervert cook.

"Mhm!" Chopper smiled, grabbing his bag. "He said he'd be awhile."

Zoro nodded and rose to his feet, making his way to the door. Nami scrunched up her eyebrows, watching him like a hawk. "Where do you think you're going?"

"Home."

"We aren't done here!"

Zoro grabbed the door handle, twisting it. "The target is down. Luffy's busy. Chopper isn't gonna let me train before I go." He pulled open the door. "Seems done to me."

"But-"

"Good riddance," Sanji called over his shoulder. "Didn't want your grubby hands on my dishes, anyway."

"See you tomorrow!" Chopper called, cheery as ever.

Zoro stepped out of the room, letting the door shut behind him.

Chapter Text

Zoro's empty apartment welcomed his tired frame. He rested his torso against the closed front door and leaned his head back with a thud. He let his eyelids flutter shut for just a moment. A long, deep breath slipped past his lips. Finally. 

He first dropped his work bag on the ground. His swords, held in the black duffle bag, hit the ground with muffled clatters. Then, he heaved his heavy body off of the front door and dragged it to the fridge. A rush of cool air hit him as he opened it. He nabbed a few beers, carrying them in his arms like a baby, and swung the fridge door closed. Finally, he shuffled to the couch in the middle of the living room and flopped down on it. It wasn't nearly as comfy as the one he bled all over in Crocodile's mansion, but it would do. He cracked open his first can and turned on the TV.

The theme music of the local news blared through the TV speakers. Zoro jumped in his skin, scrambling to turn the volume down. Damn it, Perona. As he mashed the lower volume button, a news anchor faded onto the screen. Behind her stood Crocodile's mansion, or what was left of it. Firefighters ran around, struggling to put out monstrous flames. Franky must have been on cleanup duty today, he thought, his voice in his head speaking quieter than his real one ever does. He shifted around on his crappy couch, trying to get more comfortable. He probably started the fire with that... that bougie couch, Zoro frowned to himself, 'cause it had my DNA all over it. Damn blood.

The front door swung open from behind Zoro. "I'm home!" Perona's big, shrill voice singsonged. Zoro could hear the clinging of her keys and the thudding of the shoes she was surely kicking off. Zoro leaned his head against the couch and grunted in acknowledgment. 

Perona shuffled loudly around the kitchen, making herself God-knows-what for an after-work snack. Zoro closed his eyes, brought his can to his lips, and let the complete contents slide down his throat in one swig. 

"Did you hear about this Crocodile business?" She asked through what sounded like a full mouth. Zoro hummed back. "Wild, isn't it? A Warlord trapped in a burning house." Her footsteps shuffled out of the kitchen, and her chewing noises grew closer to Zoro. "Y'know, the government makes these guys seem untouchable, but, like, that could be anybody. You, me..."

"Yeah," Zoro muttered back, crushing his empty can in his fist. He opened his eyes just enough to see the other cans on the coffee table. He hunched forward and swiped one, opening it quickly.

Perona made her way to the couch, plopping down next to Zoro. Her soft blue scrubs clashed with her vibrant pink hair, tight tendrils twisted up and contained with what she called a claw clip. She took large bites of a bologna and cheese sandwich, getting crumbs and mayo on the corners of her mouth. Gross. Her big, dark eyes were glued to the screen.

"Well, if you ask me, the guy had it coming." Her lips smacked as she spoke through her sandwich. Zoro downed his second can. Brown liquid escaped his mouth and dribbled down his chin.

"Yup," he grunted, wiping his mouth. Perona huffed, shoving the last of her food in her mouth.

"You're so boring sometimes," she whined, swallowing the contents in her mouth. She pried her attention away from the TV and to Zoro, no doubt about to scold him for his grunts and one-word responses. When her gaze fell on him, though, her mouth snapped shut. Zoro leaned his head back once again, letting his eyelids flutter closed.

"You look like shit."

Zoro snorted. Searing pain shot through his side, twisting his annoyed, exhausted expression into a pained one. "Wow, thanks," he winced through jagged breath. Perona's plate clattered on the coffee table.

"Did your cute little Doctor guy send you home with anything?" her voice rang. Zoro could feel her rise from the couch and walk away, likely back to the kitchen.

He cleared his throat. "No," he muttered. He heard her exasperated sigh from across the room.

"Why not?"

"Don't need nothin'."

"That is bullshit," she grumbled. The jingling of a pill bottle made its way to Zoro's ears. He crushed his second beer bottle and tossed it on the ground.

Her footsteps were no longer little shuffles, but instead large stomps as she made her way back to the couch. She sat down with a thud and grabbed Zoro's right hand, dropping a couple of little blue pills into his palm. He reached forward for his last can of beer with his left, which Perona swiftly swiped away and replaced with a water bottle. "Hey!" Zoro protested, reaching to steal it back.

"Nuh-uh! You have to take those with water!" 

Too drained to argue, Zoro grumbled annoyed nonsense under his breath as he twisted the bottle open. He tossed the little pills to the back of his throat and washed them down with the cool, crisp water. Perona stood, making her way back to the kitchen- with my fucking beer- and rummaged through a drawer. 

"Take off your shirt."

"Gross."

"Don't start, you big idiot! Just do it!"

More grumbles of disapproval came as he pulled his old, worn v-neck over his head. Perona returned with a damp cloth and the special First Aid kit she put together after a month of living together. "Whatever you do for work clearly requires a special kind of home care!" Perona had announced proudly when presenting the tin lunchbox-looking container to Zoro a few months back. She had clearly stolen from her nursing job to make it- or at the very least, hunted down their medical supplier. The basics were there- gauze, ibuprofen, splints, et cetera- but on top of that were some more professional things, like the materials to do stitches and injection needles and special drugs she kept locked away from Zoro's grubby fingers. She was like his at-home Chopper, only rougher… and more annoying. 

"Don't need nothing, my ass," she hissed, examining Zoro's torso. The main wound was treated to perfection, but the staining already evident in his bandages showed off how serious it had been. On top of that, his right side was covered in tiny cuts and bits of broken glass, which Zoro conveniently forgot to mention to Chopper. Bless that kid. He's far too trusting in Zoro's self-assessments. "You've got to stop lying to that Doctor of yours," Perona scolded, echoing Zoro's internal monologue.

"I'm fine," he persisted, even as Perona picked painful chunks of glass out of his skin with her tweezers. He furrowed his brows ever so slightly, not allowing himself to show more discomfort than that.

"Do I have to march down to..." Her voice trailed off. Zoro could only assume she was struggling to describe his place of work, which she knew nothing about. "...to wherever-the-fuck and yell at your coworkers?"

Coworkers. What an innocent term.

"No."

"They're looking out for you?"

"Yes, Rona. They are. I'm fine."

"You better be, you big asshole."

She picked out the last shards of glass and retrieved the cloth. She began wiping down the shallow wounds on Zoro's right shoulder, forearm, and the right side of his torso. Her free hand rested on his shoulder, occasionally sliding down to his upper back and rubbing it in soft, circular motions, like a mother would to their blubbering toddler. They had gone through this routine countless times since moving in together. Perona stopped asking questions about what Zoro does for a living a long time ago, instead considering his large paycheck (which went mostly towards their bills and groceries) a fair trade-off for the wounded, drunk, reclusive man she frequently came home to. She still worried an annoying amount, but Zoro considered that a fair trade-off for the slight physical comfort of a hand on his skin every once in awhile.

She squirted a cold antibiotic gel onto her fingers and rubbed it across his teeny scrapes. He sunk deeper into the cushions, falling asleep right there as she finished treating him.

***

Hot, sticky air coated the room. The clattering of metal and the grunts of a man dripping in sweat were the only sounds bouncing off the walls. Zoro's hair stuck to his forehead, spiked out in strange tufts, swooped about like ugly cowlicks. He brought the barbell (stacked with an ungodly amount of weight disks) to his chest, held it there a moment, brought it back down, and repeat.

He had been there for hours now. He couldn't sleep after waking up on his couch at 5:17am, so he headed to base to squeeze in some training before Chopper could show up and spoil his fun. He couldn't be sure how long he had been there, carefully training his already abnormally strong muscles, before the door of the gym swung open behind him.

He put the barbell on the ground with a loud thunk. "I'm fine," he grumbled instinctively, keeping his back to the person behind him. He rolled his shoulders backward, breathing steadily.

"I'm not here to lecture you."

Ugh.

Zoro tilted his head to the side, stretching out his neck. "Just here to piss me off, then?"

"I haven't even done anything yet!" Sanji snapped back. Zoro turned to face the long, lean blond leaning cross-armed in the doorframe.

"You're here."

Sanji rolled his light eyes, sticking a cigarette in his mouth. He took a small, golden lighter out of his pocket; Zoro recognized it as the one the cook refused to bring on jobs. "It's authentic gold. Lights like a dream. Produces the largest of flames," he'd say. "It's too good to risk losing." Zoro would often retort something about Sanji losing his fingerprints trying to light a match, which would then grant him a kick to the back of the leg. 

Zoro's face contorted as Sanji flicked the lighter, bringing to close to his smoke. "Don't smoke in my gym."

"Your gym?" Sanji scoffed. He took a long, overexaggerated drag that Zoro sincerely hoped he'd choke on. "Everyone trains here."

"You don't." Zoro wiped the sweat off of his brow, glaring through his one good eye. "You waste your time cooking your shitty food."

"I'm gonna pretend you didn't just say that."

Zoro stomped to the side of the room and reached around in his bag. He pulled out his water bottle (filled with sake, rather than water. Not that that's anyone else's business) and took a long swig. The warmth of the rice wine sliding down his throat was almost enough for him to ignore the smell of Sanji and his stupid addiction. Almost.

"Luffy sent me to get you."

Zoro shot the pervert cook a look over his shoulder. "Tell him to get me himself."

"You think I didn't try that?" Sanji shot back, words shooting out like a feral dog's bark. "He wants us in his office. Now."

With a heaving sigh, Zoro snatched a towel out of his bag and draped it around his neck. An order from Luffy is an order, even if he sent the biggest idiot on the team as his messenger. With another swig of his bottle, he slung his bag around his shoulders and shoved his way past Sanji. 

"Um, excuse you."

"Yeah, thanks."

”That’s not- wait!”

Zoro did not wait, instead taking longer steps in hopes that the cook wouldn’t catch up with him.

Sadly, the cook has longer legs. He ran a hand through his ugly blond hair, swooping it back for just a second before allowing it to fall back in his face. “He wants both of us there, Mosshead.”

Zoro didn’t really care. He didn’t want to spend more time with this guy than absolutely necessary. He definitely didn’t want to stroll through the halls of his workplace with him, like two teachers on lunch patrol.

Zoro picked up his pace once again. 

Chapter Text

Luffy lay sprawled across his spinning, faux leather office chair, picking his nose. One leg rested atop the other, kicking absentmindedly, as the hand unoccupied with his nostril tapped his straw hat to a beat nobody else could hear. In fact, he was acting as if nobody else was in the room with him at all. Like he hadn't summoned people into his office for a meeting. It was very Luffy of him.

Zoro puttered about the room, picking up little trinkets to get a closer look. Most of Luffy's displayed possessions were trophies from past jobs; the pen of a CEO, the shoe of a lawyer, the handkerchief of a politician. He even had one of those little gold statues they put at the front of fancy cars- Zoro recognized it from Arlong's Mercedes (How long ago was that job?). The rest were random doodads and toys; a fidget spinner, finger lasers, the stray pile of pebbles.

If Robin were in the room with them, she'd say something wise about possessions being the gateway into the soul or something. Something that would make Zoro nod without a thought in his skull. He didn't have to pay attention to Robin to know she was right- her codename wasn't Scholar for nothing. When bored, Zoro would often try to imagine what she'd say in his situation. It was entertaining to think smarter than he is.

The stupid, stupid cook sat on Luffy's guest couch. It sat a couple of feet away from his desk, fabric cushions facing the shiny black chair. The side of Sanji's ankle rested on his knee, tapping similarly to Luffy's hand. He looked to the ceiling, blowing smoke between gently parted lips.

Zoro didn't want to imagine any wise words about that guy. 

"Is there a point in my being here?" The low, grating voice questioned. The cook's head lolled forward to look at Luffy, golden hair falling forward. That itching under Zoro's skin was coming back.

"Uh-huh," Luffy replied, tone carefree as always. 

Zoro crossed the room on gentle footing, approaching a mahogany bookshelf lacking in books. More prizes and knickknacks cover their shelves in their place. He pawed at a pair of round glass goggles, tracing his thumb across its blue grooves. 

The sound of the office door opening made his head crane to the side. In walked a broad, purple-haired man coated head-to-toe in fishnets and leather. Zoro's eyebrows scrunched and head tilted to the side, similar to a confused dog. He caught Sanji shudder and glue his gaze to the floorboards. 

"Oh good, everyone's here!" the strange man chirped, clamping his manicured hands together and assuming position next to Luffy. "These two have been properly briefed, I assume."

"No.

"Not at all."

"Huh?"

The man exhaled deeply out of his purple-painted mouth. "Strawboy, you were supposed to tell them about the job offer! We discussed this yesterday!"

So, this is who Luffy had that meeting with, Zoro thought to himself. He made his way over to the couch and sat with his legs comfortably apart.

"The undercover one?" Sanji asked, unable to keep his trap shut (as per usual). "I figured that job was for you, boss."

"Nah, I'm shit at that stuff," Luffy laughed. 

You can say that again. Zoro's last undercover mission was with Luffy. They were supposed to be gone for a month, acting as cleaning staff for some rich and powerful leaders, trying to uncover top-secret information. They came home a day later with the heads of the leaders, but no information. Guess whose fault that was?

"No, no. This job is for the two of you." The man slid two files across the desk to them. Zoro nabbed the one that said Demon Swordsman and began flipping through it. 

The first thing he noticed was pictures of crime scenes. Particularly, the murders of multiple Revolutionists. Each body was left the same way; on their knees, arms outstretched and wrists bound to either side of them. Their skin was ghastly pale (for some, almost milk-like.) Sticky, moist hair along with sopping wet clothing indicated heavy sweating before death. Blood soaked their clothes and pooled around their knees. Zoro thumbed at a picture of a body with half-white half-orange hair, flipping it over between his fingers. "They bleed to death?"

"Right, you are, Swordboy." The purple-headed man took three fingers to his chest and dragged them across. "Three gashes in their chest."

Three? Zoro scrunched his nose. That's my thing. Who's stealing my thing?

"You got something to tell us, Mosshead?" Sanji muttered under his breath.

"Yeah. You're next."

"Oh, that's enough," the purple guy scolded. He waved his hands at Luffy, who rolled off his chair to sit cross-legged on the ground. The man swiftly replaced Luffy in the chair, tapping the desk with his long acrylics. "These murders follow a pattern. A member of the Revolutionary Army, strung up on their knees, bleeding from three blade wounds, in the comfort of their own home. Each appears to be cut with the same blades. The culprit leaves behind no DNA evidence, no footprints, nada. Except..."

Zoro looks up, waiting for him to finish his sentence, only to see those long nails motioning for Zoro to flip the page. When he did, he was met with pictures of the same message scrawled in blood over and over: XX. 

"Double X?" Sanji spoke, reminding Zoro of his presence.

"No, it's XX," he corrected.

"It's the same thing."

"I don't see the word 'double' here, do you?"

"It's two x's! It's double-"

"Alright," the man spoke above their bickering. He shook his head, looking down at Luffy. "You're sure this is gonna work?"

Luffy put his chin on the desk, looking up at them. "Uh-huh."

Another sigh and shake of the head, and the man looked back to the couch. "We have reason to believe that the assailant will be on the Crimasque Ship for its next big event. That's where you two come in."

Zoro flipped to the next page. In front of him laid a full profile of his undercover identity. He'd be Wrinoko Tadashi, heir to a booming pharmaceutical company, and husband of Jean Wrinoko. Rich and settled. The opposite of Zoro (especially with all the debt Nami has him in). "Cool," he said, looking to Luffy. "Who's gonna be Jean?"

"It's Jean. Je-Ahn," Sanji butt in as pretentiously as he possibly could. "Not Jee-n. It's French." 

Zoro grit his teeth, pushing down the urge to cuss out the cook and lose this job opportunity. "Why would my wife be named Je-Ahn?" he managed to squeeze through his teeth.

Sanji laughed a short, sharp laugh. "Your wife? No, that's-"

Silence.

Silence, besides the tapping of acrylic nails.

Triumphant silence, in Zoro's case.

Sanji snapped his file shut in one clean motion, blowing smoke out of his mouth with a harsh exhale. "You expect me to pretend this idiot-" he started, jabbing his thumb in Zoro's direction, "-is my husband?"

Wait. What?

"Most people attending events on the Crimasque are romantically involved." The man pushed poofy purple hair back behind his ears. "It would be odd if you two were any different."

"Ivankov."

Oh, that's this guy's name. Huh.

Sanji crossed his legs, foot unsubtly shoving Zoro's knee away. Smoke billowed out of his mouth as he continued. "With all due respect, I would rather work on a mission of this gravity with someone who has... the proper skillset. One of the girls, perhaps?" 

Zoro's teeth and fists clenched until his knuckles went white and his canines ground into each other. Each little jab, each professional condescension, made that itching feeling grow into an agitating burn. 

"Blackleg, my boy, that's where you're wrong," Ivankov replied, leaning forward with clasped, well-manicured hands. "Sword-boy's skillset is essential to this mission. There's no job without him." 

Zoro had to suppress a cocky smirk begging to spread across his face. "Is that so?"

"Well, we're likely working with a swordsman. Perhaps a bounty hunter of some sort. Strawboy here gave me the impression that these were your forte."

Zoro nodded, his amusement only growing. "In that case, I want a different partner," he demanded. 

Ivankov shook his head slowly. "Nobody else on your team is qualified." 

Now, the only thing Zoro had to suppress was the urge to bash his head into the desk.

Sanji leaned forward, both feet now planted firmly on the ground. He pressed his elbows to his knees. "Nobody else?" He echoed, disbelief dripping from his stupid tongue.

Ivankov leaned back, eyes rolling. "Let's see," he began. "Cat Burglar lacks the necessary combat skills. Sniper King lacks the same and is a terrible liar. Your Doctor is far too young for this cruise. Strawboy is terrible at undercover work. Scholar is an active member of the Revolutionary Army and thus would be at a heightened risk of being attacked. What else?"

Luffy, back to digging for gold in his nostrils, added, "The others are too funny-lookin'."

"Yes, that."

Zoro chewed the inside of his cheek, furrowing his brows. Him and the pervert cook, undercover as husbands. The two people in the group who do the most bickering, yelling, and physical fighting with each other. To call that a tall order would be an understatement. He wasn't sure if he could-

"Just think of it this way," Ivankov began. "This wouldn't be a regular ole gig where you kill the guy and forget about it. You'd be directly keeping your friend Scholar safe from ending up like our fallen soldiers."

Sanji tossed his file back on the desk dramatically. "Deal," he stated, as if making some grand gesture of selflessness. "I would do anything to protect a lady."

Barf, he thought. Though, Ivankov made an excellent point. Zoro's eyes lingered on his file for a few moments longer, then drifted to his Captain. Luffy nodded, reading his mind.

"Fine. I'm in."

Chapter Text

Two weeks.

Zoro had two weeks to prepare for this mission. For a normal assignment, prep would be no issue at all. Read over the file a few times, train like normal, and get hyped to kill. It was simple. Routine.

This was no normal assignment.

His feet paced the tiny kitchen of his apartment as if it were a running track. His file was glued to his hand and his eyes were glued to it. Wrinoko Tadashi. Pretty normal guy, all things considered. Firstborn son to Wrinoko Tadashi I. Heir to Wrinoko Pharmaceuticals. 4.0 GPA throughout his education. He attended a prestigious university, played rugby, and had a student council position. Crazy net worth- about $14.7 billion USD. A bit of a tight-ass, in Zoro's opinion.

Married to Jean Wrinoko, whose face, voice, and words are all owned by that jackass.

The creaking of the front door and jangling of car keys pulled Zoro's head out of his file of doom. He shoved it back in his bag to be stared at and stressed over again later. He was zipping the bag closed when Perona strutted into the kitchen, beelining to the fridge. "No injuries for me today?" She asked, rummaging through refrigerator shelves. Zoro grunted in response. He slung his bag over his shoulder as she took out a jar of blueberry jam and placed it on the counter with a gentle clink. "Want a PB+J?"

Zoro reached around her, grabbing a beer. "Nah."

She took a loaf of bread out and shot him a dirty look. "You need food, you know. Not just piss-flavoured booze."

"How do you know what piss tastes like?" Zoro cracked open his can with one smooth push. Perona crossed her arms with squinting, beady eyes.

"I work in hospice. You'd be surprised."

"I thought hospice nurses were supposed to be nice."

"I am nice!" She shrilled, stomping her foot like a child. Pink tendrils flew up as she huffed. Zoro rolled his eyes at the immature display.

"Sure you are," he replied monotonously. He brought his can to his lips and let the cold, bitter liquid slide down his throat. Perona jabbed her finger in his face.

"You're trying to distract me!"

"Is it working, shorty?"

"No, not anym- shorty?!"

Zoro shut his mouth tight to suppress a chuckle. As Perona went into a silly rant about Zoro's rudeness, he made his way into the hall.

"...and I'm making you a PB+J and you're gonna eat it!" she yelled out behind him as he reached the end of the hall. Two doors stood on either side of the hall; one had pink stickers and a corny keep out sign, while the other was completely vacant of decoration. Take a guess at which one was Zoro's. He pawed the handle of the blank door, shaking his head.

"Yeah, right."

She was still yelling bitter words and thoughtful concerns as he entered his room. The small, barren room greeted him with a waft of cold air. He didn't have many possessions. His bed was a single, his sheets were old, and his blanket and pillows were cheap. His closet was half empty, with only a few white t-shirts hanging on the beat-up wire hangers. A small dresser in the corner held his socks, boxers, and pants- most of which were sweats. No posters or pictures lived on the grey walls. In fact, the closest he got to decorating was the empty bottles and cans piling up on his bedside table. Perona always told him he should buy a cute comforter or something to give the room some life. He didn't see the point. 

Zoro plopped down on the edge of his bed. The bedframe creaked underneath him. He reopened his bag, retrieved his file, then dropped the bag to the ground. His thoughts swirled wildly in his head as he thumbed through the pages. He could feel the pit in his stomach grow deeper and deeper each time he reread his identity profile. 

Spouse: Jean Wrinoko.

How the hell am I gonna pull this off?

***

"What's the matter?"

Zoro looked over his file to the source of the question. Robin sat at the other end of the table, reading a book and sipping tea. It was one of the few times that Robin occupied the base's kitchen and Sanji didn't loom over her like a large, two-legged puppy. Actually, the cook had been inexplicably absent so far today. Zoro considered himself lucky. The less they saw each other before this mission, the better. 

"Nothing."

Robin licked her thumb and flicked the page. She spoke again, keeping her eyes on her book. "You've been staring at that file in your hands for forty-five minutes now." She brought her teacup to her lips and took a slow, elegant sip. Zoro mentally cursed the person he'd be hunting down on this mission. Robin would be the perfect partner if it weren't for the target's motives. "You're scowling more than usual. Your shoulders and arms are tense. You've been grinding your teeth together. What's bothering you?"

Zoro exhaled harshly through his nostrils, snapping the file shut. He couldn't give her all the details, but maybe he could say enough to get some advice out of her. She was the smartest person he knew, after all. "Just this mission Luffy gave me," he began. He stared down at the file, visually tracing his codename scrawled in ink.

Robin nodded knowingly. "You're worried about pretending to be in love with Sanji."

His gaze shot from the file to Robin. "How-"

"Luffy told us already."

He clenched his jaw and exhaled heavily. "Of course he did." It was silly of him to think his fearless leader would keep his classified mission classified.

"It won't be as hard as you think it will be," Robin's elegant voice reassured him. "You're both professionals. You'll be able to separate yourselves from your undercover identities easier than you'd expect."

Zoro grunted back, tapping his fingers on the file rapidly. She was probably right- scratch that, she was always right- but it didn't ease his mind at all. He only pulled his attention away from the sound of his fingertips hitting the wooden table when the door behind him swung open. He snapped his gaze to the entrance, where Nami stood, closing the door. She walked to the table and swiped Zoro's file away from him. "Hey, that's-"

"Oh, shush. You'll be reporting back to me anyways," she waved him off.

He clenched his fist and huffed in clear annoyance, but backed off. He watched as she paced the kitchen and read with this shit-eating grin on her face. "What?" he grumbled.

"Sorry, it's just-" Nami covered her mouth with the file, her aze flickering from Zoro to Robin. "This is priceless."

"Oh, shut up."

Robin put her bookmark in and shut the novel closed, placing it in front of her. "I must admit, the irony of the situation is quite amusing."

"Not you, too," Zoro sighed, rubbing his face. Nami sat on the table next to him, scanning through the file.

"So..." she began, tracing her finger down the identity profile. "...how're you planning to pull this off?"

The hand rubbing his face went up to run through his hair. "Dunno."

Nami spoke to herself under her breath as she read, quiet enough that her words were unintelligible. Robin scooted across the bench, closer to Nami and Zoro. Nami scrunched her nose before she spoke. "Have you ever... I mean, are you... experienced in this?"

Zoro squinted back at her. "In what?"

"I mean..." She scratched the back of her neck, looking to Robin as if she'd have the words Nami was looking for. The black-haired woman nodded and set down her teacup.

"Have you ever been romantically involved, Zoro?" Robin asked as elegantly as always. As if she hadn't just asked a completely personal, slightly embarrassing, and mildly insulting question. Zoro leaned back slightly and clenched his fist.

"Yes."

Nami craned her head to the side. "Really?"

"I- yes!" Zoro exclaimed in annoyance. Nami crossed her arms.

"Well, so-rry, Mister I-don't-need-anyone's-help-ever." She tossed her hair behind her shoulder. "You don't seem like the type."

"Have you been with a man before?" Robin continued to prod, resting her chin in her hand. Zoro folded his arms across his chest.

"Yes," he responded, a bit gentler than he had been before. 

Nami leaned a bit closer. "Really?" 

Zoro chose not to respond that time.

"Alright, that's good." Robin nodded as she spoke, looking a bit like she was somewhere else than there. "Have you been with a man sexually?"

Nami snapped the file up to her face again, but the shaking of her shoulders gave her away. Zoro's ears went hot. His gaze went down to the table. He stared into it so hard he was practically burning holes into the wood. 

"...Yes," he finally answered. "But I don't see how-"

"Then you'll do just fine." 

She reached over and placed her hand on top of Zoro's fist. Her thumb gently caressed his wrist. His tightly clenched hand relaxed slightly, and his chest got all warm inside. "Thanks," was all he could bring himself to respond with. 

"I'm so jealous," Nami sighed. She plopped the file in front of Zoro once again. "I wanna get paid to go on an all-expenses-paid cruise with a bunch of rich people. Do you know how much money I'd make from pickpocketing alone?"

"It does sound exciting," Robin chimed in. She withdrew her hand, going back to her tea.

"If you could actually fight you may have been my partner for this."

"Ew, no. Then they'd make me your wife."

The door swung open again. Zoro didn't get the chance to turn around before the person spoke.

"My two favourite ladies in the same room." 

Sanji walked past the table, looking only at the girls as he sauntered over to the stove. "Are you hungry, my dears?"

Zoro left the room before they gave the cook their orders.

Chapter Text

The clashing of blades in the heat of battle was a soothing sound to Zoro's ears. A familiar one. It took him back to simpler times when he was just a poor boy on the street. He'd go to this dojo on the corner of his street and watch lessons through the window, mimicking the movements of the sword with a metal pipe. He'd watch the one-on-one sparring matches in awe, imagining a day when he'd be one of the opponents. He'd imagine his victory. How sweet it would be. Sometimes the kids in the class would go outside on their breaks and challenge him to duels. They did it to make fun of him, flaunt their years of training and sparring, and make him feel small. He knew that. Still, he'd say yes.

Back then, it didn't take much to defeat Zoro. He had no gear, no one to correct his poor technique. No one to tell him how to plant his feet or what muscles to use when. All he had was a few rusty pipes and passion. The kids would laugh at him, flat on his back on the pavement after each match. They'd call him names and kick his limbs as they piled back into the dojo. 

Oh, how times have changed.

He slashed his lefthand sword upward, then his righthand. The blades clinked against Brook's block. The frail man's elbows buckled underneath Zoro's weight and he stumbled back, falling back with a thud. Zoro brought the blade to the man's neck, holding it there for a moment before pulling back. "You’re down. Again." He slid his swords back into their scabbards and held out a hand to his opponent.

"Jeez, Zoro," the slim, tattooed man panted. His hand, inked to look skeletal, took Zoro's as he rose to his feet. "You coulda killed me there! At least, you coulda if I weren't already dead."

"Huh?"

"Oh never mind. Just a personal joke."

Zoro retrieved his water bottle (filled with sake, of course) and took a large swig. Brook leaned against the wall at an odd angle, dabbing his tattooed face with a towel. When Ivankov said Brook looked too strange to go undercover- the guy was in his 50s, bone thin, and inked head-to-toe with the outline of realistic bones. He was like a plastic skeleton hanging from the wall of a biology classroom. Just with skin underneath the bones. Oh, and a huge afro. If the way he looked wasn't enough to disqualify him, his eccentric personality certainly did. He was loud, laughed weirdly, made even weirder jokes that only he found funny, and was constantly singing or humming some new tune. They wouldn't last a day on that ship with him.

It was too bad, really. Zoro liked him. His music was nice on the ears- especially when everyone was drunk. He was kind and light-spirited. He was childish, but sometimes he'd drop these random nuggets of wisdom that reminded you how old he actually was. Plus, he knew his way around a sword, which was always a bonus in Zoro's eyes. 

"Sooo..." Brook spoke, breaking Zoro away from his internal thoughts. "...Looking forward to your next mission?"

The look Zoro responded with must've been something mighty ugly because Brook shuddered and averted his gaze.

"Jeez, I was just asking!"

"You should know the answer," Zoro rebuked. Another swig of his bottle soothed his irate nerves. 

"I suppose you're right." Brook rotated on his strange angle so that his front faced the wall. "But you need not be worried. You and Sanji'll do just fine."

"Yeah, if we don't kill each other."

"You won't. Besides, you two make a convincing couple."

Zoro scrunched up his nose. "Gross. How?"

Brook managed to slide down into a lower, less comfortable-looking angle. "How you bicker. How you act in battle. You'd think you two were a freakishly strong old married couple." Zoro scoffed dismissively, taking one more mouthful of sake. Brook continued as Zoro screwed his water bottle closed. "When I first joined, I actually thought you two were together. A silly thought looking back, but it goes to show how well you work together."

Zoro's face wrinkled tightly into itself as he looked at Brook with pure confusion. How, just... how could he have come to that conclusion? It was ridiculous, so beyond the realm of possibility. There is no universe where he could like, let alone tolerate that shithead enough to be in a relationship with him. Disgusting. "You break that skull of yours when I was kicking your ass?"

"No!"

"Would you like to?"

Brook shrieked, fumbling on his feet to put some distance between him and Zoro. "I was just trying to encourage you! No need to be so violent!"

***

A week had passed since the meeting. That awful meeting about the awful job that Zoro just had to agree to because Luffy got it for him and how the hell can anyone say no to Luffy, let alone his loyal righthand man? Even if the job was practically a prison sentence, it was one his leader was giving him.

Zoro woke up that morning, made his way to the base, and beelined it to the gym. The rest of the crew was on a hit job, so the gym was guaranteed to be all his. Perfect. 

Zoro had been avoiding meals with the crew. He figured the more time he and Sanji spent apart before this stupid mission, the better. Since he and the pervert cook were forbidden to join the group on jobs leading up to their mission, it had been easier than expected to avoid the tall blond. It wasn't like they had anything in common. No shared hobbies or favourite places. Even their routes home didn't collide. Without a job to do, Zoro spent all his time at home or in the base gym. Sanji spent his lurking in the kitchen.

All Zoro had to do was avoid meals with the crew.

"Zorooooooooooooooooooo!"

The gym doors flew open, clanking against the walls with a large thud. Zoro, lifting dumbbells with his back turned to the entrance, didn't need to turn around to know who was disrupting his workout. It wasn't like he'd even have time to turn around, even if he wanted to. Luffy's gauntleted hands were clinging to Zoro's shoulders approximately two seconds after the doors opened. The rest of his body followed suit, crashing into the swordman's back with enough force to knock the wind out of a normal person. For Zoro, it was only a minor balance issue. Luffy wrapped his legs around Zoro's torso and rested his chin atop the green head of hair.

Zoro grit his teeth against the weight in his mouth. "Captain," he grumbled muffledly, straightening his posture. 

"You gotta come to the dining room! Sanji made the most amazing-"

"No thanks."

Luffy reached his hand up to his face, blocking Zoro's vision in the process. "Awe, c'mon," he prodded. Zoro couldn't see it, but he was certain Luffy's pinky finger was digging inside his nostril. You'd think it wouldn't fit in there with the large gauntlet Luffy wore, but Zoro had seen his armoured finger digging for gold before. "We're not gonna get Sanji's cooking again 'til after your job! We gotta savour it!" 

"I'll pass," Zoro said through his occupied teeth, trying unsuccessfully to shrug Luffy off of him.

The manchild responded by squishing Zoro's cheeks together in his hands. "Zoroooooo," he whined.

When he got like this, Zoro knew he didn't have much of a choice. This whiny behaviour was Luffy's version of being a stern boss. Zorooooo was Luffy's that's an order, and Zoro was nothing if not a man who follows his superior's orders. With a aggravated sigh, he relinquished his grip on the weights in his hands and carefully withdrew the one in his mouth. "Fine," he relented. "What's the shit cook making?"

Luffy laughed and nuzzled into the top of Zoro's head. Zoro grunted as if he hated it, like a liar. As overwhelming as Luffy could be with it, Zoro loved how affectionate he was. It was part of why Luffy was his best friend- of, the closest Zoro let himself get to having one again.

Luffy remained glued to his second-in-command's back as Zoro trotted down the hall, to the right, another right, then a left, bringing them to the kitchen. Luffy yapped the entire time about their kill of the day; some wannabe Vegapunk named Ceasar Salad or something- said he was kidnapping kids and experimenting on them. This salad man sounded like the kinda guy Zoro would relish in cutting down. After all, the straight-up evil targets were always the most fun ones to watch the life drain out of. The tiniest stab of jealousy poked Zoro's gut as they entered the kitchen. 

Upon entering, they were greeted by the smell of noodles, dumplings, and various meats. Sanji's back faced them, his front focused on the stove. Nami, Robin, and Usopp sat in a line, Robin listening intently as Nami and Usopp gossiped about what's-er-face or whoever. Franky sat at one end of the table, working on a palm-sized machine as he awaited his food. Chopper, legs swinging in his chair, was bopping along to a song Brook was playing on his violin. Jinbei was positioned across from Robin, patiently awaiting his helping. Luffy jumped off of Zoro's back and stole the seat next to the large man. 

That left only two seats, right next to each other.

Fuck me.

Zoro begrudgingly took one of the empty seats, twirling his butterknife against the wooden table and wishing he could melt into the floor. He had a plan to save his sanity as much as possible, and of course, Luffy and his cuddly nature and childlike requests and position of power ruined it. He wasn't sure why he was surprised anymore.

"Oh, ladies~" the cook singsonged, turning around with two carefully curated plates of food in his hands. He sauntered over to them, hips swaying as if he were some seductress, and laid the food in front of them. "I hope you enjoy, my dears."

"Thank you, Sanji. It looks delicious," Robin smiled.

Nami scowled across the table at Luffy, swatting his sneaking hand away. "Watch it, Boss." Luffy giggled back at her.

Sanji went back to the stove and prepared the rest of the plates. Chopper got up to help him pass them around, like the sweetheart he is, which granted Zoro a smidge of relief. Maybe the cook will take Chopper's spot, he thought to himself as the small, hairy fella began placing plates in front of his comrades. He would much rather have Chopper next to him, pestering him about how his wounds are healing, than Sanji flirting shamelessly with the girls and insulting him and breathing too loud and-

A large, slender hand attached to a very un-hairy arm practically dropped Zoro's plate in front of him. Liquid sloshed off the plate and onto the back of his much more tanned hand. He audibly groaned as Sanji took his seat next to him. Chopper gleefully returned to his spot next to Brook. Traitor. Zoro licked the food residue off his hand, which provoked a sound of disgust from Sanji's throat. "Can you not?" his obnoxious voice rang directly in Zoro's right ear. He scooped up a mouthful of food onto his fork and into his mouth, smacking his lips as he chewed.

"What?"

"Oh, Christ," Sanji grumbled into his hands, shaking his head condescendingly. "You eat like a pig."

"Better get used to it." Spit and food particles flew out of Zoro's mouth. "In a week, you're g'na be stuck with this pig."

"Oh, nuh-uh," Nami piped in, jabbing her pointer finger into the table. "You cannot eat like that undercover."

Zoro darted his eyes around, shoulders hunched in confusion. "Why not?"

"Because the Wrinokos are supposed to be an elite family. They're only a couple steps below the Celestial Dragons-"

"The snot-nosed adult toddlers."

"-AND the Crimasque is a proper, posh ship. The people who stay there have etiquette."

"Fucking etiquette." Zoro shovelled another mouthful into his mouth. "I've got 'nuff etiquette."

Nami ran her hands down her face. "Oh my God."

Sanji scoffed condescendingly, picking up his fork. "If this meathead's got etiquette, I have-"

"What? A girlfriend?" Zoro cut him off with a snort. Sanji slammed an aggravated hand on the table, and Zoro had to bite back an outright belly laugh. If it remained this easy to get under his skin, maybe this mission wouldn't be so bad. 

"Luffy," Sanji spoke through gritted teeth, "can you tell your hound to back off and eat properly?"

Zoro dropped his fork with a splatter, leaning his fist on his knee. He craned his neck to face the asshole beside him. "The hell're you calling a hound?" 

"Boys," Jinbei grumbled from the other end of the table. Zoro looked around quickly. Without even realizing it, they had drawn the attention of the entire group to their kerfuffle. When he directed his focus back to the cook, Sanji's eye narrowed at him. For a moment, he swore there was a flame behind the blue. 

"So hound is worse than pig?" the blond challenged, leaning closer to Zoro assertively. Zoro damn near snarled as he grabbed a fistful of Sanji's collar.

"I ain't no one's-"

"Get your filthy paws off my clothes-"

A thud atop Zoro's head pulled him out of the moment. He released Sanji, occupying his hands with his throbbing crown. His first thought was that the light fixtures had begun to fall, but no- this was too painful for that to be the case. There was only one thing that hurt this much.

"Get your shit together, both of you!" Nami screeched in their ears, cracking her knuckles. Zoro slumped into his seat as she continued to lecture them, hoping she'd fail to remember the tallies she had yet to redeem. Each tally equaled a fist to the top of the head, and he'd rather avoid any more of those. He looked over at Sanji, whose nose was bleeding into his dish. Pervert. 

How the hell are we surviving this mission?

Chapter Text

The flaky, worn faux-leather cushion of the stool sunk under Zoro's weight. His fingers tapped the counter absentmindedly to the tune of some folk punk song playing on the bar speakers as he awaited his regular cup o' brew. His regular bartender hadn't clocked in yet- still at his other job, probably- so he had to speak to someone when ordering. They were probably a new hire, but still. Gross. 

"Aaand here you are!" the cheery (and crazy tall) honey blonde chirped, placing his drink in front of him. It didn't have much of a head, but it would do. Alcohol is alcohol. He grunted a halfhearted thanks under his breath as he wrapped his calloused fingers around the glass.

"Aphelandra," a familiar voice called out from swinging Employees Only doors. The tall, tatted, and lean bartender Zoro knew and had grown to tolerate and appreciate (somewhat) emerged, standing in the spot next to the new barkeep. He looked comically tiny next to her despite his height, and yet her face still drained of colour as soon as he appeared. "That pour was shit. Lemme show you."

Zoro took a lazy swig from his cup, half-watching Aphelandra fumble over apologies as her superior tried to teach her how to pour a proper brew. It wasn't particularly interesting, but there was nothing else in the stiff and stingy bar worthy of his attention. The seasoned bartender was the easiest thing on the eyes in a mile radius, and Zoro was hoping this lesson meant a free drink for him. He rested his chin in his hand and observed through a half-opened eye as the senior barkeep poured a proper beer, yapping about proper technique monotonously as he did so. It was an attractive sight. Something about a guy who knows his way behind a counter got something (probably his alcoholism) riled up in the swordsman.  

"Now that's a good pour," the dark-haired man concluded, instinctively placing the glass in front of Zoro. Score. Zoro's grubby fingers nabbed the beer without another thought. "Practice your pour, now. This guy's gonna want a few more."

The girl nodded with a motivated simper and left to retrieve some extra glasses. Zoro chugged his shitty beer, keen to get to the far better one. His regular bartender wiped down the surface in front of him, then flung his rag onto his shoulder. "You're here early today," he droned, pressing his palms onto the counter. Zoro's eyes wandered to his tattooed fingers, which curled in on themselves. He could pick out a couple small white scars on the knuckles.

Zoro smirked, bringing the better-poured drink to his lips. "Eager for a drink, s'all."

"Tough day at the office?" the man asked, only half-interested in a response.

Zoro's smirk widened as he wiped his lip. There was something amusing about people guessing his profession- probably the fact that they were always wrong. "Could say that."

The barkeep nodded, looked above Zoro's head, and groaned as he watched a crashing sound ensue. "Excuse me," he sighed, already halfway to the counter's exit. "Shachi! You idiot!"

"Sorry, Law!"

Zoro took another swig of his beer, letting its warmth envelop him. Minimal conversation and a good pint- that's why he's Zoro's favourite tender. Nothing worse than a talker ruining the sanctity of the bar, or a bad drink souring Zoro's tongue. Plus, this guy was a good lay; big dick, rough hands, and emotionally detached, as all sexual partners should be. If he played his cards right, he might be able to get some of that tonight. He put the empty pint down on the counter, pushing it to the edge of the employee side. He wouldn't get the chance to come back here before he left, so tonight was the only chance he had to get laid before his descent into Pretend-Honeymoon Hell. The weeks- hell, maybe months- ahead of him seemed soft, frivolous, and celibate. The mere thought made Zoro wish his brain would melt out of his ears or all his bones would turn to goo, so he could stay in Chopper's hospital wing instead. 

The soft clank of another glass being placed between his hands made Zoro snap out of his dreadful thoughts. His sexy, competent, detached bartender's fingers lingered on the rim of the glass for a moment as he looked straight-faced towards the Employees Only door. "Where the hell is she?" He muttered under his breath, clearly thinking aloud.

"It's fine. Her pours are shit," Zoro interjected into his personal conversation. The man was seemingly tugged out of his own brain at the sound of Zoro's voice. He retracted his hand.

"Yeah, that's why she should be out here."

"Oh c'mon, have her practice on some other drunk." Zoro took a swig of his drink and fought off a large, unattractive belch. "I won't be back in a while. I want the good shit."

The dark-haired man raised an eyebrow, looking as intrigued as his deadpan face could allow. "Vacation?"

"Business trip."

Another mouthful.

"How long?"

Swallow.

"Dunno yet. Boss is playing it by ear."

He reached under the counter and rummaged around for a while, obviously stalling to extend his bordering unprofessional interaction with Zoro. "Don't be gone too long. We may go under without you."

"All the more reason to give me special attention tonight." Zoro finished off his beer and slammed the glass down. "Bleed my wallet dry."

He hummed, swiping Zoro's cups and replacing them instantly. "Let me guess," he sighed, almost grumbling, "my pour isn't the only 'good shit' you're looking for?"

Zoro shrugged, braiding his fingers around the fresh pint with a devilish grin painted across his lips. "I mean, if you're supplyin'."

"You make me sound like a drug dealer."

Zoro chuckled, chugging the drink in his hands with unholy ease. He wiped his mouth lazily and leaned back, furrowing his brow slightly. "Well?"

The bartender scowled, looked over his shoulder, and leaned forward. "Maybe. Stay until close," he hissed under his breath. He replaced Zoro's cup once more, then grabbed the bin of dirty dishes with those rough, tatted hands. "Tip well."

"You make yourself sound like a hooker," Zoro retorted as his plans for the night walked away.

***

"Where were you?"

Perona's hands were planted firmly on her hips as she stood in front of the apartment entrance, scowling through her brows at Zoro's hungover frame. He gripped the doorframe with one hand as he scooted his shoes off of his feet.

"None o' your business," he muttered, rubbing his eyes with his free hand. He stepped forward, closed the apartment door, and pushed past his annoyingly nosy roommate.

"Uh, excuse me," said roommate shrilled, following the towering man close behind. "The guy who shows up looking half-dead all the time doesn't come home, doesn't call, doesn't even text, and gets here at 1:47PM acting all... all..." She trailed off, eyebrows furrowing viciously as she tried to find her words. "...all you!"

"Wow, thanks," Zoro snapped. He whipped his bedroom door open, the sight of his barren yet disorderly room greeting him. He stormed over to his open closet and began rummaging through. Perona stomped behind, looming over his shoulder as he grabbed an old duffel bag. 

"You know what I mean!"

Zoro tugged clothes off of hangers one by one, shoving each article in the bag. He couldn't see Perona, but could feel her presence shrowding his back.

"What are you doing?" She asked, her voice softer and less aggravating than usual. Zoro looked over his shoulder, expecting to see her scrunched nose and brows glaring up at him. Instead, he was met with big, black eyes and a pouty lip. He sighed, gently brushing past her. He went to his dresser, emptying the top drawer of socks and boxers.

"Packing."

She followed with small, frantic steps. "You're leaving?"

"Business trip," he replied nonchalantly. He didn't want to look back at her again. She was worried, or sad, or some other emotion that made her look so helpless and childlike. It made his stomach churn uncomfortably in his body to see the perpetually angry Perona feeling any other negativity so strongly. 

"When? Why?"

"I leave tomorrow." He zipped up the duffel and stared down at it, procrastinating his inevitable turn to face her. "Boss needs me to go."

"Don't."

Zoro took a deep breath in and turned around. She stared up at him with those big fucking eyes, and Zoro immediately averted his. He leaned against his dresser, looking to the side. "They're gonna mail my paychecks here," he muttered. She shoved his shoulder.

"I don't care about that, asshole!" Her voice raised and shook. Zoro scratched the back of his head. "You're gonna get yourself killed."

"I won't get myself killed."

"Who's gonna take care of you, huh?" She crossed her arms, her expression of concern starting to twist back into the aggravated one Zoro was used to. "Your Boss? Your doctor? You gonna tell them the truth when you're hurt?"

"I can take care of myself just fine," Zoro snapped back, mirroring her position. 

"Bullshit!" She cried. "Do you even know when you'll be back?"

"'Rona-"

"You're gonna die who-knows-where and I'll never even know it!" 

She threw her arms down at her sides, clenching her pale fists until they turned even whiter. Her face was contorted into an angry scowl, but little pools of tears glistened at the corners of her beady eyes. Zoro let a huff of breath slide between his teeth and hesitantly wrapped an arm around her. She folded instantly, gripping him tight.

"I won't die," Zoro muttered into the crown of her head. She jabbed her fingers into his side, shooting pain up his torso. He winced but didn't let go of her.

"Better not," she grumbled into his chest. She dug her fingers further into his skin with a twist, then retracted them, placing her hand softly on his upper back instead. "You die, and I'll hunt down your stupid Boss myself," she grunted. 

Zoro snorted into her hot pink roots. The mere idea of Perona trying to take on Luffy was ridiculous. Perona evidently didn't take kindly to that reaction, though, because she smacked Zoro's back harshly.

"I'm serious!"

"Yeah, good luck with that."

She pulled away, glaring up at him. "Scratch that. I hope you die on your work trip."

"No, you don't," Zoro smirked back, crossing his arms once more. She huffed, stomped her foot, and made her way to his bedroom door.

"No, I don't," she whined over her shoulder.

The door swung closed behind her, and Zoro found himself feeling a peculiar emptiness in his arms.

Chapter Text

Two weeks.

Zoro spent two weeks preparing for this mission.

Now, he had to spend a two-hour car ride holding onto that preparation with a mental death grip. 

The sleek, fancy car pulled up to the base at 6PM. A woman with long hair just as sleek sat in the driver's seat. She wore a black suit, dark sunglasses, and a chauffeur's cap. When she saw the two men approaching the car, she opened the car door and stepped out. She approached Zoro first, taking his luggage in each hand- one of which was notably made of metal, attached to a mechanical prosthetic- and lugging it to the trunk. Sanji followed behind, flirting shamelessly. Zoro bit his tongue and slid into the back of the car.

They hit the road. Sanji sat in the back with Zoro (they were husbands now, after all) with his chin rested on the passenger's seat, lips flapping a mile a minute with compliments to the chauffeur. Zoro shuffled in his seat, trying to find a comfortable position against the stiff cushions. He leaned back and closed his eyes, doing his best to drown out Sanji's pathetic rambling.

A hard smack to his forehead jolted him awake. His hand flew to his minor injury, rubbing it with a scowl. The road was rough and bumpy, teetering the car from side to side- that must be why he whacked his head on the glass. Blinking groggily, he looked to the side. Sanji no longer leaned forward with a blush and rapidly moving lips. Instead, he sat back with his long legs crossed, looking absentmindedly out his window. Zoro stretched his legs outward with a subtle groan.

Not subtle enough. Sanji's eyes, half-closed in slits like a snake, slid their attention towards Zoro. His foot jabbed the swordsman's knee away. "Personal space."

"I barely even-" 

Don't lose your shit, Zoro.

Zoro snapped his mouth shut, straining his jaw from the force of his clenched teeth. He looked out the car window and stewed in silent resentment. He couldn't help but wonder what he did to deserve such torment. He was fine with his objective, he was fine with the travel, he was fine pretending to be some lovesick trust fund with legs, but why? Why did it have to be Sanji, of all people? The one person amongst his coworkers- hell, amongst the world population- that he couldn't stand was sitting inches away from him, breathing too loud and glaring at him and itching the back of his neck the way he does when he's fiending for some nicotine, and Zoro was stuck with him for the unforeseeable future. Whatever slaughter he was being divinely punished for couldn't be nearly as bad as that.

"Wow. No empty-headed response?" Sanji's voice grated in Zoro's ears almost as badly as his fingers scratching skin. "That's new."

C'mon, Zoro. You're not even on the ship yet. He swallowed hard. "We're stuck with each other, Curly. No point arguin'." 

Sanji hummed, uncrossing his legs. "Guess a stray thought does cross your mind," he sighed, and Zoro struggled to hold back an eye roll. The blond leaned forward, blue eyes peering affectionately at their chauffeur. "How much longer, my sweet? I'm dying for a smoke."

"30 minutes away from the queue."

"30 minutes?" Sanji echoed. His knee started bouncing at a distracting speed, shaking the car more than it already was. One hand rubbed against the fabric on his thigh, and the other went back to the goddamn scratching. "Alright. That's- no, that's fine."

Zoro settled back in his seat, closing his eyes once more. If he could just get back to sleep, maybe he wouldn't want to shoot himself before their little road trip met its end. Maybe. He crossed his arms, letting out a tired groan as his body got heavier and heavier...

"I'm sorry, my love," Sanji croaked. Zoro's body jolted at the sound. "How much longer?"

"28 minutes."

"Oh Christ," he cursed under his breath. A thud indicated Sanji had flopped back in defeat.

Zoro grunted as he tried once again to get comfy. He tilted his head back and to the side. A droplet of drool pooled in the corner of his mouth.

"I'm sorry, honey-"

"For fucks sake!" Zoro hissed, his eyes remaining shut tight. "Just let him smoke so he'll shut up."

"I can't. This is a rental-"

"Could we pull over, then?" Sanji pleaded. "I'll be fast."

"There's no time. Nothing I can do-"

Zoro rubbed his face in defeat, sitting upright. "Christ, just take whatever smoking fee this thing has out of my cheque," Zoro grumbled. "He’ll be a nightmare the rest of the way otherwise."

The chauffeur lady looked from the road to Sanji's reflection in her mirror, chewing the inside of her lip. The girl-crazy cook had on his best puppy eyes, wide and almost glistening. Silently, she pressed down on a button, lowering his window. Sanji fumbled with his pockets and stuck his head out the window like a dog. He needs nicotine patches, Zoro thought to himself as he shuffled back in his seat. Or rehab.

***

A half-hour drive and 20-minute snail crawl through the queue of vehicles later, they were at the dock. From the car window, Zoro could see handfuls of elegantly dressed people waltzing toward the gigantic white and gold Crimasque ship and even more well-dressed servants following behind with mounds of luggage. He recognized some of the guests; celebrities like Buggy the Clown and big shots of specific fields like Iceburg the shipwright. Nobody who could recognize Zoro, luckily (not like that was a concern to begin with, but it was always good to keep an eye out just in case).

The car lulled to a stop and the chauffeur put it in park. "Time to go, Masters," she said as she unbuckled- we're in character now, I guess- and exited the car. She walked to Zoro's door and held it open. "Master Wrinoko, sir."

Zoro cleared his throat, smoothed his suit jacket, and stepped out of the vehicle. "Thank you," he acknowledged as regally as possible. His rich guy voice sat uncomfortably in his throat.

He adjusted his sleeve cuffs, awkwardly fumbling on the buttons as she closed his door and looped around the car. He heard the door open and shut behind him and took a deep breath. When he turned around, he wouldn't be Roronoa Zoro looking at Sanji McStupidCook. To everyone around them, he'd be Tadashi, heir to the Wrinoko empire, looking at his loving husband, Jean. He had to be ready for that. With a quick clench and release of his fist, he turned.

The man in front of him fit right in with the rich people scattered around the area; his suit hugged his slender frame perfectly, his blond hair flowed elegantly in the wind, and he had this… air of confidence surrounding him, like he knew he belonged. Zoro smiled, trying to emulate the kind of smile the guy gave the girl in those dumb romcoms Perona adored (and forced him to watch). Sanji's eyebrows twitched, then furrowed in playful confusion- while undetectable to anybody around them, it was clear to Zoro that he was covering up his disgust. "What are you smiling at, my dear?" Sanji asked, vocals smooth as untouched sand. 

Repurposing his flirting techniques. Smart move. Zoro walked slowly around the car, passing their chauffeur taking out their luggage, to meet Sanji's side. "You, of course," he managed to respond. Sanji took a drag of his cigarette and, surprisingly, offered it to Zoro. He didn't smoke, but his file said Tadashi did, so he accepted. 

"Your luggage is ready, Masters," the chauffeur called from the backside of the car. She emerged from behind pushing a golden luggage trolley filled with their bags.

Zoro inhaled and exhaled smoke, returning the flaming nicotine stick to Sanji. The slim man dropped it to the ground, putting it out with his foot. "Shall we?" The cook's typically aggravating, but currently oddly soothing voice questioned. Zoro placed a hand on the small of Sanji's back like the guys in the movies do and began gently leading them toward the boat, ignoring how the slightly taller man tensed at the touch.

"I will follow you both inside and help you check in, Masters," the lady began, pushing the heavy-looking trolley with ease. "Then, I will return to the Manor. Contact us when you plan to return from your honeymoon, and we will pick you up .”

"Of course sweetheart, thank you," Sanji purred- he just can't pass up an opportunity with a lady. "Do you need help with our bags?"

"Of course not, Master."

"Let the girl do what we hired her to do, dear," Zoro said in his best, most authentic snotty-rich-guy voice. "We're on vacation, remember?"

Sanji looked down at Zoro with a forced smile and a hint of a glare. "You're right, you're right."

Man, this is gross.

The trio waltzed onto the ship, making their way to the check-in desks. Thankfully, all Zoro had to do was show a fake ID and give the name of the reservation. Sanji handled most of the small talk. A prissy counter attendant- who had been kissing their asses hard enough to slip up inside- slid them their keycards. Another worker sidled up next to the chauffeur, taking the trolley from her and pushing it towards an elevator. Sanji and Zoro said quick, polite goodbyes to their pretend servant and followed the man pushing their luggage. 

The elevator was cramped and tense. Zoro had never been much of a talker and no fake identity could change that, but Sanji, for some reason, felt like an Olympic conversationalist in this new environment. He was asking this worker about his day, chatting about where they came from, their wedding ceremony (which they never discussed with Luffy or Ivankov- he was making those details up on a whim), and telling the poor worker in great made-up detail what a secret softie Tadashi was- all the while, he clung to Zoro's arm like a frightened woman with her purse, and Zoro had to politely nod and laugh at the right time and not look like he wanted to murder everyone in the lift, including himself. The lights on the top of the elevator door slid through the floor numbers at an agonizingly slow pace. Sanji's hand on Zoro squeezed his bicep and dug its nails into him. Zoro chewed the inside of his cheek and did his best not to exhale hard through his nose or roll his eyes.

The soft ding and the crack of light growing between the elevator doors gave Zoro a biblical level of relief. The three men piled out of the lift clumsily. The pretend husbands followed close behind the employee as he led them to their room. Sanji fell silent as they hustled down the hall, much to Zoro's delight. He stole a brief glance up at the cook- the blond walked with his back straight and his chin up, moving with an elegance that made him look like he floated just above the floor. His face was straight and unreadable, except for his eyes; his baby blues were darting from wall to wall, up and down, never stopping to focus on one thing. The idiot was a bundle of nerves, and anyone with a trained eye could see it. Not good.

The employee halted in front of a door with the numbers 4063 hung just above the peephole. He held out his hand, silently asking for the keycard. Zoro slipped the thin plastic out of his pocket and pressed it to the man's palm. A swift swipe and click later, the door was wide open. The man stepped aside, allowing the couple to enter the room. Zoro's hand returned to the small of Sanji's back as they entered, urging the more visibly stressed man ahead.

The room was huge- almost comically so,- with lots of open space near its entrance. The bed was ginormous (likely a California King) with a plush velvet comforter and silky pillows, all of which had a red and black pattern. Large bedside tables hugged either side, each having a lamp, notepad, and charging station. Near the bed was a coffee table with a single-seater leather couch on either side. A monstrous TV covered the wall directly across from the bed. The wall facing the outside of the ship wasn't a wall at all- rather, one huge window with doors to the balcony. The wall opposite had a walk-in closet and another door, likely leading to the washroom. It was a nice spot. Much fancier than his rinky dink apartment back home. And cleaner.

Sanji pushed forward, walking towards the large painting hanging above the bed. Zoro took the opportunity to turn to the employee. "Thank you," he said plainly, slipping a couple $100 bills into the man's hand. The man nodded, slipped the bills in his back pocket, and turned to leave the room. Zoro closed the door behind him, doing up all the extra locks and watching through the peephole to see him walk away. Once the employee was out of eyeshot, Zoro whipped back around. He loosened his tie first, pulling it over his head and tossing it to the side. Then, his jacket came off. Then, his dress shirt. Sanji hadn't even noticed Zoro stripping down until his dress pants were at his knees.

"Jesus-" he cursed, covering his eyes dramatically and turning away. "Give a fucking warning! Jeez."

"C'mon, dear," Zoro jabbed back, kicking his pant legs off. He stretched his arms up an let out a loud, unattractive yawn. "We're stuck with each other for who knows how long. G'na have to get used to it."

"This is ridiculous," the blond muttered, picking at his bottom lip. Zoro, in nothing but his boxers, walked past him and nabbed a pillow from the bed. He then plopped down on a one-seater, shimmying into a comfortable position and tucking the pillow under his head. "What are you doing?"

"Going to bed." Zoro crossed his arms and closed his eyes, ready to fall into a peaceful, complete sleep.

"We have a job to do," Sanji nagged. "The quicker it's done, the better."

"We ain't getting shit done tonight." Zoro smacked his lips, trying his best not to provoke any anger in Sanji. "Everyone's gonna be too busy settling in, and you need to get your shit together."

Sanji huffed, but no witty remark came. Instead, his voice croned halfheartedly, "There's a bed, y'know."

"We're not sharing a damn bed."

Another huff, but no response. Zoro let the silence overcome him before Sanji could break it with an argument.

It was the first bit of peace he felt all day.

Chapter Text

"How about we lounge by the pool for awhile, my dear?" 

Zoro's head snapped up from his frozen margarita, bougie sunglasses slipping down the bridge of his nose. Sanji slipped his hand down Zoro's arm, stopping stiffly at his hand. Zoro fisted his drink in his other hand and hopped off the bar stool, gingerly holding Sanji's hand in turn. "Sounds..." he began, struggling to find the kind of words that would come out of a mouth like Tadashi Wrinoko's.

"Sounds lovely, doesn't it?" 

Sanji yanked Zoro harshly away, eyes scanning the pool deck. The swordsman checked his work-funded Rolex- 1:57PM. They were cutting it a little close.

"Are you looking?" Sanji hissed under his breath, sounding much more like his annoying self than he had a moment prior. Zoro clenched his teeth, trying desperately to keep a pleasant expression on his face as Sanji continued to nag him. "We're looking for a purple umbrella."

"Yeah, I know," Zoro grumbled back, forcing a smile onto his face. He looked around halfheartedly. "I was in the damn meeting."

***

"There will be some familiar faces on the Crimasque," Ivankov instructed, twirling a pointer stick in his long-nailed fingers. "Marines, celebrities, businessmen. You'll find in your file a page on the main faces to look out for- people the Wrinokos would associate with. Their names, pictures, general information that you would know as members of the Wrinoko dynasty."

Zoro flipped lazily to the page, scanning it briefly without bothering to read names. Stuffy businessmen, each one at least twenty years older than him, each one ugly. Nobody Zoro could force himself to find remotely interesting.

"There will also be some friendly faces for you to find on the Crimasque. People we've hired to help you. You will meet each of them throughout your first week, through constructed situations that will look organic to the average person," Ivankov explained, using his long fingernail as a pointer as he poked at a projection. The screen, filled with what appeared to be job titles, thrust one title to the forefront at the tap of Ivankov's finger: TECHNICAL SPECIALIST. "The first is our Technical Specialist. Please open your files to the fourth page."

Zoro did just that and was met with a long, wordy chart. To the left was each title, the first one being the Technical Specialist. To the right were paragraphs upon paragraphs of instructions.

"Jean and Tadashi will go to the pool deck and sit to the right of a woman under a red umbrella at approximately 2PM," Sanji muttered under his breath. Zoro stole a glance in his direction. The fucker was grinning ear-to-ear- no doubt because he read the word 'woman'. Perv. "Jean will strike up a conversation with the woman..."

***

"You've gotta be shitting me."

Zoro pressed his lips together, holding back a devious laugh. Sanji's gaze bore into the old, saggy, green-haired woman sitting under the red umbrella. To her left was a young girl with two similarly coloured bubble-pigtails pointed towards the sky. Zoro slung his arm around Sanji's shoulders in a way that only his victim could recognize as mocking.

"What's wrong, loverboy?" He ribbed quietly. "You were so excited to talk to her in the meeting."

Sanji crossed his arms, trying and failing to shrug Zoro off. "Yeah, well, I was expecting a lady."

"Is she not a lady, dear?" Zoro taunted in a slightly higher pitch. Sanji shot daggers down at him with his aggravated gaze and overly-forced smile.

"I hate you, honey."

"Oh, come now," Zoro smirked, now the one leading the duo to their destination. "Let's lounge with the GILF, shall we?"

Despite the man's whining, it didn't take much dragging for Zoro to get him to the two empty beach chairs on the red umbrella's right-hand side. The stench of wine coated the area- not Zoro's favorite, but alcohol is alcohol. The lady hiccupped to herself as she read a silly gossip tabloid. The little girl was chattering a mile a minute to some weird bunny thing in her lap. Zoro sat down first, taking the chair farther from the lady and reclining it as far back as it went. He rested his occupied hand on his chest, sipping lazily at his frozen drink. Thank God for these complimentary drinks, he thought to himself as he swallowed a mouthful. Sanji sat down more timidly, crossing his legs as he shimmied in. His calves, uncovered by his fancy shorts, were blindingly pale in the hot summer sun. Zoro draped his free arm over his eyes, choking back a grumble.

The three adults sat in silence for a few moments, the only sounds reaching Zoro's ears being the child's rambling and the granny's scattered hiccup. The tanner man nudged Sanji with the toe of his sandal, and the cook cleared his throat.

"Beautiful day, isn't it?" He began with a honey-like sweetness in his voice. Zoro peeked through the crook of his arm, silently watching the interaction.

"Indeed, indeed," the granny slurred out, wiggling her wine bottle in her bony hand. "It's a shame my dear friend Eva couldn't be here. She loves a warm vacation."

There it is.

"Eva?" Sanji chirped back like a parrot. "Why, that's the name of the sweet thing who does my botox!"

Zoro chuckled softly to himself. Despite being- or, at least pretended to be- the straightest guy he knows, Sanji was a natural at this Rich-Snobby-Gay thing. 

"Mhm, that's my Eva." The lady glugged back some more wine and giggled to herself. "She's been trying to get me under her needle for years now, but I'm all natural."

"Good for you. You don't need it anyway, beautiful," Sanji grinned, leaning on his hand. Despite his complaining, Zoro was pretty sure he enjoyed this just as much as conversation with any more age-appropriate woman. The damn flirt. The old lady smacked his shoulder lightly, giggling and hiccupping.

"What's your name, dollface?" She asked, holding out her hand for him to shake. Being the natural gentleman he is, Sanji turned her hand in his and pressed a kiss to her wrinkled knuckles. Zoro rolled his eyes, finding the sight nauseating.

"Jean Wrinoko. The big lug here is my husband, Tadashi."

"Charmed," Zoro mustered up, trying to erase the image of Sanji's lips on the woman's hand from his mind.

"Well, Jean and Tadashi, I think we're going to be good friends," she grinned, her eyes disappearing into the wrinkles of her face. "Chimney, write down our room number for these fine gentlemen."

"Yes, Granny!" The child piped up, scribbling away on a napkin. She shoved it in her grandmother's face. "Here, Granny, here!"

The woman took the napkin and pressed it into Sanji's palm. "If you boys run into any trouble, come find your Granny Kokoro."

"Yes, Ma'am," Sanji replied happily, clutching the napkin in his fist. Kokoro stood up, beckoning Chimney to follow, and disappeared into the crowd of wealthy folk. Sanji let out a loud sigh and flopped back in his chair. "My God," he muttered to himself.

Zoro slurped up the last of his drink and laid the cup on the tiled ground. "What is it, love?" He asked mockingly. Sanji pushed his hair back and shot Zoro a look.

"She was lovely."

"Never said she wasn't."

Sanji pouted and grumbled something under his breath.

***

"Next up is the Weapons Specialist," Ivankov spoke, prompting the WEAPONS SPECIALIST  name on the projection to enlarge. "This will be your assigned dinner waiter. Please refer to the file for more details."

***

"Mr. and Mr. Wrinoko?" 

A tall, droopy-faced man with three large swirly curls on either side of his head entered the restaurant's lobby, a cloth draped over his bent arm. He wore a finely pressed tuxedo and held his chin up high- perhaps to help with breathing through that tight bowtie. Sanji was the first to respond to him, raising a hand and flagging him down. Zoro stood from the velvet bench he had been waiting on, holding his arm out to Sanji. He did his best not to recoil at the touch of the blond's hand, despite the goosebumps it sent up his bicep. 

"Follow me to your table, sirs."

Trailing behind this tree of a man proved to be more challenging than it should have been. The restaurant was packed; every table as far as the eye could see was occupied, with occupants leaning back in their chairs, walking around, or otherwise getting in Zoro's way. He was lucky the man guiding them was so damn tall- he'd be lost otherwise.

"Wrong way, dear," Sanji chirped condescendingly, jerking Zoro to the left. Perhaps the height of their guide didn't matter.

After braving the maze of rich people, they found their way to a semi-secluded area in the back. Zoro and Sanji sat across from each other at a small, romantic, candlelit table. As he took his seat, all the green-haired gruff could think of was how giddy Perona would be if she saw him here. She was always getting on his case about putting himself out there, going as far as setting up dating apps on his phone while he slept (all of which went untouched). He made a mental note to never mention this to her in any capacity as he scooted his seat in.

"My name is Iggy. I will be your waiter for the duration of your time on the Crimasque," the towering man began, pouring two glasses of ice water as he spoke. "Could I get you started with anything? Perhaps some wine?"

Wine. That was what Ivankov told them to talk about in their files. Zoro cleared his throat.

"There is one wine I'd like to try," he began, clenching his fists furiously under the table as the words chucked uncomfortably out of his throat, "but I can't seem to remember the name. Do you, dear?"

Sanji, ever the natural snob, smoothed a cloth napkin across his lap as he continued Zoro's thought. "Not quite. Our dear friend Eva tried it here, you see. She gave us raving reviews, insisted we try it on our honeymoon, but..."

"Eva, you say?" Iggy replied, a knowing glint in his eye. "Why, I was her waiter when she travelled with us. I know exactly the wine you mean."

There it is. Another secret companion down, only a few more to go. Iggy nodded and turned on his heels, disappearing into the sea of guests. He soon returned with a bottle of wine, along with a slip of paper containing a room number tucked inside the label.

***

A rough shove to the head snapped Zoro's eyes wide open.

"The hell-?"

"Get up, lazy-ass," Sanji groused in his face. He straightened up, walking towards a body-length mirror fixed to the wall. Zoro shot daggers into his back as he adjusted his tie. "We have a doctor to meet."

Zoro lolled his head back, huffing through his nose and rubbing his face in exhaustion. "Fuck me," he muttered under his breath. 

This was the meeting he had been dreading the most. They had already managed their way through the rest of them, meeting people like Bart the metal-faced Combat Soldier, and the bearish white-haired Comms Guy. Each scenario had either Sanji taking the lead or Zoro and the pervert working in tandem, which was... fine, he supposed. Sanji was good with people- people other than Zoro, anyway. He trusted the cook enough in that regard to take a backseat and let him take control. 

Tonight, though, he couldn't. Ivankov planned the meeting with their doctor with Tadashi Wrinoko in mind. Zoro was to sit at a speakeasy bar by himself and wait for someone acting as Tadashi's best friend from uni to show up. They'd then chat and reminisce on old memories he didn't have. The mere thought of having to sit there and come up with normal privileged kid things to look back on made his stomach turn. Maybe I should hit the washroom before we go down there-

"Hey, Oscar the Grouch," Sanji hissed, tossing a shirt in Zoro's direction. It landed on his head and draped over his face. "Up and at 'em."

"The fuck you call me?" Zoro scowled back, tugging the shirt down. Sanji motioned to Zoro's face.

"Just look at yourself. Grouch."

Zoro grunted something vulgar and unintelligible as he rose to his feet. He pulled the shirt on, walking towards the washroom as he buttoned it up. Sanji fixed and refixed his hair in his reflection, furrowing his brows. He pursed his lips as Zoro walked past. "Can't. You're hogging the mirror, you priss," Zoro retorted as he closed the washroom door behind him.

His suit hung on a door hook, looking crisp and expensive- so un-Zoro of an outfit. He took it off the hook begrudgingly, feeling like he was pulling on someone else's skin as the fabric hugged his muscles. He smoothed it out against his torso, gave himself a one-over, and strolled out.

Sanji was still planted in front of the mirror, compulsively adjusting his clothes and his hair as if they didn't already suit him perfectly. Zoro rolled his eyes- of course, the idiot was a perfectionist on top of everything else. He made his way to the exit of their room and leaned against the door. "You look fine, Blondie," he called out. "Haul ass. We're gonna be late."

"We have time," the cook retorted. "Fuck, I need a smoke. Is there a smoking area down there?"

"Why would I know?"

Sanji huffed, stomping towards Zoro. He stuck his arms out slightly at his sides, showing off his outfit. He looked the same as he did before Zoro got ready. "This fine?"

"Yes. Let's go."

Zoro reached for the door handle and twisted. Sanji slammed one hand on the door and grabbed Zoro's tie with the other. "The fuck is this?" He jabbed. "Your parents never teach you how to tie a damn tie?"

"Fuck you, I can tie a tie," Zoro snapped back. His response fell on deaf ears as Sanji undid his handiwork and started it over again. "You listening, Blondie?"

"Yeah, I heard you, and you're wrong." Smooth hands wove fabric through itself around Zoro's neck. "An eight-year-old could've done better."

Zoro fumed, glaring up at Sanji and mentally putting him at the top of his hit list. Fucking snob, he thought to himself. The fucking perfectionist just had to be right, had to have control over every little aspect of their mission. It was annoying. Downright insulting.

Plus, he hadn't jacked off in nine days and was so pent up he'd fuck just about anything with a heartbeat. The set of hands working dangerously close to his neck- despite who they belonged to- made that fact painfully clear in Zoro's agitated mind. He took a deep breath and averted his gaze over Sanji's shoulder, trying to focus on literally anything else.

"There," Sanji broke the silence, pulling his hands away. Zoro's shoulders relaxed. "Let's go."

The halls of the Crimasque blurred together in Zoro's mind. They were each unique; every few steps, each turn of a corner, he was met with new portraits hung on the walls, sculptures secured to their podiums, large plants spilling out of porcelain pots. The artwork was impressive but there was almost too much of it, as if the whole ship felt the same need to flaunt its wealth to the world that its patrons did. The frames and stands bored him after a while. He stopped keeping track of what was where.

That meant Sanji had to lead the way down to the bar. His hand rested on Zoro's bicep, occasionally tightening to tug him one way or another. He tried to ignore how nice the touch felt through the fabric on his skin, but the warmth on his arm was far more interesting than the damn paintings. His goal for the night, once stress-inducing, couldn't come sooner. At least I'll get away from the stupid cook, he thought to himself, and I'll get a drink.

A few halls, stairs, hops, skips, and jumps later, they found their way to the speakeasy. The room, large and candlelit, held the faint stench of expensive perfume and cigar smoke. The bar Zoro was oh-so eager to go to stretched out for feet upon feet. There must've been at least a hundred barstools stationed under the counter. A stage sat at the back of the room. A band of circus-looking musicians tuned their instruments on the black platform. As Zoro's eyes drifted across the room, he found multiple little groups of people, either standing or sitting in rigid booths. They laughed and splashed perfectly good alcohol out of their glasses as they talked. Zoro and Sanji's shoes clicked against the dark tile floors as they ventured inside the dimly lit room, strolling toward one of the small groups.

"Well, hello, beautiful!" Sanji chirped to the woman closest to them, tightening his grip on Zoro's arm as he flashed her an inviting smile. The woman pushed her green hair behind her shoulders and gave him a once-over.

"Hello, dear," she smiled back, her voice low and smooth like butter. She held out a hand. "I don't believe we've been acquainted. Monet."

Sanji pulled away from Zoro to take her hand, planting a soft kiss on her knuckles- how he managed not to bleed all over her hand, Zoro didn't know. He rose upright, pulling his hand from hers. "Jean Wrinoko. A pleasure."

"Wrinoko?" She looked from Sanji to Zoro, narrowing her eyes. "You must be-"

"Tadashi." Zoro took her hand, opting to shake it. Her lips curled upward as she eyed him down.

"Heir to the Wrinoko Dynasty, right?"

Zoro chuckled politely, his gut twisting inside of him. "Please, no formalities. I'm just Tadashi."

"Oh, shush," Sanji teased. His arm left Zoro's bicep and slipped around his waist. Zoro held his breath for just a moment. "He's so modest."

"The best of them are, aren't they?" she giggled softly. She reached her arm behind her head like an albino snake, elegantly extending her fingers. Another hand appeared, taking hers. She pulled it around her head and waist as the man attached to it found himself at her side. Monet looked up at the man with big, fond eyes. "Doffy."

The towering man pushed his pointed, red-tinted glasses to the bridge of his nose, peering down at them blankly.  Sanji's body tensed next to Zoro's.

"Monet." 

"Meet the Wrinokos," she introduced, motioning her wine glass toward the two men. The man, with spiked hair and tan skin, grinned the wide, toothy grin of a predator in the wild. He stretched his hand out to Zoro.

"You must be the Tadashi I've heard so much about."

Zoro took his hand, giving it a firm shake. "That's right."

"Donquixote Doflamingo. I've done business with your Pops for years," he explained.

Shit. That's a Warlord.

With one more shake of hands, he pulled away. Zoro noticed Doflamingo wiping his hand on his red pants in his periphery. "Your Father talks you up at nearly every meeting. He's given you a lot to live up to," the man continued. He couldn't see his eyes through those red lenses, but Zoro couldn't help but feel judged under his gaze. "I hope you don't disappoint."

Zoro laughed politely despite the blatant threatening undertones. "I'll do my best, sir."

"Look who's being formal now," Monet chuckled. She looked up at Doflamingo, leaning her face on his upper arm with a devoted look in her eyes. "The Wrinokos are practically family. Call him Doffy."

Fuck no.

"Alright."

Doflamingo looked down at Monet, bringing a hand up to her face. His fingers curled and bent in a way that could not be comfortable for him, fingers pressed into different areas of her cheek. His thumb found a home tucked under her chin and he leaned down.

"Okay," Sanji chirped in a high pitch, turning his gaze to Zoro. "Get us some drinks, would you, dear?"

Happy to have something other than the horrifyingly powerful couple swallowing each others' faces, Zoro nodded enthusiastically. "I won't be long, my love," he lied as he pried himself out of Sanji's grip with ease- he was gonna drag this meeting out for as long as possible. He turned on his heel, walking slowly to the bar and finding an empty stool far from the other bar patrons. He sat down and tapped at the counter, awaiting a bartender or his doctor- whichever came first.

As he waited, he thought back to his favourite bar back home and the cold, nameless barkeep Zoro let pound him into a mattress every once in a while. What was he doing at that moment? Pouring the perfect pint of beer for some other brute? He didn't like the idea of that- not because he wanted the bartender all to himself, but because he was dying for one of his pours. The mental image of it made his mouth water.

"You've gotta be kidding me," an almost familiar voice called out behind Zoro. He coulda sworn he'd heard it before, but something was off. It sounded too... happy. Hands found his shoulders, squeezing firmly and shaking slightly. "That you, Wrinoko?" Zoro opened his mouth as he turned his head to the voice, prepared to greet the stranger as a close confidant.

His jaw clamped shut when his eyes met the man he had just been thinking of.

Chapter Text

What. The. Fuck.

All the air in Zoro's lungs escaped at once, leaving him with only his shock. His blood ran cold and his palms clammed up as his eyes burnt holes into the man next to him. Millions of questions ran rampant in his head- too many to process. 

"It's been too long, man!" The bartender exulted, giving Zoro's shoulder a final shove as he pulled out the stool next to him. He sat down and rested his arm on the counter as if there were nothing strange about their meeting. The beaming smile on his face was an abnormal sight, especially one so big. Zoro wasn't sure he'd seen the man with any expression other than blankly annoyed before- except in bed, of course. "The hell're you doing here?"

I could ask you the same damn thing.  

Zoro smacked his lips to try and moisten his desert-dry mouth. With a shaky hand, he tapped Tadashi's wedding band with his opposite pointer finger. "Tied the knot, man," he said, desperate to control the little shakes in his voice. It wavered only slightly as he continued. "We're on our honeymoon."

"Shit, yeah!" He yanked Zoro's ring hand towards him, inspecting the ring. Zoro held his breath. "Congrats, Tadashi!"

Zoro exhaled as his hand was dropped, feeling the tiniest amount of weight lift from his shoulders as he pulled it back to the counter.

Did this guy already know this was the business trip Zoro was talking about all those nights ago? Was this merely a coincidence? He wanted so badly to ask, but how could he? He wasn't the regular at the bar right now. He was Tadashi Wrinoko.

"Sorry I couldn't be at the wedding. Work, y'know?"

"No worries, I understand." Zoro tapped rapidly on the counter, desperately wanting a cold glass of something boozy. "I could barely be there, I'm so busy."

The dark-haired man burst into laughter, reminding Zoro a bit of Luffy. It was off-putting. "Fuck, I feel that. The work is never done. Especially with your old man, huh?"

"You know it," Zoro strained. He hated every second of this impossible interaction. Part of him refused to believe that the man before his eyes was the same man he'd find behind his favourite bar's counter because why the hell would he be there? The wildly uncharacteristic enthusiasm dripping from his words didn't help Zoro's minute delusions.

He wished he could just choose to be completely delusional, but he was no Usopp. The visual evidence had slapped him dead in the face, no matter what his brain tried to convince him.

"You suddenly become a musician, or do you need a drink?" The man asked, motioning to Zoro's bouncing fingers and squashing any false hope of this guy being a secret twin or coincidental doppelganger. He just had to recognize that little tic of his. Zoro flattened his hand against the counter.

"A drink wouldn't hurt," he admitted, leaning back slightly. His eyes searched for a bartender, but there were none to be found. Some good bar this is.

The man beside him took a quick look around before planting both tattooed hands on the hardwood counter and hoisting himself up. He swung his legs around and pushed himself off, landing behind the bar with a perfectly balanced thud. He immediately got to work, reaching under something and retrieving an empty pint. He snapped his fingers a couple of times as his golden eyes searched for a suitable beer tab. Soon enough, a fresh pint was in Zoro's hand. He blinked blankly.

"C'mon, don't tell me you've switched to wine or something," the man teased- something he had never done to Zoro before (at least verbally). Zoro snapped out of his shock and took a large gulp. As he placed the glass back down, he wiped a strip of foam from his lip.

"Why the hell would I-" he began, sounding more like Zoro than Tadashi. A hand on his shoulder cut him off.

"Did you forget our drinks, dear?" Sanji questioned, sidling up next to Zoro. Zoro placed a hand halfheartedly on his fake lover's hip.

"That's why," the tattooed man smirked. The cook craned his head to the side.

"Am I missing something?" Sanji questioned, narrowing his eyes at the man behind the counter. Zoro's gut twisted anxiously.

"Right, my apologies." The bartender extended a large, gruff hand to Sanji, who timidly shook it with his well-manicured one. "The name's Water Law. Your husband and I were friends way back in university."

Water Law. The name bounced around in Zoro's head. He had tried his best not to learn the man's name whenever he went to the bar, but he could've sworn he'd heard other barkeeps call this man by Law. He couldn't;t be using his real name on a job like this, could he?

"I see." Sanji sat gingerly on a stool, not softening his gaze on Law just yet. "The same friend from university that studied medicine with Eva?"

Oh, right. In all the shock and confusion, Zoro had forgotten to drop the code.

"Dead on." Law reached down and produced a wine glass.

"And you're using your medical degree to be a... bartender?"

Zoro's forehead creased. He looked up at Sanji, who had a smug smile smeared on his lips. Just what is he playing at?

Law laughed, either oblivious to the blond's condescending tone or choosing to ignore it. "Oh, no. Just an impatient surgeon." He planted the empty glass in front of Sanji. "You must be the man who tied down my Tadashi. Red or white?"

"Red. And it's Jean."

Sanji's face relaxed as Law filled his cup. He swirled the deep red liquid around in the glass for a moment, then took a tender sip. "It's nice to put a face to a name. My Tadashi talks an awful lot about you."

Law's eyebrows twitched slightly as he rummaged around behind the counter- for a second, Zoro could see the deadpanned man he was intimately familiar with. "Yeah? All good things, I hope."

Sanji's laugh was sharp, unlike the polite laugh he had used for the past nine days. "Oh, yes. Almost too good of things."

Zoro's eyebrows furrowed even further. The hell is he doing? He wondered, taking another mouthful of his beer. And why does it feel like I'm in trouble?

"Seeing you does ease my mind, I must admit," Sanji leered into his glass. Law, now pouring himself an Old Fashioned, raised his brows an inch.

"Why is that?"

"I mean, look at you," Sanji motioned to him with a quick scoff. "You're clearly not his type."

Zoro nearly choked on his beer.

Law laughed a loud belly laugh, throwing his head back. Zoro felt queasy. "I'm certainly not, nor is he mine," he chuckled, letting the thinly veiled insult roll right off his back. "In fact, let me ease your mind even more. Baby, c'mere!"

Zoro's head perked up as a tall, dark-haired woman approached them. She slid up to the counter, grinning eagerly at Law. "You needed me?"

Law put his hand on her shoulder, similar to how he had it on Zoro's a few minutes ago. "Jean, meet my girl. Baby, meet Jean and Tadashi."

The adorable woman shook Sanji's hand eagerly. "Hi! The name's Baby Five. You're friends of Law's, are you?"

"My husband is. He hasn't introduced me until now, the useless lug," Sanji gossiped. Zoro rolled his eyes.

"Hopeless, aren't they? Law is the same way."

Baby Five, being a woman with a pulse, immediately engulfed Sanji's attention. He shifted his entire body to face hers, leaning closer as they chatted. Zoro clenched his teeth and pulled his gaze away from his annoyance of a pretend husband. He swung the rest of his beer into the back of his throat and swallowed hard. Law had already poured a replacement pint for him, proving why Zoro favors him so. A slip of paper poking out from beneath the glass caught Zoro's eye as he wrapped his fingers around the drink. He lifted the glass and nabbed the paper, looking briefly at the number 803 scrawled onto it. He swiped his thumb carefully across the dried ink as the chaotics of his situation began to subside.

The thought of sneaking away to Room 803 deep into the night unwillingly crossed his mind. He briefly weighed the pros and cons.

Pros: he'd get away from the damn cook and relieve his pent-up frustrations all at once.

Cons: It would be tricky to navigate the winding, seemingly moving hallways late at night. Even harder to do alone. Not to mention what would happen to their mission if someone saw Tadashi Wrinoko, the picture-perfect lover, sneaking into someone else's room. They'd be forced to abandon their efforts and go home.

However, being forced to leave didn't seem too bad- on paper, at least. His mind missed having alone time, and his body missed the gym. And a bed. The idea lingered for longer than it should have.

Fingers slipped into the gap between Zoro's palm and his glass, tearing himself away from his fantasy. He turned to Sanji, who smiled a simple, sweet smile at him, and he felt like an idiot. It was as if a bird had been flying rampant in his head up until Zoro's gaze met his.

He couldn't. Not now, when they had come so far in the mission without killing each other. Not after nine days of sleeping on a cramped chair so the cook couldn't complain about sharing a bed, nine days of nauseating sweet talk, and nine days of damn near constant physical contact. They'd sacrificed too much for Zoro to throw it away on a quick fuck. He could live through Jean and Tadashi now and repress the memories of the Crimasque later.

"Did you hear me, dear?" Sanji asked, once again pulling Zoro from his thoughts.

"Hm?"

The blond rolled his eyes and turned to look at Baby Five. "See? He loves his drinks more than me. Should've married a keg," he chuckled. The corners of Zoro's lips turned upward.

"That's a good idea, love. A keg wouldn't nag as much as you."

An exaggerated gasp erupted from Sanji, who turned back to the swordsman. "Rude! You wouldn't remember which way your pants went without my nagging." Zoro shook his head.

"I believe it," Law joined in, sliding Baby Five a champagne glass. "He went to class with his shirt inside out on multiple occasions."

"You're supposed to defend me, traitor," Zoro chided jokingly.

Law shrugged, leaning one arm on the counter. "I ain't lying for you, man."

Zoro huffed, feigning defeat. He looked back to Sanji. "What was it, dear?"

"Did you get us an invite to Thursday night's event?"

He ran mentally through the Crimasque itinerary Ivankov provided for them weeks ago. Thursdays had live music at breakfast, poker in the afternoon, and theatre shows throughout the day. Nothing specific to the evening, and certainly nothing requiring an invite. He tilted his head, confused. "Thursday evening?"

Sanji looked back to Baby Five and shrugged.

"Oh, that's alright!" She grinned, looking between Law and the two men on stools like a puppy looking for praise. "We can get you one, can't we, sweetie?"

Law sucked air through his teeth and shrugged. "I don't see why not. Doffy won't mind."

Doffy. The weird pet name for the Warlord fell so casually out of his mouth. Zoro shifted in his seat.

"Yay! I'll go ask."

As she ran off towards the wildly powerful man as if he were a lifelong friend, Law leaned closer to Zoro and Sanji. His face hardened slightly, and for a moment it was like Zoro was back home. "You guys will love it. All the big shots will be there," he assured them. "Lots of opportunities for... networking."

He winked and gave Zoro one last pat on the shoulder, leaving the swordsman with an uncertain feeling deep in his ribcage.

***

For the first time during their stay, Zoro allowed himself to rest on the bed. He flopped onto his back, sinking into the mattress as Sanji locked their door. He could feel his stress and confusion sinking with him.

"That's all the people we have to meet, right?" The cook asked. When they were alone, he'd use his naturally deep voice instead of the higher, sickly-sweet one he put on for the Crimasque's patrons. Zoro preferred it that way.

He grunted back, unable to make himself respond verbally- Tadashi used up all his words.

Sanji began undoing his tie as he sauntered across the room. "I don't know how I feel about that Law guy," he began, standing in front of the mirror as he spoke. Zoro turned on his side, watching his reflection through a half-open lid.

"Seemed pretty sure of it down there," he muttered, his voice coming out like a soft growl. Sanji pulled his loosened tie over his head.

"What's that supposed to mean, meathead?"

"You went for the guy's jugular for no damn reason."

The cook rolled his eyes over-exaggeratedly. "That was an act."

"Mhm."

His eyes narrowed into the reflection. "Rich people are possessive as hell. They wouldn't be rich otherwise."

"Like you're an expert on rich people."

"Just forget it, Jesus," he snapped. Zoro watched as he took a deep breath and ran a hand through his hair, diverting his gaze to the floor. "It just feels like he knows something we don't. I don't trust it." Another pause, and then, "Baby Five could do better."

Zoro closed his eyes and clenched his jaw. There was something Law knew that Sanji didn't, and while Zoro would love to keep it that way, his situation was making that difficult to do. Should he admit to their previous relationship, or should he leave it be? If there were something emotional between him and Law, the answer would be an obvious yes, but that wasn't them. It was purely sex. Nothing more. Zoro made sure of that.

Still, it felt relevant enough to be a conflict of interest. He took a deep breath.

"Yeah, uh..."

The sound of fabric hitting the floor met Zoro's ears. He opened his eyes and caught the tiniest glimpse of Sanji's back as he pulled on a tee shirt. The cook raised an eyebrow at Zoro in the mirror, frowning the same way he always did right before kicking the swordsman in the shins. "What?" he heaved. 

Zoro covered his face with his arm and tried to ignore the way his stomach twisted into knots. Something about giving Sanji of all people the inside scoop on his sex life made him queasy. 

"I know the guy."

The silence that followed his confession seemed to stretch out for miles in Zoro's head. It only lasted a few seconds, but it felt like he was lost in it for hours, refusing to peer at his work-assigned annoyance over the crook of his arm. He braced himself for a yelling match. 

"You know him," Sanji eventually echoed back, surprisingly calm. Zoro grunted back in confirmation. "Know him how?"

"No names," he began as if it would make the next part any better- it was like using a couch cushion as a bulletproof shield. He clenched his fist. "We've slept together."

Silence.

Zoro found the nerve to lift his head. He rested his cheek on his arm and opened his eyes. Sanji stared back at him, ferocious eyes locked on his scarred face. The cook gritted his teeth and jutted his lower jaw to the right. His hands pawed frantically at his pockets and he stormed towards the patio door.

"I need a smoke."

Chapter Text

"They're gonna give us a damage fee," Zoro grunted, plopping himself down in his sleeping chair. Sanji closed the patio door behind him, sucking on a cigarette as if it were a straw and he was dying of thirst. He briefly pulled it out of his mouth to jab it towards the swordsman.

"You can shut the hell up," he snapped back, giving him a death glare. He pulled out the chair opposite Zoro and sank into it. His smoke returned to his lips and he typed on his phone like a maniac. "They can take it out of your pay."

Zoro straightened, leaning forward with a scowl. "Like hell they can. I'm not made of money, jackass."

"Maybe you should've thought about that before you fucked our doctor."

"He wasn't our doctor when I fucked him."

Sanji narrowed his eyes and gently exhaled a mouthful of smoke. Zoro mirrored his expression, gripping the arms of his chair to keep himself from starting a fight- wouldn't reflect well on the Wrinoko name if he smacked the shit out of his so-called husband, even in private. He longed to be home where he could throw hands with the damn cook whenever he pleased.

Sanji's eyebrows twitched. He looked Zoro over, chewed the inside of his cheek, then jagged a hand through his hair. Zoro was bracing himself for a slew of angry jabberings when Sanji's phone rang, pulling the cook's attention away. He answered the phone and put it on speaker. "Hello, my dear?"

"What's the issue?" Nami's voice, already frantic, erupted from Sanji's phone speakers. Zoro groaned and shrunk into the seat.

"First- what's going on, Kitty Cat? You sound-"

"Our boss is a fucking idiot, that's what's going on!" Nami panted. The clunking of heavy footsteps and gushing of the wind rippled out of the phone. "He ran off by himself while I was ordering shots- remind me to never drink with him again."

Zoro frowned, sinking further into the cushioned seat. Tracking down wasted Luffy was annoying when sober, but it was half the fun of getting shitfaced with him. How he wished he could swap places with Nami. 

"We get through this mission, and I'll drink with you all you want, my dear." Sanji took a puff on his cigarette, and Zoro's face twisted in disgust. The swordsman watched how the end of the nic stick turned a bright orange between the addict's lips. "Is now a bad time? We can wait."

He can wait for a woman but not for a smoke. Zoro fought hard to keep his eyes from rolling into his brain.

"No, no, he'll turn up." The clunking against concrete slowed down. "What's up?"

Sanji's gaze returned to Zoro. His eyes narrowed into tight slits. Here we go.

"We need a new doctor."

Nami let out an exasperated whine. "What? Ivankov said he's the best guy for the job. Why..." 

Silence.

"What did Swordsman do?"

A flame grew in Zoro's chest. He leaned forward, sneering. "Screw you, Cat Burgular, I didn't do shit," he spat.

"He fucked him."

She sighed so heavily and for so long, Zoro briefly wondered if the sound was her soul leaving her body. Logic told him otherwise- they wouldn't be able to hear her soul that well, with it drifting downward and all. The short, sharp cry she emitted soon after squashed his pondering completely. "Demon," she complained, uncharacteristically softly. Zoro could almost see her pinching the bridge of her nose. He voice rose as she continued. "Why the hell would you-?" 

"I didn't fuck him during the mission, I'm not an idiot," he cut in harshly, shooting daggers at Sanji as he spoke into the phone. "It ain't my fault Ivankov hired my damn bartender."

"It's the bartender?!" she damn near shrieked. The sound of her footsteps came to a complete stop. Zoro had no time to wonder how Nami found out about his secret fuck-buddy before she continued with, "You better not fuck him during the mission-"

"Why the hell would I-?"

"Wait- you know about this guy?" Sanji cut in. There was something different in his voice- it wasn't angry, like he always was with Zoro, or soft and sweet, like he typically was with anyone with a little fat on their chest- but he couldn't quite place it. His face was easier to discern. He was just as confused as Zoro.

"...I guess," Nami replied sheepishly. Zoro scrunched up his eyebrows, and his ears burned. "He's called me on Zoro's phone to pick him up from the bar once or twice. I had no idea-"

"That's news to me," Zoro retorted. Sanji jabbed him in the knee with his foot, muttering something under his breath about Zoro being ungrateful. Nami laughed sharply.

"You think you end up at the base all by yourself after you go blackout?"

"Uh, yeah."

"Really? With your navigational skills?"

"We're getting off topic," Sanji intervened. He placed his phone on the glass table dividing the two men, crossing his arms. Ash from his smoke fell gracefully to the floor. "New doctor. ASAP."

Zoro shoved himself against the back of his chair, fuming. This is a waste of time. Nami groaned.

"I'll call Ivankov," she grumbled quietly.

The three of them fell silent, the only sound penetrating the room being the ringing of their pending call. Zoro's eyes trailed around the room lazily. He was unsure of what to do with himself, with the stupid cook staring holes into his head, looking like he was plotting Zoro's murder in his stupid blond head. His feeling down at the speakeasy was right. Zoro was in trouble. If this were a real marriage, he'd be in the doghouse for sure. 

It was odd seeing Sanji so worked up over this. They fought all the time back home- typically physically- but this felt different. Something about Law and his history set off the well-dressed man to no end.

Not the way Zoro's other mannerisms would, either. Normally, a physical altercation would be in order, like whenever Zoro would make snide remarks at him during a kill mission or when he'd make a big mess at the dinner table or when he'd get snippy with Nami. Hell, Sanji once kicked him in the side of the head for burping too loud. Now, though, he was acting skittish. He wasn't being his confrontational self, having opted to stand outside and smoke rather than holler at or kick Zoro. Even his little stab at Zoro's knee wasn't because of Law, and his aggravated comments thus far have been pretty tame by his standards. He tried to chalk it up to the fake-romantic position they found themselves in, to not wanting to fall too easily back into their old selves for the time being, but the way Sanji looked at Zoro made it clear that he was just playing himself.

Zoro had gotten under Sanji's skin in a way he never had before.

He wasn't given much time to think over Sanji's behaviour before Ivankov joined the call. "Why, hello there, Cat-girl!" he bubbled. "And Sword-boy and Blackleg! Are we due for a meeting already?"

"Emergency meeting." The image of Nami pinching her nose entered Zoro's mind once more. "Demon and the Doctor have a personal relationship. Blackleg is worried it's a conflict of interest."

I wouldn't call it personal, Zoro wanted to interject, but he kept quiet. Even calling it a relationship felt like a stretch- it was just sex. Ivankov chuckled to himself.

"Oh, Cat-girl, I already knew that."

Zoro's mouth fell open for just a second before he collected himself. He looked from the phone to Sanji, who was having a much harder time regaining composure. His eyebrows were scrunched up tight, and his dagger-eyes were now staring holes into the phone instead of the swordsman across from him. Nami was completely silent.

"Huh?" Zoro finally spoke up. His voice was flat, like it was a statement rather than a question.

"Their intimate relationship is precisely what made the Doctor the man for the job," Ivankov continued. Zoro could practically hear the grin on the purple-haired fucker's face. "We needed somebody who could handle him. Your swordsman is not an easy man to deal with, after all." Rude.

"You're telling me," Sanji piped up. Now, Zoro was the one glaring blades- the cook was agreeing with Ivankov real quick for a guy whose knickers were up his ass over his hiring decision not even a minute prior. 

"Okay, so, they know each other, and you're fine with that," Nami monotoned. "Anything else?"

"Well, since we're here, why don't we have a little debrief? Add Strawboy to the call."

"Can't," Nami sighed. "I have his phone."

"Well, where is he?"

"You think if I knew that I'd..." 

She trailed off. Her loud footsteps replaced her words, thunking loudly on the ground as wind rushed into her phone's microphone. One loud, fierce, "LUFFY!" broke through the white noise. Her feet stopped soon after, and familiar childlike whines met Zoro's ears.

"Namiiii, what the hell?"

Zoro could picture the pout on Luffy's face clear as day. She had whacked the top of his head, no doubt. He was probably rubbing his crown tenderly with a stupid, oblivious look that only made Nami angrier. The mental image made Zoro all warm inside. He snatched Sanji's phone from the table. "Hey, Luffy."

"ZORO!!!"

Zoro chuckled, unable to hide the smile etching itself onto his face. "What's up? How's the team?"

"Guys-" Nami tried to interject.

"I'm so hungryyyyyy. I miss Sanji's cooking. Usopp keeps making the meals and burning them. When are you two coming home?"

"Codenames, please," Nami nagged. "You never know who's listening-"

"You just yelled his name into the phone," Zoro retorted. Sanji jabbed him in the leg again.

"Could we get back on topic, please?" Ivankov exasperated. Zoro put the phone back on the table. "You boys have met your entire team, correct? Are there any other interesting faces you've come across?"

"Not many thus far," Sanji began, putting his cigarette out on the table. "One big one, though. Doflamingo."

"Mingo," Luffy grumbled on the other end. Another mental image popped into Zoro's head: Luffy's scowl. He side-eyed pretty much all of the Warlords, but Doflamingo brought out some murderous feelings in their bundle of sun. "I hate that guy."

"That is a major one. And could be a possible suspect." Ivankov's nails clicked on a hard surface. Zoro guessed that it was wooden. "He's one to keep an eye on. Anyone else?"

"Not yet, but we got ourselves an invite to some evening thing Doflamingo runs."

"Doc said something about networking," Zoro added. He tried to ignore how Sanji shifted uncomfortably across from him.

"So there will be other big names there." Ivankov hummed softly before continuing. "Keep an eye and ear out at that event- our killer may be among the crowd."

"Will do," Sanji replied. "Any other orders?"

"Not yet. We'll have to call again after this little event."

The group exchanged goodbyes, with Ivankov clueing up and leaving first. Nami and Luffy lingered, simply because Luffy wouldn't stop talking about anything and everything- Usopp's shit cooking skills, Luffy's far worse meal attempts that led to Usopp taking over as cook, Luffy's insistence that his cooking wasn't that bad (it definitely was- Zoro knew from experience), the new weapons Franky's made, the blue-haired girl Nami was chatting up at the bar (he got another smack to the head for bringing that up), Chopper's newest animal friend (he refused to call them pets(also, it was a dwarf hamster)), and how boring the base was without them. Mainly that last part. It was selfish, but Zoro liked that Luffy missed him. Nami hung up once their cab showed up, leaving the two mortal enemies alone with one another.

Zoro stayed in place, glued to the chair, refusing to look Sanji in the eye. Something about the whole affair, from the speakeasy to the end of the call, didn't settle right in his stomach. The way Sanji stared him down only made it worse. He wished the guy would kick him in the head or something- this stormy silence was agonizing.

"I'm going to bed," the cook finally said. Zoro breathed a sigh of relief as Sanji retreated to the bed. Lights went out, Sanji rustled under the sheets, and Zoro tried his best to get comfortable. Silence enveloped him in the pitch black. Tense silence. Sleep refused to come to him.

All he could think about was what could be going on in Sanji's head.

Chapter Text

A long, long time ago, Zoro allowed himself one real friend. He let one person break their way through the forcefield he kept tight around his soul, let one person really know him. It had been years before Luffy found him, alone and hungry, with nothing but his swords to his name- hell, it was years before he owned swords, way back in his pipe training days. She was the first of the kids to take him seriously. She would spar with him and win every time, but she didn't kick him aside afterward like the others. She would simply point her sword below his chin and say, "Again." 

He was really, really bad when she started with him, but she kept coming back. Training him for free when he couldn't afford the class. Leaving her lunch scraps for him. Even all grown up, Zoro had no clue if she had seen something in him or just pitied the poor kid. The image of her hung in the back of his head constantly like a flyer on an abandoned bulletin board, slowly blurring and crumbling as time passed but never falling from its post. The longer he spent away from his blades, the more prominent her memory became.

It was day fifteen on the Crimasque. He hadn't even touched a hilt this entire time. What would she say if she knew?

"Are you listening, dear?" Sanji chirped from across the table. Zoro snapped his head up, blinking. He had zoned out the moment they sat down at the empty table. Now that Sanji's voice had reeled him back in, he noticed the large tray of breakfast food that now sat in the middle of the table. He picked up the tongs and grabbed a couple of sausages.

"Sorry. You were saying?"

"We should try and find your little friend and Baby Five before tonight to figure out the theming of the event." Sanji delicately cut into a Belgian waffle. Hair fell in his face with an odd elegance. He truly did have the aristocrat vibe down to a science. "We'll need to know the dress code, after all."

"Uh, yeah," Zoro muttered back, poking at his food. He stabbed a sausage with his fork and brought it to his lips, taking a chomp out of it. It was chewy. A bit cold, too. The skin stuck to his teeth. Ain't rich people supposed to be eating good food? "We can track them down after we eat."

Sanji closed his mouth around a bite of waffle and crinkled his nose. His pink lips pursed as he swallowed. "I miss cooking," he sighed quietly, leaning back. Zoro huffed through his nose.

"I miss your cooking," he replied before another bite of sausage. He had already inhaled his second one and was reaching for the tongs when he noticed Sanji's blue eyes crinkling slightly. The man leaned forward, a smirk tugging at his face.

"You like my cooking?"

Translation: I thought you thought my cooking was shit, swordsman.

Zoro shrugged a little. "I wouldn't go that far, dear."

Translation: don't you fucking start.

"You like it enough to miss it."

Zoro rolled his eyes, trying his hardest to make it look more playful than genuinely annoyed. "The food this morning is subpar. Don't let my comment go to your pretty head."

"Too late. It's already up there," Sanji grinned. Zoro shovelled food into his mouth with a glare.

After a hard swallow, he tilted his head and forced a smile. "I'm so glad I married you."

Translation: I hate your guts.

Sanji chuckled and took another bite. Zoro slumped back in his seat and stabbed at his food. The two fell silent, focusing on clearing out the tray instead of forcing conversation with one another. Most of the food was bland at best, but Zoro kept reaching for more until there was nothing left. It wasn't like he could leave any behind with Sanji at the other end of the table- he might end up getting smothered in his sleep if he even tried. 

Sanji was the first to stand once their plates were cleared. "Now," he began, dabbing at the corners of his mouth with a cloth napkin. "I assume you're looking to get a drink now, aren't you?"

Zoro pushed away from the table and stretched his legs. "A drink wouldn't kill me."

"Alright, then." Sanji reached into his jacket and pulled out some bills, tossing them on the table. "Come now, dear."

"Yes, love."

Zoro held onto Sanji's sleeve as they weaved their way out of the ship's Breakfast Hall, focusing on the back of that blond head instead of directions. This had become their normal over the past couple of weeks. Sanji would lead. Zoro would hold onto him as he followed. The disgusting pet names didn't feel as strange in his mouth as they did in the beginning. Even small talk with other guests didn't make him want to stab himself as much as it did before- not that Sanji ever had a problem with that part, the social fucking butterfly. Life on the Crimasque was starting to get easier.

Still, he was dying to get back on the battlefield, or at least in a gym. The swords, hidden away in their room, were collecting dust. His muscles longed for the ache of a workout. His dear old friend hung in the back of his mind, screaming their promise to one another. They had to find their target as soon as possible.

"How did I know we'd find you here?" Sanji teased. Zoro blinked, registering his surroundings. They were down in the speakeasy, which was practically empty save for Law and Baby Five. Law was once again behind the counter. Baby Five sat on a barstool, leaning her chin on her hands as she watched him. Baby Five turned to wave at them.

"Jean! Are you excited for tomorrow?" She effused, patting the stool next to her. Sanji slipped into it effortlessly.

"Absolutely!" He chattered back, turning his full attention to her. Typical. Zoro stood behind him, resting his hand on the cook's back like any husband would. He nodded at Law, who had already begun making him a drink.

"I wanted to talk to you about that, actually." Sanji transitioned smoothly into the task at hand. He reached his arm behind, slithering it around Zoro's waist. "We just can't decide what this one should wear. He's hopeless when it comes to fashion- I'm sure you can sympathize."

Sanji made slipping in casual jabs at Law look like an art form. Sometimes, it caught Zoro so off guard that he had to fight the urge to laugh. Now was one of those times. Law, a master of timing, slid Zoro a glass filled with deep brown liquid. The swordsman took a long swig and swallowed his chuckles.

"Oh, I can. This one would wear jeans everywhere if he had it his way." Baby Five pushed her hair behind her shoulder, eyeing Law. He simply shrugged and poured Sanji a glass of red wine. "You don't have to think too hard about tomorrow, though."

"Why's that?"

Law slid the wine glass in front of Sanji. "It won't matter what you have on once you get there," he piped in, vague as ever. He paired the hazy phrase with a knowing wink, like that would help any. Baby Five giggled to herself.

"Ah, I see." Sanji sipped his wine delicately. Zoro furrowed his brows- See what? That was a non-answer. "Good to know!"

Law checked his watch and hopped over the counter. "Sorry to cut this short, but we've gotta run."

Baby Five stood up abruptly, eyes wide. "Right! Our massage!" She looked back to Sanji and smiled. "So sorry, hun. We'll see you tomorrow?"

"Of course, my dear." Sanji took her hand and planted a soft kiss on her knuckles. It was all Zoro could do not to roll his eyes. "See you then."

Zoro lifted his glass in place of a wave, and the two walked off. Zoro watched as they turned out of the speakeasy and left their earshot. "The fuck were they talking about?" He asked, bringing his glass to his lips. Sanji sighed.

"No idea."

***

"Hurry up, Cook."

Zoro leaned against the wall, arms crossed and eyes narrowed on Sanji. As usual, he had planted himself in front of the full-length mirror, compulsively adjusting every aspect of his appearance. Hair, shirt, suit jacket, gloves- everything. He looked over at Zoro to give him a brief dirty look.

"Just 'cause you don't care what you look like doesn't mean-"

"Your girlfriend said it wouldn't matter what we wore, didn't she?" Zoro grunted. He pushed himself off the wall and approached his mission partner with clunky footsteps. "You look fine. Let's go."

Sanji rolled his eyes. "And you're not the least bit worried about whatever that means?" He scoffed, tangling a hand in his hair.

"Nope."

"Of course not." He dropped his hand, turning his attention back to Zoro. "You just wanna go see your little boyfriend, don't you?"

"I want to get this over with," Zoro snapped back. "Can we go?"

He watched as Sanji chewed the inside of his cheek, giving himself one final look over in his reflection. "Fine," he grumbled, pushing past Zoro to the door. The swordsman followed closely behind. He was eager to get down there and back as soon as possible; a big room of snotty rich people making small talk was not his idea of a nice night out. He would've guessed it was Sanji's cup of tea before this mission, but his routine of intense pickiness before every outing made Zoro question that predisposed opinion. 

Sanji's arm was wrapped tightly around Zoro the second they left their room. Zoro fought the immediate urge to pry himself away and let the man lead him to their destination. He was just trying to guarantee their timely arrival, after all. The less he struggled, the sooner it'd be over with. He diverted his attention to trying not to sink further into the touch as they walked. It wasn't long before they found the room they were looking for- a large venue that seemed to go mostly unused on the ship. A towering, snotty (literally) man stood in front of the entrance with a clipboard. Sanji jumped into action, greeting the man and giving him their last name. After some searching, the man guffawed to himself and stepped aside, allowing them entry. They stepped forward and pushed the doors open.

The first things to catch Zoro's attention were the noises: skin slapping against skin, whips and chains, cries of pleasure and pain. The view in front of him was the next thing he processed- basically everyone was having sex. The couches were full of people bouncing against one another. People pinned people to walls, went down on them, ran their hands along each other's bodies. An entire section of the room was dedicated to bondage, spankings, and other things like that. 

So this is what Baby Five meant. He scanned the room, looking for their couple friends in the hustle and bustle of the function. His eyes eventually found Baby Five, topless with her back to the wall, grinning and twirling her hair as she spoke to a burly man who was not Law. 

He sighed, loosening his tie with his free hand. A sex party was... doable. Some warning would've been nice, but what could they do about that now? They were there, in a room full of rich, horny snobs. Any one of them could be their target, and they were all at their most vulnerable. The bastard bartender hadn't lied- this was a crazy good opportunity for them. Zoro looked up at Sanji, prepared to witness a Level 10 Pervert in its natural habitat- eyes oggling, jaw slack, nose running red.

He hadn't expected the look of wide-eyed panic etched onto Sanji's face, nor the hand scratching wildly at his scalp.

Chapter Text

Fuck.

Zoro's heart pounded in his chest as he looked up at the mess Sanji was crumbling into. Of all times to let the cool, pretentious husband mask slip, he chose now? His timing couldn't be worse. Zoro wanted to be mad- hell, he should be furious-, but something about the cook's wide, scared eyes twisted the swordsman's gut.

He's in over his head.

Fuck the original plan- there was no way in hell they'd get any intel with Sanji like this. They had to leave and fast, but how? The Wrinokos had been invited to this event- not even, they'd sought out the damn invite. What would they say to any party-goers who approached them tomorrow? "Oh yeah, didn't think we'd all be doing it with each other. Silly us!" Obviously, everyone else knew what they were signing up for, and the Wrinokos would know that as well. Their cover would be blown the second someone saw them leave.

Zoro looked back the way they came. Was it at all possible to walk out now, unnoticed by the other guests? He looked back at the crowd of sweaty, nude bodies. Nobody seemed to be looking their way. Maybe-

No. There was the issue of the bouncer, who was no doubt a Donquixote Family lackey; he'd rat them out to Doflamingo the second they left. The last thing they needed was the investigative gaze of a damn Warlord on them at all times, especially when that Warlord could very well be the target they'd been searching for.

Damn. We're stuck here.

If they couldn’t get out right then and there, Zoro would have to focus on calming Sanji down before anyone could notice him losing it. Zoro turned his body to his partner and peered quickly over the cook's shoulder. The wall directly behind him was unoccupied. That'll do. Zoro placed one hand on Sanji's waist and gently grabbed the cook's wrist with the other, detangling his shaking hand from his golden locks. Big eyes pulled away from the graphic scene ahead and locked onto Zoro like a lifeline. 

"I've got you," Zoro vowed quietly. He pressed his thumb into Sanji's palm, who in turn wrapped his fingers tightly around it. Zoro guided Sanji’s feet until his back met the wall. The cook’s lips hung slightly ajar, his eyebrows raised, and his cheeks flushed. He shuddered anxiously (as did Zoro, but he didn't have time to deal with that). Zoro trailed his hand from Sanji's waist all the way up to his cheek, rubbing his thumb gently against the soft skin and tilting Sanji's head to the side. He brought his lips to his ear. "I can get us out of here, but you've gotta trust me."

Sanji's chest moved up and down heavily. "What?" he breathed, clutching Zoro's bicep with his free hand.

The swordsman clenched his jaw. "We've gotta give 'em a convincing performance before we leave," he muttered bitterly. "I'm sorry."

Sanji's grip tightened, nails digging into Zoro's skin. His voice came out shaky and frustrated. "I haven't done this before-"

"You think I don't know that?" He hissed back. Stop it. No time to lose your head. Zoro squeezed his eyes shut and breathed deeply before continuing. "It won't be much. Just enough to convince them."

He pulled back, looking Sanji in the eye. He rubbed his thumb into the palm of Sanji's hand, hoping to ease the stress on his face just a little bit.

"I just need you to trust me."

Sanji's eyes drifted above Zoro's head for just a moment. His grip around Zoro's thumb tightened. "I don't..." he quavered. His eyes darted from left to right sporadically.

Zoro's hand on Sanji's face travelled back, entwining tenderly with his hair. "Don't look at them," he directed, careful to keep his tone low and even. "Look at me."

Sanji's breath hitched as he pulled his attention towards Zoro. His chest still moved up and down rapidly, his eyes were still wide and stress-stricken, but he stared into Zoro like he'd never looked at anything else in his life. Zoro's gut twisted. His face felt a little hot under such devoted attention. Slowly, he guided Sanji's hand to his chest, skin all scarred and bumpy under his shirt, and pressed Sanji's palm against the fabric.

"It's just you and me here, okay? Just you and me."

His hand clutched Zoro's shirt like a lifeline. He showed no signs of calming down sustainably. For a moment, Zoro questioned if his efforts were doing anything at all. Would he be able to help Sanji compose himself at this point? Was there anything he could do or say to the others to salvage their cover? He tried to come up with an excuse for them leaving so abruptly, something that could get Sanji out of there without screwing up everything they'd worked so hard towards. He couldn't let the past couple of weeks go to waste. He refused to-

"Just you and me."

The soft, shaky phrase leaving the cook's lips brought Zoro back to reality. A new coating of determination had been painted over Sanji's panic, albeit a splotchy one. Zoro had been so caught off guard by the initial trepidation, he'd forgotten that the man in front of him had a kill count nearly as high as his own (emphasis on nearly). Surely he could handle some awkward, strictly professional groping.

A sigh of relief left Zoro as his hand dropped from Sanji's hair to his neck. The cook being on board put him a bit at ease, but there was still the challenge of execution. He thought back to his nights with Law. They'd skip the pointless kissing and touching and go straight to the bedroom, stripping off swiftly and individually. Then, Law would pin Zoro's head to the mattress and get to work. It was disconnected. Damn near clinical. They were two individuals, not a working unit.

That wouldn't work now. Especially not with this inexperienced straight fuck whom Zoro had to pretend to know the body of like the back of his hand. So, what would?

He didn't have much else in the way of personal experience to draw from; he had pretty much given up on sexual partners other than Law a long time ago, finding others too needy. All of Perona's romance movies focused on straight couples. He could try treating Sanji like a woman, but he lacked the anatomy. Plus, he'd despise it.

He'd have to improvise.

Zoro's pinky slipped under the collar of Sanji's dress shirt as he thought it over. He looked his material up and down- deep red suit and tie paired with black gloves and a black dress shirt. The layers gave Zoro something to work with without stripping him completely. He shut out his thoughts and got to work.

He slipped his hand under the shoulder of the maroon suit jacket. He slipped the fabric off of Sanji's shoulder carefully, repeatedly looking from his task to his partner's face to catch any signs of hesitation. None came. The sleeve slipped down Sanji's arm effortlessly. With a quick nod, the cook let go of Zoro's shirt and took the jacket off completely, discarding it on the ground at their feet. Zoro's hands ran up Sanji's arms, squeezing at the biceps.

He paused, worry creeping back in. How would they go on? They couldn't leave yet- they'd only just begun their little performance. Zoro had no clue how far Sanji would be able to take it, let alone how much longer he'd hold out in this environment. He clenched his jaw, hands fixed firmly in place as he tried to make a decision.

Before he was able to, Sanji wrapped his arms around Zoro's torso and yanked him closer. Zoro choked on air. He had to stretch a hand out to touch the wall to avoid slamming directly into the stupid cook.

With his hands travelling Zoro's back, Sanji muttered, "Kiss my neck," shakily into his ear.

Zoro felt his stomach drop down to his toes and jump back up in his neck. It was a good idea, but fuck. He hadn't expected Sanji to suggest anything at all, let alone in such a forward way. If it were anyone else, he'd be trying to get underneath them ASAP. Zoro had to remind himself who he was with as he complied, hand returning to one side of Sanji's neck as he positioned himself against the other. His lips were mere millimetres away from pale skin when he stopped. There's no way he actually wants me to-

"Christ, Tadashi, I'm not gonna break," Sanji laughed breathily. He tilted his head down and continued quietly in Zoro's ear. "Don't fake it. I can manage."

That was all Zoro needed to hear. He dove into the crook of Sanji's neck, planting his mouth to his skin in a hurry. His free hand travelled up and down Sanji's torso, touching his hip, waist, thigh, anything he could hold onto for just a moment. Sanji's chest rose and fell heavily, but not in the rapid, short way it had been before. It was steady. Deep. Controlled. Zoro could feel Sanji's heart beating out of his chest- or maybe it was his own?- but that was to be expected. There was nothing normal about this, after all- Zoro's lips touching Sanji's skin so tenderly. This was completely out of the ordinary.

The swordsman slowly worked his way up his neck, each kiss lingering longer than the last. He couldn't remember the last time his lips touched another person's skin. It was electrifying. His mouth had started to suck and nibble on Sanji's untouched skin before his brain had the chance to catch up. Zoro gripped Sanji's hip and withdrew ever so slightly as he tried to ground himself. Sanji's hand travelled up Zoro's back, neck, all the way up to the crown of his head. He gripped Zoro's hair and pulled his head back.

Zoro caught a brief glimpse of Sanji's face. He didn't look afraid anymore, just... red. Very, very red. There was something else in his expression as well- something in his eyes Zoro couldn't quite place. Was it shame? Lingering stress? Sanji clashed his mouth into Zoro's before the swordsman could figure it out. Zoro stiffened like a plank of wood, both in his entire body and, specifically, in his pants. He definitely couldn't recall the last time he'd been kissed. He'd forgotten that he had missed it- longed for it, even. He melted into the touch, all attempts to keep himself focused fleeing him. He was too lost in the moment to see the irony of who was making his body tingle and his mind fog up. He couldn't think about how awkward it'd be later, how he'd hate himself for letting himself go for Sanji of all people. No. All he could think about were the soft, forceful lips dancing with his and the hand in his hair, tugging gently at his scalp. Nothing else mattered.

Sanji pushed himself forward, turning Zoro around and shoving him hard against the wall. A low, strangled noise slipped out of Zoro's mouth and into Sanji's as his back hit the drywall. He grabbed Sanji's tie, knuckles going white as he tugged him closer. Sanji's knee slipped between Zoro's thighs- no hiding his hard-on now- and his fingers fumbled with the buttons of Zoro's shirt. The swordsman was about to do the same when Sanji broke away, grabbing Zoro's chin and turning it towards the crowded room next to them. 

"Has anybody noticed us?" Sanji rasped into his ear. His breath was hot against Zoro's skin, sending shivers down his spine. Zoro blinked hard, trying to focus his eyes on the people around them. He made eye contact with a couple people as he scanned the crowd: a round-faced pink-haired woman sitting alone on a loveseat, a man who looked like he could be a member of Aerosmith (who was actively tying someone), the person he was tying up (who was dressed like a rabbit), and a ballerina wearing nothing but pointe shoes. Zoro's face burned as each set of eyes dug into him in such a compromising position. He felt like he was on fire.

Taking a jagged breath in, he nodded. The hand gripping his chin tugged him back to face forward, tilting his head up slightly. Sanji was damn near unrecognizable as he stared down at him, a pink tinge to his face and a lazy smile on his glistening lips. He still couldn't pick out the look in his eyes.

"Let's go, my love."

Chapter Text

His chest, heaving. His hand, intertwined with another's. His mind, misty and light as he eagerly followed the person guiding him home.

That was all Zoro knew.

The elevator dinged happily as its doors opened up to them. He was led inside. Herded to its metal rails.

A button lit up. The doors closed.

Sanji stood in front of him, staring at the floor. His hands, no longer holding Zoro, ran through his hair compulsively.

Oh.

A pit grew in Zoro's stomach. His mind grew ten tonnes in weight. He wasn't being led to a safe, warm bed with a lover's embrace. He hadn't slept on a mattress in weeks. That hand wasn't his to hold, nor had he ever wanted it to be before now. Those lips weren't his to kiss- that was certain. He would likely never feel those lips again. Those big blue eyes weren't devoted to him. They were too busy looking at the floor.

Avoiding him.

He'd forgotten himself. How embarrassing.

The elevator chimed, and the doors opened once again. Sanji grabbed Zoro by the sleeve, tugging him off of it. They walked. No words were exchanged. This time, there was no blissful, horny haze- Zoro was painfully aware of what was going on around him. The hole in his gut grew larger with each step closer to their room. He dreaded the look of disgust that would surely be turned on him and the conversation that would unfold. Or, somehow worse to imagine, the possible lack of a conversation. Just silence. Tense, bitter, revolting silence. His stomach churned with each plaguing possibility.

Sanji stopped at their door. He pressed their keycard to the handle. A gentle click met Zoro's ears seconds before Sanji pushed the door open and pulled him inside. It swung shut behind them. Sanji dropped his grip on Zoro's sleeve, clasped his hands behind his neck, and walked. He moved to the glass wall facing the balcony, turned on his heels, and drifted to the full-body mirror. Once there, he turned again. Back and forth. Back and forth.

Zoro's feet felt cemented to the ground as he watched his partner- work partner- pace the room they shared. The silence was torturous, but he had nothing to say. What could he say? His mouth dried up as he tried to come up with something to fill the stillness engulfing them.

Sanji stopped abruptly in his tracks. His hands ran up and around the crown of his head and down his face. "The hell was that?" he exasperated into the quietude. His gaze shifted to Zoro, who was immediately struck with the urge to crawl out of his skin.

"Uh." He scratched the back of his head, looking at anything but the man in front of him."Which part?"

"The fucking... the fucking." Sanji threw his arms down, gesturing to nothing in particular. "Your boytoy couldn't give us a heads up about the damn orgy he got us into?"

Zoro frowned. Law had been the furthest thing from his mind until Sanji brought him up. After such a passionate exchange- on Zoro's end, at least- he didn't feel like thinking about his more calculated sexual partner. All that did was highlight how dirty he felt.

And 'Boytoy'? The name didn't sit right with him. It was too personal (and, if anything, Zoro was the toy). 

Zoro rubbed his wrist, swivelling it around in his grip. "He tried. I think." 

Sanji plucked off his gloves with a laughable amount of attitude. "He's so damn cryptic. Would it kill him to say something outright?" He grumbled. He shoved his gloves into a drawer, and his tone shifted. He'd reverted back to his panicked, shaky voice from before.

"What're we gonna tell the team? That I was too busy losing my shit to get any information?" A short, sharp laugh erupted from his chest. "They'll think I'm fucking pathetic."

"Don't be a baby," Zoro shot back. His feet felt weightless now as he approached the cook, arms crossed. "We were underprepared, so we made a strategic exit. No one's gonna think nothin'."

Sanji spun on his heels, a scowl prominent on his face. It was nothing like the way he looked down at Zoro before. The swordsman hyper-focused on it, trying to erase the previous image in his head. It wasn't like the damn cook would ever look at him that way again- no use remembering it.

Sanji stepped forward, careful on his feet. He was making a conscious effort to keep some distance between them. Zoro could tell by the way his eyes kept darting from the swordsman's face to the floor, and how he rocked back on his feet the second he got decently close.

"And what about next time?" The cook spat, hands shaking. 

Zoro blinked. "Next time?" He echoed. Sanji pushed past him, stomping his way into the bathroom. The door swung mostly closed behind him, leaving only a crack open. "You wanna go to the next one?"

"Obviously!" 

No, stupid cook. It's not fucking obvious. 

"Where the hell are we getting a better opportunity to gather intel? Our guy is probably down there right now. If I hadn't..."

The cook's voice got smaller and smaller until it couldn't reach Zoro's ears at all. The sturdy man wandered to his sleeping seat and plopped down. Unable to sit still, he occupied his hands with he buttons of his shirt. Sanji emerged from the bathroom in nothing but his button-up and boxers. Zoro kept his eyes on his buttons.

"We know what we're walking into now," the cook relented, sitting on the corner of the bed. Zoro could hear him lighting a cigarette, but didn't dare look up. Didn't bother cussing him out for smoking inside, either. "I just... we've gotta be prepared."

"Not we," Zoro muttered under his breath, doing up his second last button before stopping, letting his hands fall idle. He pressed his palms to his knees to stop his fingers from shaking. Sanji sighed, smoke no doubt billowing from the lips Zoro refused to even glance at.

"Can you not-"

Sanji fell silent. After a beat, he stood once again. He walked past the swordsman, back to the mirror. His voice sounded like it was struggling to stay in his throat as he continued.

"Just... just talk me through it."

The request made Zoro's gut churn. If he hadn't wanted to sink into the floor before, he definitely did now. No amount of money could make explaining gay sex to the stupid pervert cook worth it. No amount of booze could make it-

Wait.

His mouth tugged into the smallest of smirks. Embarrassment be damned- he couldn't resist the opportunity Sanji was unknowingly offering him on a silver platter. When would he get the chance to get to poke at him like this again? Bracing himself for a kick to the head, he spoke.

"Oh, you like to be talked through it, do you?"

Sanji's foot clashed hard with Zoro's head, as expected. The swordsman kept his laughter to a minimum as he rubbed the back of his skull. Worth it.

"You know what I mean, asshole," Sanji spat. He paced the room, taking deep, repetitive draws of his cigarette as he moved. The constant footsteps were starting to jab at Zoro's agitated brain. "I only need an idea of how it all works. Just in case."

Zoro leaned his head back, staring up at the ceiling. "In case of what?" He pried.

He itched at his wrist. Man, I could use a drink.

Sanji's footsteps halted. "In case of- in case..."

He paused. The silence stretched excruciatingly long.

"I don't fucking know, Zoro," he eventually whinged. His voice grated in Zoro's ears. "I don't know. Happy?"

"Extremely," the swordsman retorted, unthinking, as he so often was. He stewed in the bitter silence, boring holes into the ceiling with his eyes. It wasn't until Sanji appeared in front of him, putting his cigarette out on the table, that he was pulled out of his natural state of inconsiderate annoyance. Sanji's lips were pursed, jaw clenched tight. Two purplish-red spots had started to form on his neck- physical evidence of Zoro's carelessness. His hands tremored somewhat as he snuffed out his smoke. 

He looked just like he did down there. Afraid.

Guilt struck Zoro like a bolt of lightning to a tree, marking him in his entirety. What right did he have to be pissed at Sanji? Anyone with working eyes could see that Sanji had no interest in men. He was already being forced to act lovey-dovey with a guy he hated, and Doflamingo's sex party was making that fact far more complicated than either man intended. He had been thrown into an environment so wildly out of his comfort zone with no real warning. Of course he was being snappy and confusing- he was barely keeping his shit together. 

And all he had to guide him was Zoro, the previously mentioned guy he hated. The least he could do was help the poor guy out.

Still, talk him through it? Did he seriously think a sex ed lecture would prepare him for an aristocratic fuck fest? The mere idea made him want to laugh. Or smack him.

Sanji moved past, retreating to the bed. Zoro rubbed his face to try to thwart off the shitty feeling brewing in his stomach.

"Okay, look," he started, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. He clenched his fists as he tried to find the right words. "I... I can explain it, but..."

Sanji shimmied his back into the pillows, narrowing his eyes at the swordsman. Zoro cleared his throat.

"It..."

He mentally cursed Law and Baby Five for not being clearer in their explanations, Doflamingo for being so scary (and so horny, apparently), Sanji for lacking experience and not stubbornness, Ivankov for going to Luffy with his job in the first place, damn near everything that led him to this hellishly uncomfortable position.

"You're not gonna know what you're doing unless you've done it."

Silence followed his words. It was paired with brutal eye contact- damn near unbearable. The cook's face was pale, disbelieving. Zoro prayed to a God he didn't believe in that he'd spontaneously combust right then and there.

After an eternity crammed into a minute, Sanji scoffed. "Funny," he japed.

"Not kidding," Zoro deadpanned. The tips of his ears burned. Sanji's cheeks did the same.

"You want me to sleep with you?"

"Fuck no."

"Then what exactly are you suggesting?" Sanji badgered on, leaning forward. His furrowed brows and vexed eyes made Zoro's heart pound.

"That you're fucking stupid if you think you can pull anything off next time with no real experience," he retaliated, biting down on each word. He shoved himself to his feet, guided by nothing but his frustration. Once upright, he beelined it for the washroom.

"That's an insane idea!" Sanji called after him. Zoro positioned himself in front of the vanity and started to pull off his formal attire.

"You have any better ones, shitty cook?"

Silence. As expected. His mind let him feel smug about it for just a moment before it replayed the image of the cook's panicked expression in his head. He continued softer toned. "And it doesn't have to be me. We can find someone else."

"Yeah, who? Law?"

Not a bad idea, Zoro thought as he tossed his clothes to the ground. He looked around the washroom for the t-shirt and sweats he had discarded earlier that day. 

"I'm sure he'd do it."

He could hear Sanji's disbelief from where he stood. He picked up the white tee.

"That was obviously a joke."

Zoro pulled his shirt on and leaned out of the doorframe. "Well, we're shit out of options, princess. You want him or me?"

"I'd rather jump off the damn boat," Sanji fumed, jabbing a finger towards their balcony. The red in his cheeks had deepened and traveled to the rest of his face. It would've been funny in any other situation. Hell, it was kinda funny now. Zoro pulled himself back into the washroom and yanked on his sweats, letting Sanji simmer in his fury, or embarrassment, or whatever was causing the tomato-ey shade on his skin.

"Don't be dramatic. It's just sex."

"Just sex? Do you even hear yourself?" 

Zoro turned the tap on, pooling water in his cupped palms. He splashed water on his face, letting the cool liquid sink into his skin.

"Just think about it, shit cook."

Zoro took the lack of response from Sanji as an indicator that the discussion was over. The light coming from the bedroom area shut off before Zoro finished up in the bathroom; further confirmation. He turned off the bathroom light and shuffled his way to his chair, bumping into the bed and the table on his way there. Hands feeling around for the seat, he sank down and waited for sleep to overpower him.

A few minutes passed. Zoro shifted in the chair, struggling to get comfortable. Once in a suitable position, he closed his eyes once more. The soft buzz of the quiet room began lulling him to sleep.

The image of Sanji's flushed face, glistening lips, and dangerous eyes flashed against his eyelids.

His eyes shot open. He looked at the bed; a lump shifted under the covers, rustling over the sound of Zoro's heartbeat pounding in his ears. He took a deep breath, trying to exhale his thoughts along with the air in his lungs.

His mind kept wandering back to hands running along his body. Breath tickling his skin. Soft, hungry lips. Those damn lips. He couldn't stop picturing them, reliving their desperation. 

"Mosshead."

Zoro's chest tightened. He grunted back.

"Sleep in the damn bed, would you?"

His mouth wanted to refuse, but his feet were faster. He found himself looming over the unoccupied side of the bed with a dry mouth and clammy palms. He peeled back the covers, maneuvering himself underneath them awkwardly. He sighed as his body sank into the mattress- man, he missed sleeping in a proper bed. The comforter was cool and heavy, and the sheer size of the mattress made the cook's presence on the other side impossible to feel. He was thankful- it'd be far more difficult to repress the memories of their evening with a warm body pressed close to Zoro's.

He rolled onto his back and looked up at the ceiling, waiting for his eyes to grow heavy. Shuffling from Sanji's side of the bed filled the silence. 

"You didn't do terribly down there," Sanji mumbled beside the swordsman. "With saving our cover, I mean. Didn't think you had it in you."

Zoro closed his eyes.

Chapter Text

He woke up warm, well-rested, and... comfortable. Was he lying down? Why was he lying down? He was supposed to be sleeping in that stupid chair, right?

A body rustled beside him. He turned his face to the side, and the colour drained from it. 

Right. 

A soft noise fell from Sanji's throat as his cheek settled squishily into the pillow next to Zoro. His blond hair fell in his face in a way that looked purposefully messy, as if he had been cast in a glamourous mattress commercial. His eyebrows were as relaxed as Zoro had ever seen them. His lips parted slightly. Drool dribbled down his chin. He looked at peace in this state. Almost cute.

Last night. Doflamingo's party. They... made some tactical decisions. Decisions that Zoro had no reason to be rehashing in his head over and over. That parted mouth on his, those relaxed hands roaming his torso and gripping his scalp, those big blue eyes... they didn't mean anything. And he was fine with that. He was all for meaningless intimate encounters— just ask Law. That moment with the cook was no different.

Zoro's gaze lingered on his mouth a little longer than necessary.

Sanji's brows furrowed. His face started to nuzzle his pillow like a toddler fighting sleep. Zoro's throat tensed as a groan escaped Sanji's. He closed his eyes before the cook could wake up and catch him staring.

Zoro could hear him shifting for a few moments, until he fell eerily still. It felt like hours had passed in the rigid silence. Zoro's ears strained for a hint of movement, a word whispered, any indication of what the idiot next to him could possibly be doing.

The soft pad of a finger brushed the skin just above Zoro's brow. It ran down, tracing the scar atop his eye. Chills ran through Zoro. The hand travelled to his ear, toying with his earrings. He could feel heat creeping up his neck at the touch. He scrunched his brows like Sanji had, smacking his lips as if he were only on the brink of consciousness, rather than fully awake. Sanji's hand was snatched away. A gust of wind followed. By the time the swordsman finished putting on the performance of his life, the cook was standing in the open patio door with a cigarette.

"About time you woke up," Sanji ridiculed, turning his face to the sea. He brought the smoke to his soft lips and took a drag.

Zoro gritted his teeth and tossed the covers aside. I was up first, prick, he wanted to snark back at him, but then he'd have to explain why he faked sleeping. That would only lead to more mockery and an unneeded boost to the cook's ego. Or silence and an unneeded freakout. Zoro lacked the energy or patience for either.

He pushed the bed covers to the side and planted his feet on the cold floor, stretched his arms, and cracked his neck. "What's the plan today?" He asked through gritted teeth.

The patio door swung closed. Sanji crossed Zoro's peripheral vision, positioning himself in front of the full-length mirror as he'd done every day since they boarded the ship—an act Zoro hadn't paid any heed to any other morning. Now, he couldn't help but sneak a glance in the cook's direction.

Sanji ran his hands through his hair as compulsively as he had every other time he stood in his reflection. Zoro had always assumed it was self-obsession, a desire to be perfect in every way. And maybe that was still somewhat true. Sanji'd already perfected his cooking and his combat skills, so why would he settle for less with his looks?

Now, though, with the mental image of Sanji's confident disposition crumbling before Zoro's eyes, he couldn't see him as egotistical. Just afraid.

"We're docked today," Sanji stated, pulling off the shirt he had slept in. Zoro's gaze definitely didn't go straight to his bare chest in the mirror. He just happened to look down at the same time, that's all. The tingle he felt in his gut was a mere coincidence. "Most guests will be at the beach. We'll do the same."

Zoro grunted an acknowledgement. His eyes trailed down Sanji's frame, taking in the sight of his bare back, his hips, his legs. A tiny, shameful part of him wished he had touched more of that body when he had the chance. He'd likely never touch Sanji the way he did last night ever again. Most of him was fine with that— thrilled, even— but a needy little voice in his head begged for more. More of those lips. Those hands. That skin pressed against his. It was pitiful, honestly. He gripped the bedsheets tightly and willed himself to stare at the floor.

His determination to keep his hungry eyes off the cook washed away the moment he heard movement. The cook's long legs wandered to the closet— stop looking at his legs— and disappeared inside. Zoro dawdled on the closet's entrance like a puppy waiting for their person to come home. He felt that familiar itch under his skin, though he couldn't pinpoint why it was there now. He rubbed his face. A quiet groan managed its way past his lips.

Sanji soon returned, donning black swim trunks with a line of yellow symbols on the legs, along with a hooded, butt-ugly Hawaiian shirt. He looked ridiculous. Zoro pressed his lips together to keep the corners of his mouth from turning to the sky.

Oblivious to his amusement, the cook threw a ball of fabric in Zoro's direction. He caught it. The fabric was meshy and almost plastic-like. He let it fall from a bundle to a loose drape of cloth. Black swimtrunks with yellow symbols, just like Sanji's. "We're matching," he muttered, rising to his feet. "Romantic."

Sanji glared back at him. "Just get changed, would ya?" 

***

The sun blared down on whatever island the Crimasque had shuttled them onto with an unrelenting blaze. Beads of sweat trickled from Zoro's hairline, mixing in with the sunblock being generously applied to his back. Hands worked against his skin, smoothing out and massaging the cream into his pores. He fiddled with the straw in his frozen margarita while his chest tightened with each tender touch of the cook's fingers.

That damn cook. 

God, the timing of it all couldn't have been worse for Zoro. He wasn't accustomed to most people touching him like this to begin with (especially not Pervy McPervPants behind him), but after last night it was damn near torture. His mind was running wild, like a herd of sheep with no herding dog.

Every time he'd tried to reel himself in that morning, something would happen to fuck with his head (AKA, the stupid cook would do something). Sanji touching his face that morning. Sanji undressing right in front of him. Sanji continuing the married couple act so damn effortlessly, keeping his arm around Zoro's waist the whole way down from the ship. Now, Sanji applying his sunscreen for him as any caring husband would. Zoro was going nuts. It took everything in him not to scratch his skin down to the bone. Hence, the frozen marg straw.

A sphere— that Zoro only briefly hoped was a meteor barrelling towards the planet, doomed to kill them all— flew in their direction, landing mere inches from where they sat. White sand launched from where it landed, coating the two of them. Zoro managed to shield his face with his arm. Sanji started sputtering behind him— not as successful as Zoro, from the sounds of it. "Sorry!" A voice called as a shadow cast over them.

Zoro lowered his arm. Law crouched in front of them, reaching for the flying object— a volleyball. He flashed that toothy grin that looked completely wrong on his face and patted Zoro on the shoulder. "Tadashi, my man! You should join us."

Zoro looked behind Law. Doflamingo and the Aerosmith guy from the sex party stood by a volleyball net, glaring quizzically in their direction. Not a very inviting duo, but certainly an informative one. Either one of them could be the guy they were looking for. Maybe even both.

"Sure," Zoro agreed. He shimmied the base of his glass into the sand and moved to get up.

Sanji grabbed his shoulders and shoved him back down. "One sec. I'm almost done," he mumbled.

"Right." Zoro sighed, pointing his thumb over his shoulder. Very get-a-load-of-this-guy of him. "Chronic smoker over here's worried about me getting skin cancer." 

Sanji's hands trailed down Zoro's back and around his torso, finally stopping just below his chest. Zoro tensed as soft tingles shot from the cook's fingertips straight through his skin. The thought of those hands moving lower flickered faintly in his mind. The fantasy grew stronger when Sanji hooked his chin onto his shoulder, pressing his chest to Zoro's back.

Add that to the list of things Sanji's done to fuck with his head. God fucking damn it.

"Of course I am," the cook cooed, fingers rubbing circles into Zoro's skin. His hot breath tickled the swordsman's earlobe. It took everything in him not to shudder at the feeling. "You are far too important to the family to get sick. I just have to look pretty 'til I die."

Zoro tried to come up with a clever response, he really did, but his attention was elsewhere. Particularly, he was focused on pushing away the thought of tangled bedsheets and those large, delicate hands exploring every inch of him. And on keeping his own hands to himself. 

Law leaned back until he was sitting, tattooed hands fisting the sand. "Y'know, excessive smoking can make your teeth rot."

Sanji dug his nails into the swordsman's chest— a sensation he only kinda liked. As if to make a point, Sanji took the smoke out of his mouth and brought it to Zoro's lips, which opened for it automatically.

"The Wrinokos have an excellent dentist," the blond chirped in that fake sickly-sweet voice that barely concealed his annoyance. "Really, top of the line."

"Ah, how nice."

Zoro took a drag and pinched the cigarette between his fingers. A welcome distraction from the shitshow of a conversation unraveling in front of him... and from the gentle sting left behind by Sanji's nails. The last thing he needed was to imagine that stinging on his biceps or, God forbid, his back. He was already clinging to his sanity by a very, very frayed thread. That may be more than he could handle.

"We could totally hook you up," Sanji continued, voice dripping with sugary bitterness. His hand extended, motioning to Law, his victim. "I'm sure they could fix your... y'know."

His pointer finger twirled as he added his final jab, using it like one of those Disney Channel wands to circle Law's mouth. The doctor, maintaining his composure, cocked his head and smiled.

"How kind, Jean."

"Don't menti—"

"Y'know, though, there are many other side effects of chronic smoking."

Law looked up to the sky, hooked his volleyball under his armpit, and started to count on his fingers. "Eye sight complications, blood clots, erectile dysfunction..."

Zoro needed this pretend-polite battle for dominance to end fast. Each dig from Law made Sanji grip and claw Zoro's torso, and his brain could not handle it.

"...and, of course, chemo makes you all sweaty, and your hair falls out. Not a pretty sight." Law turned his attention forward. He stared directly into Sanji, as if Zoro wasn't even there. "And we both know Tadashi likes 'em pretty, don't we, Jean?"

Sanji's nails weren't in Zoro's skin anymore. They instead disappeared into the cook's fists, where the swordsman could only assume they found refuge deep in his palms. Something brewed in Zoro's gut, and he opened his mouth.

"Play nice," he barked. He felt Sanji's body tense against his back, then lean ever-so-slightly into it. The doctor chuckled, moving to rise to his feet.

"Oh, it's all in good fun. Right, Jean?"

"Right. Polite banter."

Zoro narrowed his eyes at Law, who was wiping sand off his ass. He wasn't entirely sure why he went so hard on Law for the comment— Sanji had been far harsher multiple times on their mission, with no retaliation— but something about it pissed him off He just couldn't put his finger on why.

"Well, I should head back," Law sighed, turning on his heels and sauntering away. He called, "Feel free to join, Tadashi," over his shoulder as he went.

Zoro watched him return to their two possible suspects and swallowed hard. His gut twisted, and this time, he could tell why: sheer nerves. There were many reasons why he'd rather stab himself with his own swords than play a quick game with them. For starters, he killed guys like Doflamingo for a living. He didn't have a sweet clue how to be friendly with the guy. Then, there was the weird war of wits between Law and Sanji that he was wedged in the middle of. He wanted no part in it.

He looked to his shoulder and watched as Sanji stared intently ahead. His expression was unreadable, save for him chewing the inside of his cheek. Zoro found himself once again wondering what could be going through that head.

As if he read Zoro's mind, Sanji spoke. "You should go with Law." His voice was low. Grumbly. Kind of like Luffy when he had to wait for meat, or Perona admitting she was wrong (which only happened once, when Zoro fixed the dryer she swore up and down was unsalvageable).

Zoro sighed and nodded, pulling himself out of Sanji's arms. "Wish me luck."

As he rose to his knees, Sanji grabbed his shoulder. Zoro's stomach briefly spiked as the cook spun him around, but it eased when all he did was take back his cigarette. 

Then, Sanji pulled Zoro into a kiss, and the swordsman lost all sense of calm.

Chapter Text

Sand shot up from under Law's feet, threatening to burrow its way into Zoro's eyes, as Doctor-Bartender leaped up to smack the white and blue volleyball. The swordsman dove forward a bit too fast. Instead of striking the ball back over the net, the ball struck him in the head. His body plummeted into the sand with a thud.

"Wrinoko, come on!" Diamante (Aerosmith Guy) groaned. The towering man held an arm out to help Zoro to his feet. Across the net, their opponents cackled and fist-bumped. Once Zoro was upright, Diamante walked to the net. "Law, you dirty liar. I thought your buddy Tadashi was a top athlete."

Law chuckled, crossing his arms. "Yeah, back in uni," he sighed contentedly, looking to the side. "'Spose married life made him soft."

"Fuck you," Zoro shot back lightheartedly. His gaze followed Law's and landed on Sanji and Baby Five, lounging and chatting (no doubt gossiping about them). His chest tightened as Sanji laughed from afar. His lips tingled from the empty weight of the cook's mouth on his.

Law wasn't entirely wrong. His "husband" was keeping him distracted. 

Another cackle from across the court erupted. "See, there it is!" Law ribbed. The taunt was paired with Doflamingo laughing and draping his arm across Law's shoulders. 

"Damn, 'Dashi," Doflamingo grinned wickedly, peering through his sunglasses with a menacing glint in his eyes— Zoro was fairly confident that was a permanent feature of the Warlord's face. "I'd say you're pussy-whipped, but we can all see your bitch is packing inches."

Ew.

Zoro's disgust must've been obvious on his face, because Diamante chuckled and said, "Come on, Wrinoko. You gotta admit, those tight pants your armpiece wears don't leave much to the imagination."

Ewwwww. Zoro's gut clenched, and he had to actively think about keeping his hands relaxed. He forced a polite laugh to cover up how gross the thought of the Donquixote family checking out Sanji's junk made him feel. He couldn't make himself say anything in agreement, though. 

"Speaking of the armpiece..." Doflamingo swaggered to the net, looping his freaky fingers in the holes and leaning in close to the rope. "You two ran off early last night."

Ah, fuck. 

"It's a shame. We were all looking forward to a fun night with you two," the Warlord grinned. Something about his tone made the sentence sound like a threat. Zoro cleared his sandy-dry throat.

"Yeah, uh... sorry," he sighed. He scratched the back of his head, trying his darndest to look sheepish. "Jean wanted me all to himself last night. He can get a little... possessive."

After a beat, Doflamingo cocked his head and gasped. "So, you're the bitch!" he chortled. "Man, that's priceless! I love it."

Everyone laughed along. In that moment, Zoro hated everyone on the court. He'd be in his glee if his target wound up being among them.

"Bit of a shame, though," Diamante piped up. Zoro snapped his head in his direction. The man was peering expectantly at him. "That Jean has the kind of ass that's just begging to be destroyed. Probably likes a crowd, too. Wouldn't you agree?"

Zoro really hoped Diamante was his target. Zoro kept his mouth clenched shut for fear of what would come out of it if he let it open. Law piped in with, "C'mon, 'Mante, don't be gross," and Zoro let himself breathe.

If Law hadn't butt in, he wasn't sure what his next move would be. Someone should add Saviour of Zoro's Cover to that guy's resume with how often a little remark or tip from him has saved his ass. Though with how frequently he'd stressed out and/or annoyed Sanji, his actions on this job probably evened out to a general neutral.

"Oh, Wrinoko knows I'm joking. Don't you, kid?"

The swordsman attempted to will a response out of himself that wouldn't spark a potential feud between himself and one of Doflamingo's top officers, but he couldn't muster up a thing. He couldn't even force an obviously fake smile onto his face. The best he could manage was an expression that wasn't completely a scowl— more like two-thirds of one. Diamante grinned back at him, either too dumb to notice his annoyance or absolutely relishing it. Zoro had a feeling it was the latter.

"And I mean, we all can tell there's some truth to what I'm saying, right?" The skinny bobble head of a man continued, very obviously not joking. "Our boy here is practically a purse, the way his husband drags him around and drains his wallet. Not to mention how Jean throws himself at everyone he sees." He patted Zoro's shoulder and gripped it firmly. "It's about time you leash the bitch instead of letting him leash you."

"Diamante," Law boomed. He was promptly ignored.

"I could help you with that next week, if you'd like."

Zoro didn't care if this guy was their target or not. He wanted his head on a spit. Diamante was lucky Zoro didn't have his katanas.

After what felt like hours of Diamante's smug smirk boring down at him, Zoro cleared his throat. "I'm quite secure in my relationship," he spoke, shrugging off Diamante's hand. He continued bluntly. "Frankly, I don't need marriage advice from a man with extreme knowledge of knots in place of a spouse, but thanks."

Diamante's face dropped into a scowl that rivalled Zoro's own. The man stepped closer in a clear effort to intimidate Zoro (which, honestly, was working a little), but the green-haired swordsman stood his ground— something he'd gotten quite good at doing under pressure over the years. It was part of why he was so damn good at his job.

Doflamingo's laughter dragged the two swordsmen out of their angry staring match. "Damn, Tadashi!" He cackled, hands placed firmly on his hips. "You've got some real teeth! You're getting me all nervous for when your father retires and I've gotta deal with you!"

Law laughed politely with the Warlord. Zoro willed himself to do the same. Diamante's trap remained shut. Zoro didn't mind that one bit... but how would Tadashi feel? He was supposed to be this elegant, sophisticated aristocrat, after all. "My apologies, Diamante." Apologize to these nuts. "I got a little carried away there."

The silence stretched out for an eternity before the man before him sighed. "Ah, no harm done." Diamante patted Zoro's shoulder roughly. It took everything in him not to jerk away. "Every man has his weak spot."

"Yeah."

A sudden blaring siren erupted from the ship's speakers, and Zoro silently said a prayer of thanks to no god in particular. It was followed by an automated message:

"Operation Rising Star. All passengers must board immediately. Please make your way to the Crimasque."

Crew members from the Crimasque began piling out of the ship, rushing to patrons and ushering them towards the ship. Zoro looked around, puzzled. "Anyone know what Operation Rising Star is?" he asked. Doflamingo and Law chuckled whilst Law gave him a funny look.

"It means there's been a death onboard."

***

Zoro peered through the peephole of their door, watching as staff members rushed past and spoke to each other in hushed whispers. From the moment the sirens began to now, he hadn't been able to find any information on the supposed death onboard. None of the patrons had a clue what was happening, and every crew member Zoro tried to approach on his way back to the ship shut him down. By the time he and the cook were back to their room, they were just as clueless as they were on the beach.

"Mosshead," Sanji called from across the room. "What was that Bart guy's room number? I'm gonna call him."

Bart... which one was that? He ran through the mental image of their allies, trying to place a face to a name. None of them rang a bell. "Who?"

"Lots of piercings. Hair looks like a rooster."

Oh, right. Bart was the guy who fawned over the two of them as if they were celebrities. Zoro had been hoping they'd avoid another interaction with him on their mission. "Room 337, I think."

The clicking of telephone buttons followed. Zoro retreated from the peephole, wandering to his still half-packed suitcase. "Hello? Bart?" Sanji spoke into the phone. Zoro reached into his luggage and pulled out a pair of gym shorts. "Yeah, this is Jean. Yep. Jean Wrinoko. No, you don't need to-" Zoro stood upright and looked over his shoulder. The cook was pinching the bridge of his nose and grimacing. "No, Bart, it's fine. We're fine. I just have a question."

Zoro chuckled and went to the washroom. He peeled off his swimwear and turned on the shower, stepping under the steaming water. He scrubbed off the sand sticking to his arms and legs, then tilted his head under the water to wet his hair. He closed his eyes as water trickled down his face. 

For the first time all day, he was by himself. Alone time was rare on the Crimasque on a good day, but today felt worse than the others. He exhaled and felt the pressure to be the perfect Wrinoko heir lift off his chest.

He hadn't always treasured his alone time. Growing up on the street, dodging social workers and group homes, he had it in excess. Sure, being on the street meant there could be people around at any time of the day, but none of them gave him any attention outside of a short, judging glance. He never had to hide aspects of himself for their comfort or worry about what they may think of him. He could just be. After all, there's no privacy quite like the company of uncaring strangers. 

The first to break through his never-ending independence was a young girl from the dojo he'd hang around. Whenever he'd go to watch lessons from the window looking in, he'd notice her. She was always there—sometimes helping to instruct lessons, rather than actively participating—and she was amazing. She was leagues above everybody she sparred with, including the bigger kids in the teen classes. She was strong. Precise. Her footwork was perfect, and her muscles were well-trained. She was captivating. She was nothing like the other kids, either. She didn't go outside to torment Zoro on breaks like her peers. She didn't goof off in lessons. She didn't whisper to friends when she should've been listening to her sensei. In fact, Zoro only saw her interact with her peers in sparring. Her free time was spent training on her own.

She may have had a roof over her head and resources that Zoro never did, but he could tell they were alike. Like him, she was constantly alone. Like him, she had nobody around to truly look out for her.

One issue with Zoro's lifestyle was shelter. Most people living on the street were territorial, and Zoro never trusted community shelters, so he was often stranded during bad weather. Sometimes he could find an empty shed to break into or a large tree to crawl up. Other times, he was on his own.

One such instance was during a particularly bad storm. The wind was strong enough to knock him over if he wasn't careful, and the chill shot straight through his bones. Rain pelted down on him like pebbles, and his clothes stuck to his skin. He could barely open his eyes as he walked the street. All he could do was walk.

His feet brought him to the dojo. He'd been there so many times that he'd wandered there on instinct. His little hands pressed to the brick wall of the building, and he slumped down, curling his legs into himself and pressing his forehead to his knees. He shut his eyes and shivered as the rain wailed down on him mercilessly. Tears stung his eyeballs and escaped the tight squeeze of his lids.

His skin had started to go numb when he heard the creaking. "What are you doing?" A voice yelled over the wind. Zoro lifted his head just enough to peer over his knees. The door to the dojo was swinging in the wind, its hinges squawking like a gull. In its frame stood the girl, navy blue hair blowing wildly and eyes wide. Zoro didn't answer, simply staring back at her with a blank expression. She opened her mouth again.

"You'll get sick out there! Get inside!"

Now it was his turn to look shocked. His jaw went slack, and his eyes grew wide as saucers. He felt frozen in place. He couldn't remember the last time a stranger had shown him concern, but he certainly wasn't expecting to be shown it here, where kids laughed in his face and struck him down on a daily basis. 

She wasn't done surprising him. She stepped out into the wind and rain and ran to him, grabbing his arm and yanking him to his feet. She dragged him into the building and swung the door closed behind them. It was then that Zoro realized how tall she was—a full head taller than him, at least. Her clothes, sopping wet, showcased her build. Muscular, for a kid. Well fed. A little self-conscious, Zoro looked down at himself. He could see his ribs through his dirty shirt. She definitely wasn't sleeping in the streets.

"What the heck were you doing?" The girl inquired, an aggravated edge to her voice. Zoro didn't respond, merely blinking back at her. "Now I'm all wet. You should've come in yourself!"

The girl wandered off down the hall and into a room in the back. Zoro stayed planted where he was, surveying his surroundings. A front desk with medals and trophies caught his eye first. Behind it was a wall of certificates with words he couldn't read printed on them. Closer to him was a faux leather couch that was cracking and peeling from years of regular use. Next to it was a recliner. Across the room were racks upon racks used for shoes and coats. Only two pairs of shoes occupied them; one big, one small.

The girl returned with a pile of towels in her arms. She tossed them on the couch and grabbed one, ruffling her hair with it. Once satisfied with her handiwork, she wrapped the towel around her shoulders and shivered. After a beat, she looked at Zoro and cocked her head.

"Aren't you gonna dry off?"

Zoro's feet felt like bricks of cement as he dragged them to the couch. He gingerly picked up a towel. It was warm, like it had just been dried. He mimicked what she had done, rubbing the towel against the crown of his head and enveloping his torso in the warmth. 

"Why were you outside?" The girl asked, her voice softer now than it was before. "It's too gross to be outside."

Zoro tried to answer, but all he could produce was a passive, "Nehhhh." The girl crossed her arms and parroted the noise back to him. Zoro shrugged. She sighed and stuck out her hand to him.

"I'm Kuina," she stated. "What's your name?"

"Shitty swordsman!" Sanji called, pounding on the bathroom door. Zoro snapped out of the memory, turning off the water and pulling back the shower curtain. "Haul ass. We've got a situation on our hands."

"Coming," he responded, grabbing a towel and drying himself off. He pulled on his gym shorts and slung the towel around his neck. "Always a damn situation," he muttered as he pulled the door open.

Chapter Text

The dim, cramped hallways of the staff quarters twisted and turned at random like a maze with no exit. Zoro's shoulders touched the walls as he marched through. He kept his eyes trained on the back of Sanji's head as they moved silently towards their destination.

They turned a corner and were met with a tall, white haired man bouldering towards them. He stopped and gave them a curt nod. "Officers," he greeted half-heartedly before squeezing past them. Sanji's head swivelled to follow the man's path, a light scowl on his face. The cook then adjusted his cap and continued walking without a word.

Zoro wasn't sure of the details—Sanji and Kokoro had thrown an outfit at him and shoved him out of the room without much explanation—but he knew there was trouble. Specifically, they'd lost contact with an ally. According to their associates, their waiter—the large, droopy-faced Weapons Specialist—had gone completely AWOL for hours before the Operation Rising Star was announced. On top of that, they'd received word of staff being barred from entering the West Wing where he resided. It raised enough concern for Kokoro to redirect police transmission to herself, dress the married couple up in detective wear, and send them down in the trenches. As usual, they'd agreed upon Sanji doing the talking—Zoro didn't have a sweet clue how detectives talked.

The cook led him around another corner, where they were met with security blocking their path. Smooth as ever, Sanji grabbed his wallet from his coat's inside pocket and flashed his forged identification. Zoro did the same, though his movements were a little more rigid than his partner's. The security nodded and pressed themselves to the wall, just barely letting the duo through. The swordsman's eyes caught the yellow tape barricading a single room in front of them. Sanji walked towards the room first, opening the door and ducking under the tape. Zoro followed and shut the door behind them.

Thick, sticky blood coated the tiled floor, pooling around the flimsy legs of a rinky-dink bedframe in the corner of the room. It had clearly been on the ground for hours. The room itself was only large enough for Zoro to stretch both arms out to the side. Even then, he'd be touching the walls, so the wooden, cross-like structure with their Weapons Specialist's dead body nailed to it was almost impressive. The body of the man who had served them food and wine only the night prior was damn near unrecognizable. He was motionless, his skin was blue and clammy skin, and three slashes had been cut into his chest, just like in the photos in their files.

"Oh, fuck," Sanji hissed. He covered his mouth and fixed himself in a corner.

Zoro stepped closer to the body, careful not to slip in the blood. He took out his phone and snapped a few pictures of the scene. Then, he knelt down, soaking his knees in the slightly cool blood to get a closer look at the injuries. The slashes in the man's chest were thin, still slowly trickling blood from the long-dead body. Thin, but deep. Not knife-plunged-into-skin deep. More like the tip of a weapon with longer range, like a broadsword, or perhaps even an estoc. The wounds were too smooth to have been a knife, as well. Each slash had to have been done in one quick motion. You just can't produce an injury of this caliber with a simple knife.

Zoro took a picture of the wounds close-up. "Our guy's a swordsman," he spoke aloud, slipping his phone back into his pocket.

The cook cleared his throat. "Okay," he choked out. Zoro looked over his shoulder to see Sanji still staring into the corner. "What else?"

Zoro looked back at the body. While his chest had been stripped bare, his legs still wore the pants all of the staff members were required to wear. Zoro reached his fingers into the front pockets, rummaging around for anything of interest. When he came up empty, he reached around to the back. His index finger pushed against something light and crumpled, like a napkin or sticky note. Zoro nabbed it and pulled away with a ball of paper. His thumbs found two corners and began uncrumpling the sheet, smoothing the parchment against his thigh. In small, neat cursive, a single quote was written:

"O Sun, do you shine on among the immortals and on the fruitful fields of mortal men. Soon I will smite their swift ship with a gleaming bolt, and cleave it in pieces in the middle of the wine-dark sea."

It was a threat, obviously, but the quote's significance was lost on Zoro. He admittedly wasn't very well-read. 

"Hey, cook," Zoro called over his shoulder. "Take a look at this."

Sanji turned timidly. He didn't even take two steps towards Zoro before clamping his hand firmer to his mouth and rushing out of the room, leaving Zoro alone with the body.

"Stupid cook," he mumbled to himself, folding up the paper and sticking it in his pocket. "Kills people for a living and can't handle a little blood."

He stood, surveying the room around him. There was nothing special about it, minus all the blood. A tiny twin bed in one corner, a skinny dresser in the other. Behind him was a small closet. No pictures on the walls or trinkets on top of the dresser. It was bare. Nothing like he'd pictured for their weapon guy.

He stepped around the body of his fallen comrade and moved to the dresser. Surely, he could find some of the weapons their specialist had for them, right? He started with the top drawer, opening it and rummaging through its contents—folded black pants upon folded black pants. When nothing of interest turned up, he moved on to the next drawer. He shuffled through the pile of socks, and his hand landed on something small and hard. He gripped the item and pulled it out. As he began opening up his fist, the door creaked open.

"Shit," he hissed under his breath, shoving the item in his pocket. His head swivelled to the door and was met with a woman standing back on to him. It wasn't Monet or Baby Five or anyone else on the ship whom he'd recognize. She had navy shoulder-length hair, a long black dress, and a golden clutch tucked under her arm. Someone didn't get the disguise memo. She crept into the room, staring out of the crack in the door that grew smaller as she closed it. There were a few moments of silence where she pressed her forehead to the door and heaved, unaware of Zoro staring holes into her back. Then, the swordsman cleared his throat. She whipped around.

It was her—no, it couldn't be. He had seen it with his own two eyes, the little brown box and the dress with too high of a collar. It couldn't be her. And yet, there she was, staring back at him with a stunned expression that no doubt matched his own. 

"I- uh-" she sputtered, gripping her clutch with white-knuckle force. A pit grew in Zoro’s stomach. "Officer! What- what are you doing here?"

Zoro opened his mouth to reply, but the only noise he made was the loud smacking of his tongue in his dry mouth. Thankfully, she looked down, and the mess of blood on the floor seemed to answer her question for him. She cringed. They stood in the silence for a beat. It felt like a strange stand-off. Who would strike first? Zoro knew he should do something—interrogate her like a real cop would, or say screw it and go in for the kill. She could very well be their target. Why else would someone so elegantly dressed be wandering into a heavily-guarded staff bedroom undetected?—but he felt stuck in place.

The similarities were uncanny. Same face, same navy blue hair. This woman's voice even sounded like hers, only matured. A version of her voice Zoro never thought he'd get to hear.

For a moment, he mentally picked apart her expression, searching for the tiniest hint of recognition in it. That was foolish. He knew it wasn't her.

So, who was she?

"I should be asking you that," he replied, straightening his posture and crossing his arms. "What's your name, miss?"

She blinked a couple of times before answering. "H-Hanako. Yeah. Hanako."

Well, I know her name's not Hanako.

"Hanako." He took a couple of steps closer, despite the screaming in his ribcage telling him to keep his distance. Like if he got too close, she'd disappear. "What are you doing in the Staffing Quarters? You're clearly a guest."

"I-" She looked around, smoothing her palm against the skirt of her dress. "I got lost."

"Lost?" Zoro repeated. She nodded. "And you made it past all that security, how?"

She went quiet. She went red. She squeezed her eyes closed and whispered, "Damnit," before going to open her clutch. 

A gun. She's going to pull out a gun. Zoro shoved his hand back in his pocket, grabbed the small object he had swiped, and pulled it out. He pointed it in her direction without looking at what it was, just as she pulled out a small card and held it out to him. 

A Marine ID?

"Why are you pointing a tiny guitar at me?" She questioned, eyebrows raised. Zoro pulled his hand back and looked at his palm. Sure enough, he was holding a little toy guitar. 

He cleared his throat, trying to mask the embarrassment creeping up his spine. "I thought you were grabbing a weapon."

"And your weapon of choice is a plastic toy?"

He scowled at her, shoving the guitar back in his pocket. "I grabbed the wrong thing," He responded defensively, grabbing her ID from her and inspecting it. Sasaki Tashigi. Navy Captain. 

Well, shit. Marines around to fuck up their mission was less than ideal. Still, seeing proof that she wasn't the little girl she looked identical to gave him some relief.

"Why were you carrying that around, anyway?" Sasaki Tashigi prodded, taking her ID back. Zoro glared back at her, mute. "Whatever. That’s not important.” She closed her eyes and sighed, continuing quietly. “I'm not supposed to tell anyone this, but I'm undercover. My partner and I will be handling this case ourselves."

Shit. Shit shit shit.

"Your supervisor should be in touch soon to formally order you to return home," she sighed. She put her ID back in her clutch, and Zoro caught a glimpse of something slim and red inside. "Now, I do have to ask you to leave and allow me to investigate the scene. Is that alright with you, Officer?"

Shiiiiiiit.

Zoro took a deep breath and cleared his throat. "Of course, ma'am," he replied stiffly. "Captain. Of course, Captain."

She nodded and awkwardly side-stepped, giving Zoro access to the door. He nodded back and moved to leave. As he turned the doorknob, she spoke again. 

"You didn't take anything, right? Everything's in its place?"

The slip of paper in his pocket suddenly felt like a boulder. 

"Of course." He looked over his shoulder and mustered a stiff smile. "Have a good day, Captain."

And out he went.

***

"Zoro."

He remembered it as clear as day—how he clung to the railing like a lifeline, clenching his lids shut until he saw stars. The way his lungs rattled inside his ribcage as all the air he tried to inhale got caught in his throat. The firmness of Kuina's father gripping his shoulder in an effort to pull him back inside. His voice calling Zoro's name, trying in vain to calm him down. He'd soon give up and go back inside the church, and Zoro would fall to his knees, scraping them in the process. Zoro would stay there, crying and bleeding and barely breathing, until the service ended. 

The moment played behind Zoro's eyelids more than he cared to admit. Particularly in times like this, when his lungs strained and his eyes stung the way they had then. Zoro pushed through the suffocating halls, growing faster and faster with each step away from the room. From that woman. He found the stairs and skipped steps as he bolted up, stripping off his detective's jacket and cap as he went. He made it to the deck of the main floor and rushed to the ledge, gripping it just as he had that day. He cursed under his breath and slammed his palm into the railing as he failed to calm his rapidly rising and falling chest. 

A Kuina lookalike was the last thing he needed. So, with his luck, she appeared. And of course, she was a Marine Captain. Fucking perfect.

He closed his eyes and focused on sucking air through his nostrils. He released his grip on the rails and pushed his right thumb into his left palm, muttering incoherent comforts to himself. He tried to push away the mental image of the last time he saw Kuina. The lacy dress with the ultra-high neckline that was so not her. Her closed eyelids. The artificial rosiness of her cheeks. He tried to forget how he had wished she'd move, open her eyes, anything to prove she was still in there.

His phone buzzed in his back pocket. He went back to grabbing the ledge with one hand and fumbled for the phone with the other. The contact name Blackleg greeted him. He swiped his thumb on the screen and pressed the phone to his ear.

"Babe, where are you?" Sanji's fake-nice voice chirped. Back to Jean and Tadashi, are we? Zoro took a deep breath as Sanji continued. "All of us are up in Doffy's room. Are you on your way?"

Doffy's room. "Sorry. Got sidetracked," he managed to say with minimal vocal shaking. All of us? "Who's there?"

"Um..." Sanji hummed into the mic, and Zoro's tight chest relaxed slightly. "Me, Baby Five, your side piece..."

"Law?"

"...Monet and Doffy, some new guy..."

He could kind of breathe steadily again. His hands still shook, but they'd begun to settle. He didn't feel like his entire body was about to immediately implode anymore.

"...and Diamante."

Never mind.

"You gotta be fucking..." he cursed under his breath. "I'm coming. Just stay on the line or somethin'."

"Why, dear? What's going on?"

"Nothing. I'll explain later." His feet carried him to the elevator. The thought of Diamante trying to get Sanji alone plagued his mind. "What's happening?"

"We're just drinking and chatting."

Sanji's voice lowered. Zoro could picture his stupid eyebrows scrunching up the way they always did when the cook fretted over anything at all. "Mossy, what's wrong?"

Zoro stepped into the elevator and pressed the fourth floor button. "Mossy?" he echoed as the doors closed.

Sanji went quiet. If it weren't for Doflamingo's obnoxious voice booming in the background, he'd think his service was cut. He had reached the fourth floor and exited the elevator before the cook spoke again.

"I was trying something," Sanji spoke, an unfamiliar tone in his voice. Then, he huffed, and the character of Jean returned. "But if you don't like it-"

"No, I like it." Zoro walked down the hall, keeping an eye out for his room number. "It's cute," he continued, tense. He cringed as soon as he heard it. The chuckle on the other line didn't help the heat creeping up his neck.

"Cute, huh?"

"Oh, shut up," Zoro grumbled. He stopped and looked around, spotting an elevator to his right. Have I gone in a circle? "I'm not thinkin' straight. I'll explain later."

"Yeah, yeah. Where are you now? Your ‘strictly platonic friend from uni’ is missing you."

Zoro rolled his eyes and started to walk again. "I'm goin' to the room to change. Then I'll come up."

"Not gonna ask if your devoted husband misses you too? Shameful."

Zoro couldn't help but grin as he scanned the doors for room 4063, despite the circumstances. "Is my perfect spouse missing me?" He cooed into the phone.

He wasn't sure why he was playing along, considering there was nobody but him roaming the halls. It was fun. Maybe that was why? 

"Not really. Could do without you coming here, honestly."

"Tadashiiiiiiii," another voice slurred. From the sweet flirtiness of it, he assumed Baby Five. "Where are you? We're having so much fun!"

"He's coming, my dear. Don't you worry."

"Jean, get off the phone and do shots with us!" Doflamingo encouraged (or demanded). Zoro felt queasy.

"Doffy, my husband will never find his way here without my help. The man has no internal GPS."

Funny enough, Zoro found their room as Sanji said that. He unlocked it with his keycard and rushed inside. 

"Alright, I'm in the room," he announced. He turned his phone on speaker and set it down, going to rummage through his suitcase. "I won't be long. Just stay on the line."

The laughter of the crew grew fainter as Zoro changed into something more fitting of Tadashi. As he buttoned up his pants, Sanji spoke in a hushed tone.

"What's going on?" The cook pressed. "Just give me an idea."

Zoro sucked a breath through his teeth, running a hand through his hair. He smacked his lips and said, "Not here. I'll tell you later. Promise."

Sanji went quiet again, long enough for Zoro to start to worry. 

“Alright,” he finally sighed, easing the swordsman’s mind. “I trust you.”

Chapter Text

When the elevator doors opened on the top floor, Zoro found Sanji waiting for him. The cook had snapped his head towards the sound of the doors opening with tightly crinkled brows and teeth poking at his bottom lip. Zoro stepped out, and their eyes met. For just a moment, a strangely soft expression crossed the cook's face, but it disappeared as quickly as it appeared, being replaced by the annoyed expression Zoro was so familiar with.

"You look fine," Sanji grumbled, straightening up and shoving his hands in his pockets. "You had me all worried for nothing."

Zoro didn't have the energy to bite down on Sanji's bait like he normally would. He was too focused on keeping his breathing in check and making sure Diamante hadn't tried anything while he was busy having a mental breakdown on the main floor. He reached out and held the cook's bicep gently, giving him a quick once-over. "What about you, you're good?" 

"Yeah, I'm fine." Sanji shrugged him off with a frown. "What's going on?"

Zoro looked down the hallway. It led to a single door—Doflamingo's penthouse, no doubt—but that was a ways away. They were the only two standing around outside. Still, Zoro leaned closer as he began.

"Marines."

Sanji blinked.

"Marines? Here?"

Zoro nodded and took a deep breath through his nose. "One of 'em caught me investigating the scene," he continued. He left out the part about said marine being an exact lookalike of his childhood best friend—that was a personal issue. 

Sanji tilted his head back. It thumped against the wall softly. "Shit," he hissed through his teeth. Zoro watched his eyes dart across the ceiling, clearly sifting through thousands of thoughts. "That explains the new guy."

New guy? He could vaguely recall the cook mentioning someone new over the phone, but he hadn't given it much thought; the threat of Diamante's presence took precedence over some random dude's. If the random dude wasn't so random, though—

"He was down there while we were walking to the scene," Sanji huffed, running a hand through his soft blond hair. "Man with the white hair. He spoke to us."

Right. Right. This guy—who had seen them both dressed up as detectives—was in with Doflamingo and his creeper buddies, waiting for them. "Fuck."

"Yeah."

Zoro dropped his hand on the cook's arm and moved to the side, pressing his back against the wall. His shoulder brushed Sanji's as his body settled against the hard surface. He closed his eyes and massaged his thumb into his palm. They were in deep, deep shit. Their covers were in imminent danger of being blown by the lady downstairs and the white-haired man behind that door down the hall. They could very well fail their mission, and Zoro despised failure.

Sanji was alright, though. That gave him a pinch of comfort.

"Okay, seriously, what is up with you?" the aforementioned cook asked, his voice low and steady. Zoro turned his head to see Sanji looking at him with... concern? Curiosity? Whatever it was didn't last long, as Sanji's face returned to its neutral state within moments. He gestured casually to Zoro's preoccupied hands. "You're doing the... thing. Like the other night."

Zoro dropped his hands, instead rubbing his palms against his pants. "Yeah. Stressful day," he shrugged. Sanji's eyes were threatening to crack open Zoro's resolve. He'd be pouring his stresses out to Sanji any second if he didn't get himself in check. He diverted his eyes to the floor and cleared his throat.

"We should go in. Probably."

"Oh. Yeah."

They fell silent. Zoro waited for Sanji to make the next move, though he had no doubt in his mind that the dumb cook was doing the same. Normally, he would go in headfirst to get it over with, but he felt stuck in place. He hated it. He felt like the little kid in the rain, scared and dumbfounded. He hadn't felt like him in a long time.

"Alright," Sanji sighed. He took Zoro's hand and gave it a firm squeeze. Zoro could damn near see the mask of Jean slipping over Sanji's face. "Let's go, dear."

***

Doflamingo's room was magnificent. It was huge, for one. It practically took up the entire top floor. Inside was a California King on one wall, a kitchen, a fully-stocked bar, a hot tub, a pool table... it just went on and on like a never-ending labyrinth of luxury and greed. Doflamingo and his minions crowded the pool table, engrossed in a game. The white-haired man from before stood slightly behind the others, observing with a cigar in his mouth and a second tucked in his breast pocket. His steel eyes would periodically dart in Zoro's direction, sizing him up like a lamb for slaughter. It made a sheet of unsettledness sit in the pit of his stomach. Sanji and the women sat on a fancy couch playing card games and sipping wine. His eyes would drift in Zoro's direction as well, but unlike the likely marine, his were filled with silent confusion rather than accusation. Sanji's gaze was safer, but still made him uneasy. It reminded Zoro how weak he had been a few hours ago. It reminded him that Sanji was expecting an explanation.

"Need another drink?"

Zoro turned to face the counter. He didn't get the chance to reply—Law had already slid a fresh whiskey sour into his hand. He chuckled weakly and brought it to his lips. Law wiped a freshly cleaned glass and crinkled his brows. For a second, Zoro was back in his favourite bar, taking the edge off after a physically taxing mission. He didn't have to share a bed with his coworker or be friendly with men he'd like to hunt for sport or worry about the grown-up ghost of a little girl coming in to send him over the edge. It was nice.

"Shouldn't you be socializing?"

Never mind.

Zoro finished off his drink and shook his head, sliding the empty glass towards Law. "Not up for it today," he sighed.

Law frowned. Zoro braced himself for prying questions, but none came. Instead, he poured another drink for Zoro to pound back. In his peripheral vision, he could see a blob of white approaching the door. As subtly as he could, Zoro tilted his head in its direction. The white-haired man pawed at the handle and pulled the door open.

All Zoro saw was the skirt of a black dress before he pushed off the stool and beelined to the balcony.

Salt air filled his nose and did little to quell the pounding in his chest. He leaned against the railing and dropped his head into his hands, trying to calm his mind and his lungs. The sun blared down on his scalp, threatening to scorch it, but he didn't care. He'd take burning his entire body to a crisp over going back in there.

God, today is not my day. The thought almost made him laugh.

The balcony door creaked open behind him. He sucked a breath through his teeth and hardened his expression before daring to look over his shoulder. An unlit cigarette was already hanging from Sanji's lips as he closed the door behind him. Zoro's shoulders relaxed, and he turned his face back to the sea.

Sanji took up the space by Zoro's side. Their shoulders touched as the cook flicked his lighter. He took his first puff and wordlessly offered the smoke to the swordsman, who accepted just as silently. They stayed that way for a bit, listening to the waves crashing against the ship and sharing nothing but a cigarette. Zoro certainly didn't mind the silence—silent was his natural state—but he hated what it implied: that Sanji thought he was weak. Too fragile to question. It brewed a flame in his gut that he couldn't smother.

"I'm fine," he blurted, just to prove to himself that he could still speak.

Sanji scoffed and twisted to face the swordsman. He stuck the cigarette in his left hand and reached out his right to cup the back of Zoro's neck. The sudden touch sent a chill down Zoro's spine. "No, you're not," he mumbled back, playing with the ends of Zoro's hair. "Your chest's been heaving like that since you stepped out of the damn elevator."

Zoro chuckled humourlessly. Sanji finished off the cigarette and smushed the end of it under his shoe. His left hand snaked to Zoro's, tenderly taking it and pulling it close to his chest. Zoro was tugged closer in the process. The cook traced his thumb along the front of Zoro's hand. "How do you do that..." Sanji began, almost laughing between his words. "...that thing you were doing earlier? You did it when... when I was-"

Zoro cleared his throat and guided Sanji's thumb to the centre of his palm. Their foreheads bumped lightly as Sanji pressed the pad of his thumb into Zoro's hand.

"Like that?" Sanji breathed, massaging the palm of his hand. Zoro's face heated up as he nodded.

He didn't dare look up. His eyes stayed trained on their hands, unsure of what he'd do if he let himself look at any other part of the man in front of him. He hated how each touch from Sanji left him wanting another. He hated how enticing Sanji's lips had become, how soft and inviting his skin was. He hated how badly he wanted to look up into Sanji's big blue eyes, even just for a second. Most of all, he hated how the pressure from Sanji's thumb was helping Zoro even out his breathing and cool off his brain. He wasn't having a million worrying thoughts a second anymore. It had gone down to only one: the man in front of him.

The man in question spoke again, breaking Zoro out of his head. "Diamante's watching us," he whispered. Zoro glanced to the side, and sure enough, the Aerosmith wannabe was lingering far in the room, staring holes through the balcony windows. Zoro quickly looked away, instead dropping his head to press his forehead into Sanji's shoulder.

"Let him watch," Zoro replied. His free hand slipped to Sanji's waist. He couldn't help but smile a little. It was probably childish how much potentially pissing Diamante off improved his mood, but he didn't care. He wanted him to know that Sanji, or "Jean," was his, even though that wasn't true. He wanted Diamante to know that he couldn't have him.

"Mr. Wrinoko," Sanji began teasingly, "are you threatened by Diamante?"

Zoro scoffed. "You wish."

Sanji leaned his cheek against the top of Zoro's head. 

"Why don't we give him something to look at?"

Zoro's heart skipped a damn beat. He lifted his head, furrowing his brows as he scanned Sanji's face for any hint of hesitation. There was none that he could see—Sanji was far better at this undercover thing than Zoro had given him credit for—but he needed to be positive. He leaned close and brushed his nose against the cook's, making it look as affectionate as he could manage. He opened his mouth to speak.

Sanji's lips were on his before he could get a word out. The soft warmth against his mouth made any thoughts of hesitation and worry melt away. His shoulders relaxed as he leaned into the cook, gripped his shirt, and pulled him closer. He tried to stay focused, tried not to lose himself in the moment like the last time, but he couldn't help it. Sanji's touch quickly became all he knew. Nothing inside mattered—not the woman from the crime scene, or the man they were performing for. Not the number of people waiting for their return, some of whom they'd likely have to kill before they could return home. All that mattered was Sanji.

The cook tugged Zoro's head back gently and began trailing his lips down his jaw, his neck, down to his collarbone, and back up. His touched skin burned with longing. He shuddered in Sanji's arms, damn near whimpering. He'd probably think himself pathetic if he weren't so lost in the feeling.

He let himself be greedy. He untucked Sanji's dress shirt from his pants to give him access to his back. His hand slipped under the fabric, palm relishing in the soft warmth of the cook's skin. Sanji, in turn, sucked a shaky breath through his teeth and ran his hand down Zoro's chest, fingers grazing each button of his shirt, taunting him. Zoro's mind ran wild with impossible scenarios—Sanji's mouth on his chest. Sanji's skin against his own. Sanji putting his loud, agitating voice to good use by making some rich, unholy noises in Zoro's ear. 

Sanji's teeth tugged gently at Zoro's earrings, and the swordsman nearly came undone. The closeness was quickly becoming too much for Zoro to handle. He was barely holding onto his dignity by a thread. He pulled back to look the cook in the eye. "Wanna get out of here?" he asked.

Something flickered in Sanji's eyes. The cook brought a hand to Zoro's face, cupping his jaw tenderly. Zoro shuddered as Sanji ran his thumb against Zoro's lips. "More than anything," the cook breathed. Zoro couldn't understand how he managed to stay in character throughout all of that.

Sanji took Zoro's hand in his own and guided him back inside. They weaved through the room, offering quick goodbyes to anyone who stopped them. They brushed past a fuming Diamante, and Zoro couldn't help but smirk. Hope you enjoyed the show, he wanted to say. It took the remainder of his willpower to bite his tongue.

Sanji brought them to the door and into the hallway. It was noticeably quieter there than in Doflamingo's room. The silence helped Zoro regain his clarity. They walked hand in hand to the elevator, and Zoro prepared himself for the switch to shut off. They'd walk into the elevator, Sanji would drop his hand, and they'd work on pretending to forget the feeling of each other's lips. Sanji pressed the down button. The elevator door opened with a ding. They walked inside.

Zoro let go as the door closed. He crossed his arms and leaned against the elevator wall, staring into a corner. He didn't speak, didn't look in Sanji's direction. He barely even let himself think, instead focusing on his breathing. He didn't want to dwell on Sanji's touch. It was a fleeting thing, after all. Something he only got in the presence of the enemy. It was better that way, he told himself. No point in getting used to it if they'll go back to hating each other's presence the moment they finish the mission. 

Sanji cleared his throat, pulling Zoro's focus from the heaving of his chest. The cook's face was flushed, and his eyes bore into the floor. He opened his mouth to speak.

"It'll be a one-time thing," Sanji began, voice barely above a whisper. "Got it, shit swordsman?"

They were on each other before Zoro could finish nodding.

Chapter Text

Zoro's shirt barely made it to their room. Sanji made quick work of the buttons as they stumbled out of the elevator, only pausing to open their door. By the time it closed behind them, the fabric had fallen from Zoro's shoulders. Zoro's breath hitched as the cook ran his hands down Zoro's torso, hooking his fingers through his belt loops and tugging the swordsman closer.

Their lips clashed together messily, more fiery than they'd even been for a crowd. Zoro grunted into Sanji's mouth and grabbed onto his hips for dear life. He could feel Sanji hardening against him, which did nothing to calm down his own erection. Sanji mumbled incoherently against Zoro's lips and pushed him into a wall, pressing their chests together. The fabric of Sanji's shirt provoked Zoro. Why should he get to keep his shirt on? He needed it gone. He grabbed the collar and tore it in two, relishing the fury in Sanji's eyes as the buttons popped and scattered across the floor.

"That was a nice shirt, you pig-headed—"

"You wanted to know how I fuck, stupid cook," Zoro taunted, smiling wickedly. Sanji's face went a delicious shade of red. He sputtered out exasperated noises in place of any real retorts. It only fuelled Zoro's fire. The swordsman leaned in, brushing his lips against Sanji's ear as he mumbled, "How do you want me?"

"Fuck," the cook breathed, quickly throwing in a sharp, "Shut up," when Zoro chuckled at the gentle declaration. "I've never— I don't know, idiot." Sanji's hand snaked through Zoro's hair and tugged. The swordsman nipped at the cook's earlobe in retaliation. The whine that came from Sanji's mouth was like straight heroin to the ears. "Our files didn't... didn't exactly cover this—"

"Screw the files."

Zoro pulled back, grabbing Sanji's chin like a piece of paper. The cook's lips parted, and it took a lot of self-control for Zoro to resist slipping his thumb into that mouth. The whole ordeal called for all of Zoro's willpower—it was a damn miracle that they still had their pants on.

"You ever taken anything in the ass before?" 

Sanji's embarrassed sputtering was back. Zoro found it far more amusing than he should have. The cook jabbed his finger into Zoro's chest as he continued stumbling over nonsense noises, until he finally managed to hiss, "No, idiot!"

Zoro hummed back. His eyes ran down the cook's exposed torso as he thought to himself. As fun as breaking in the cook's ass sounded—and what a perfect opportunity he had to gain some elite taunting material for the rest of their lives—he knew how impractical it was. It had been a while since he'd topped, and he wasn't exactly known for being gentle on the rare occasion that he did. Besides, Zoro wasn't about to complain about having to take a cock.

"Alright," Zoro began, reaching down to undo Sanji's dress pants. "You're topping, then."

Sanji twitched in his pants, and Zoro couldn't help but laugh. "Shut up, stupid swordsman," Sanji sneered. He leaned in and captured Zoro's mouth with his own, no doubt trying to shut him up. The cook fiddled with Zoro's belt, unbuckling it swiftly. Something brewed in the bottom of Zoro's stomach as Sanji pulled back from the kiss, pressing his forehead to Zoro's shoulder and watching himself work at undressing Zoro's bottom half. "You have no room to talk with this..." he panted as he continued, "...this tent you're pitching."

"Maybe I'm thinkin' 'bout the doctor," Zoro retorted. Of course, he wasn't thinking about Law. Not really. Law would never put so much work into the buildup—the closest they got to foreplay was barstool banter. Sanji was sloppy with his hands and mouth, the exact opposite of coordinated, efficient Law. Zoro couldn't close his eyes and replace one with the other, even if he wanted to. He just wanted to get Sanji all riled up.

He expected a kick in retaliation for that comment, so he was pleasantly surprised when Sanji's leg only moved to push against Zoro's hard-on. The unexpected feeling elicited a groan from the swordsman, and now the cook was the one chuckling.

"No," he muttered, still looking down at his handiwork. "This is all me."

Holy shit, that's hot. 

Zoro grabbed the back of Sanji's head and clashed their lips together hungrily. He pushed off the wall, and the two of them began stumbling towards the bed, determined to keep devouring each other as they moved. Sanji stumbled when they walked into the mattress. He fell back onto his elbows, shirt falling from his shoulders, and legs parted for Zoro to stand between. It was an image straight out of a painting. Or a porno. Maybe both. Regardless, Zoro stood and drank up the sight for a solid few seconds before diving back in. 

Sanji's pants were the next thing to come off. Zoro roughly tugged them down past the cook's knees, eager to unwrap him completely. Once Sanji began kicking them off himself, Zoro turned his focus to his shirt. Well, that and that untouched neck of his. Zoro pressed a hot, toothy kiss to the crook of the cook's neck as he slid his hand down Sanji's arm, taking his sleeve along with him. Sanji sucked in a shaky breath as he let Zoro pull off more and more of his clothes. Zoro nipped and sucked at Sanji's skin, then pulled back to admire the dark spot forming at his point of attack.

The physical proof of his presence against Sanji's neck distracted him long enough for the cook to hook his knee between their chests and use it to flip Zoro onto his back, pinning him down. Excitement coursed through Zoro as the cook glared down at him. "You're enjoying this too much, asshole," Sanji grumbled. He grabbed Zoro's smug face roughly, and the swordsman grinned back.

"Oh, like you're not horny out of your damn mind," Zoro shot back, squirming in Sanji's grip just enough to provoke him. Taking the bait, Sanji's knee dug harder into his chest.

"Do you ever shut up?"

"Thought you wanted me to talk you through it."

Sanji scowled, but removed his leg. He quickly finished working on Zoro's pants, pulling them down just as Zoro had done to him. His delicate hand ran up Zoro's leg, pausing at the thigh to give it a firm squeeze before trailing up to his boxers. His fingers hooked underneath the waistband, and the throbbing in Zoro's pants became borderline painful. It had been weeks since he'd had even a minute of true privacy—he had a lot pent up. He was only slightly worried about how long he'd last tonight. He bit back a groan as Sanji slowly tugged at the thin fabric, slipping it down past his hips until his cock was inches away from springing out. 

Sanji pulled back abruptly. Agonizing desire shuddered through Zoro's body, but he refused to show it on his face. He propped himself up on his hands and cocked his head, furrowing his brow. "You good?"

"Yeah, I've just—" Sanji stopped himself, chewing on his lip with a frown. He began moving to the bathroom. "One sec."

Sanji disappeared into the washroom. Zoro's eyes stayed fixed on the bathroom door as he awaited the cook's return. First, he was concerned that Sanji might be chickening out, but the sound of the cook rummaging around in bathroom drawers squashed that thought. He was probably looking for lube, or something similar—gentleman that he is, he'd never dream of using his spit alone. Even for a man, Zoro supposed. The swordsman settled back on the bed and waited (mostly un)patiently.

"Cover your eyes," Sanji called from the washroom. Zoro scrunched up his nose, but obeyed, slinging his arm over his eyes. He could hear Sanji approaching without the cook announcing himself.

"Stage fright?"

Zoro grinned a toothy grin as he taunted the cook, who kicked his shin in response. Sanji's fingers returned to their place at Zoro's stomach, sending jolts of electricity from their fingertips as they toyed with the swordsman's boxers.

"Just don't wanna see your face, stupid moss."

His fingers began tugging at Zoro's boxers again. Zoro lifted his hips just before Sanji pulled the fabric below Zoro's cock.

"What happened to Mossy?" The swordsman teased. For a beat, no response came. The silence lasted long enough for him to debate peeking over his arm, but not long enough for him to actually do it. Sanji's hand shoved one of Zoro's legs, forcing them further apart.

"You're a real asshole, you know that?"

"Less yapping, more prepping." 

"Alright, alright." Sanji's hand left Zoro's leg. Silence followed. "...What do I do?"

Zoro chuckled, earning him another foot to the leg. "You've gotta work me open with your fingers." When he didn't hear any movement, he continued. "You have fingered someone before—?"

"Yes, I've fingered somebody before, dumbass."

"Well, I'm not feelin' any fingers, so—"

A snap echoed through the room, followed by a squelch. "So impatient..." the cook grumbled under his breath. Zoro could hear some shuffling, then nearly yelped when he felt the cook's arms hook under his thighs and pull him closer to the edge of the bed. "Okay," he muttered softly. Zoro twitched involuntarily when he felt the cook positioning his fingers at his entrance. "Three, two—"

It really had been a while since Zoro had gotten any. His ass stung the second Sanji's first finger plunged inside. The swordsman gritted his teeth and bit back a groan. Luckily, the stinging turned quickly into pleasure as the cook pumped his finger slowly in and out. "Okay, good," he managed to say without moaning like a whore. "You can... add another when you're ready."

"Okay. Okay, yeah." Sanji inhaled deeply and pushed another finger inside. Zoro's hips jerked involuntarily, and he cursed under his breath. It took everything in him not to whine when Sanji's fingers froze inside of him. "Is this— are you okay?" The cook asked, concern coating his typically aggravated voice.

"Peachy," Zoro grunted back. He forced his body to settle back into the mattress. The cook's fingers resumed their tauntingly slow strokes, taking their sweet time working Zoro open. He shocked the swordsman by adding a third digit entirely of his own accord, no prompting needed. That's good, Zoro thought, his hips bucking once again. He's getting comfortable with it. That's good.

Sanji's fingers were slim and delicate, but that didn't make Zoro feel any less full. Each penetration made his head feel fuzzier. It became harder to hide his pleasure each time he felt Sanji's knuckles go in and out of him. He could feel his resolve slipping through his fingers, despite how hard he tried to clench his first around it.

When a moan escaped his throat, he heard Sanji chuckle.  "Enjoying yourself?" The cook teased.

Zoro opened his mouth to fire an insult back, but Sanji curled his fingers inside of Zoro before any sharp words could be said. "Fuck you," he managed to groan, which only earned him another laugh. 

"You really are impatient, shit swordsman."

Sanji's retracted his touch, leaving Zoro feeling particularly empty. If he were a weak-minded man, he might have begged for it back. He may or may not have been considering it, anyways. The sound of the lube snapping open once again made Zoro's stomach flip in anticipation. There was something so agonizingly thrilling about laying there, eyes covered, waiting for whatever the cook decided to give him like a lamb up for slaughter. Sanji, the butcher, had him at his mercy.

He'd barely touched him, yet Zoro already couldn't get enough.

"Ready?" Sanji asked. Zoro could feel him begin to position himself at his entrance, and it absolutely delighted him.

"Let's get this over with."

Sanji's hands found Zoro's hips and pressed down on them as he pushed inside. Zoro was glad the cook made him cover his eyes— he didn't need to see them rolling back. Zoro's hands balled up into tight fists as Sanji filled him, erasing the ache of anticipation that had consumed him before. A delicious mix of pain and pleasure went up his spine and Sanji's base pressed against Zoro. The cook had enough sense to stay still and let Zoro adjust around him, luckily— the swordsman wasn't sure he could speak right now to tell him to do so. All he could do without letting out some embarrassing noise was breathe.

Sanji's hand left Zoro's hip and enclosed around his forearm, gently pulling it from his face. Sanji was an absolute vision hovering over Zoro, lazy-eyed and mouth hanging slightly ajar. The thought briefly crossed his mind that Sanji may have been right; maybe Zoro was enjoying this too much. The fleeting idea was quickly forgotten when the cook pinned Zoro's wrist to the mattress and squeezed his hip with his other hand.

"Ready?" he asked again, this time more strained than before. Zoro nodded, and he could've swore the cook smiled for a second. At least he wasn't the only one enjoying himself more than he should.

Zoro damn near lost himself the second Sanji started thrusting into him. His large, rough hands, that up until quite recently only laid themselves on the man before him in arguments, pawed at Sanji's arms in desperate need of something to hold onto, to stabilize him. His nails dug into the cook's skin and left pretty pink claw marks behind. Sanji was big, no doubt, but he was skilled, damn it. He rolled his hips as he moved inside of Zoro, hands roaming the swordsman's bare torso as he worked himself inside of him. That fuzzy feeling in Zoro's head was all-consuming now. The only coherent thought rattling in his head was about how lucky the women who've given this fool a chance must've been if this is even close to what his past experiences were like.

"Fuck," Sanji groaned, dropping his head on the mattress just above Zoro's shoulder. Their chests were touching now— really touching, sweat mixing with sweat as their skin rubbed tightly against each other. Zoro wrapped his arms around Sanji to claw at his back before he could stop himself. He moaned pathetically, expecting an insult of some sort, but Sanji replied only by laughing and planting a sloppy kiss on Zoro's shoulder. 

Sanji's thrusts were getting more uncoordinated by the second, which was probably a good thing— Zoro was getting embarrassingly close. He whined when Sanji propped himself up on his palm, breaking their close skin-to-skin contact. That whine transformed into something louder and more shameless— add that to the list of embarrassing things he'd done in less than an hour— when Sanji's free hand wrapped itself around Zoro's cock, pumping as he pounded into him. His orgasm came crashing down on him before he knew it, spilling into the cook's perfect hand. 

From the way the cook was moving, he wasn't far behind Zoro. Sharp, messy thrusts sent overstimulating pleasure coursing through the swordsman's bones and turned his brain to mush. He couldn't think, could barely breathe. All he was was this moment. All he could feel was Sanji's body against him. All he could hear was Sanji's erotic, unintelligible blabbering.

The cook's head fell to Zoro's shoulder once again. His moans vibrated against the crook of Zoro's neck. His clean hand brushed up Zoro's torso until it reached his neck, cupping it gently. Zoro flopped his head to the side, eyes only half open as they found Sanji's. "God damnit," Sanji huffed, punctuating each syllable with a thrust. His nose bumped against's Zoro's and his hand snaked into Zoro's hair, gripping it tightly. Zoro could tell he was only holding on by a thread. "I'm gonna— fuck, Zo—"

Zoro's lips caught Sanji's mid sentence, devouring him as he spilled into his condom. The cook shook and cried out beautifully into Zoro's mouth. Zoro's stomach dropped for just a second when he realized he'd never hear that perfect noise again. Sanji went limp on top of him, their lips broke apart, and they laid there in silence as they both came down from their respective highs. Sanji was panting heavily right next to Zoro's ear, which would've pissed him off in any other scenario. Now, though, his head was so foggy and the sound was soothing, in a way. 

The cook was the first to move, carefully pushing himself off of Zoro and pulling himself out of him. He walks wordlessly to the washroom, and Zoro heard the tap start to run. Zoro stared at the crumpled up sheets where Sanji once laid. He didn't move an inch until the water shut off, and even then, all he could force himself to do was sit up. He pressed his elbows to his knees and gently rested his face in his hands just before the cook reemerged. He expected Sanji to head to the balcony for a smoke without a word, so he jumped a little when he felt those delicate hands wrapping around his forearms.

Zoro curled his fingers into his palms and opened his eyes. Sanji's lips were pressed together tight, and his stupid eyebrows were furrowed in a way that was becoming increasingly more familiar to Zoro. "You good, Mosshead?" he asked softly, as if afraid Zoro would break. 

"I should be asking you that."

It came out a lot quieter than he meant it to. He slid his hands to the back of his neck and tried to find any hint of regret in the cook's face. Sanji laughed, and Zoro's shoulders felt a little bit lighter. If he did regret any of it, he was very, very good at hiding it.

"I'm fine, promise." His hands squeezed Zoro's forearms reassuringly. His soft smile twitched as he continued. "I mean, it's just sex. Not... not the end of the world."

Zoro's throat tightened as he nodded.

Sanji's hands fell into his lap and the cook stood up. "I'm going out for a smoke," he said.

Zoro cleared his throat and nodded once again. Sanji sidestepped, heading towards their crumpled clothes on the floor. It was then Zoro realized that Sanji had put his boxers back on at some point. The cook looked through the pile and found his pants, pulling them on. Then, to Zoro's surprise, he threw Zoro's clothes at him. "Get changed and join me," he said. Then, he walked out to the balcony.

What the fuck is happening right now?