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According to the wonderful Nami-swan and the residents of the town they have docked in, this island is heart-shaped. Named Cupido, and with much of its land and plantlife having similarly heart-structured appearance, it doesn’t come as a surprise to anyone –Sanji the least – that their culture knows to appreciate the romance and pure, intense affection between people.
Though the abundance of aphrodisiacs is a little surprising, he’ll admit.
Aphrodisiacs in fruit and vegetables. In candy. In small bottles, in big bottles. In smelling salts.
In cigarettes.
Sanji’s heart sings and he trots along the street dizzily, all of his blood collected in the crotch of his pants since he took a sniff of some essential oils for laundry. Around him, people cling to each other, exchanging kisses, their hands wandering below belts and underneath blouses and skirts. The indecency makes Sanji blush, thoughts straying to their lovely ladies, perhaps equally in the mood and waiting for him on the ship.
The log pose will set in the morning and the crew has rented out rooms in an inn, desperate to sleep on the firm ground every once in a while – but, well, maybe they would prefer the familiarity of the Thousand Sunny, where they could coo Sanji’s name without any regard of their volume.
Sanji practically skips up the gangplank, the fresh sea air cooling the heat on his cheeks and providing some clarity to his arousal-clouded mind. He feels his heart thumping all the way down to his toes, light and fluttery, and lights up – one of his usual, only nicotine-laced cigarettes – while his thoughts drip and filter out the horniness as if drained through a carafe.
Nami-swan and Robin-chan are in town. Most likely still exploring, and surely far more careful than Sanji has been in inspecting the local goods at the market.
He scratches his nose with his thumb, letting the smoke conceal and flush out the sweet scent lingering inside his nostrils. He’s been poking around so many things that he feels like one big, human-shaped flower, smelling like a meadow.
On the horizon, the sun is setting, sinking slowly into the ocean like a molten orange orb, and Sanji figures – since he’s here already – he might as well bake something.
He checks the meat he prepped earlier, dipping a finger into the sweet-spicy marinade to check if it’s still up to his standards, and then goes into the pantry. They’ve stocked up on all of their usual stuff, and Sanji takes the containers of strawberries in his hands, thinking that the crew will appreciate strawberry pie for dessert tomorrow.
He makes the dough for the crust from scratch, willing his boner to go down as he works. It’s a losing battle with his body, and he gives it up soon enough. He focuses on separating a portion of the strawberries for the filling and leaves the rest to glaze tomorrow while the pies will be baking. They would taste the best completely fresh, but they’ll be delicious even out of the fridge and pre-prepared.
Just as he’s locking up the fridge, he hears footsteps stomping across the deck.
It’s Zoro, striding towards the crow’s nest. There’s something just a little off in his posture, in the way he moves, and Sanji realizes that he must be drunk.
Naturally, Mr. I-don’t-get-drunk would want to conceal his drunkenness and where else would he go to hide if not here?
A smile curls Sanji’s lips as he waits for Zoro to close the hatch after himself before leaving the galley to sneak to the ladder and climb up. He wants to lord this over Zoro for the rest of the time and he needs Zoro to be aware of it.
He lifts the hatch slowly and snickers to himself when he sees Zoro sprawled on the floor on his front, limbs all starfished. Even better, when he climbs in, he realizes that Zoro is rolling his hips against the ground.
He is horny .
Sanji doesn’t even care that his own dick is tenting his slacks right now, this is priceless.
He nudges the hatch door with his foot and it falls closed with a bang that makes Zoro freeze.
Snickering, Sanji asks, “Is this what you’ve come to, Marimo? I know mold grows on the ground, but humping the floor?”
He expects an insult and an attack – not for Zoro to look at him over his shoulder, red-faced and glassy-eyed, and sigh longingly.
Well, it’s probably more of a groan of dismay, but Sanji’s dick can’t tell the difference in the moment. It twitches at the sight and Sanji swallows.
“What did you take?” He asks incredulously.
Zoro groans again and buries his face back into the floor. He pulls a hand from under himself – he must have been touching himself with it, Sanji realizes, hungrily watching the wet shine on his fingers as he starts patting the floor around him – and rolls a half-liter, dark purple glass bottle in Sanji’s direction.
Sanji stops it with his shoe and uses the tip of it to roll it from side to side as he reads the label. Concentrated fruit aphrodisiac.
“Drink diluted two drops per two deciliters,” he says out loud. The bottle is empty.
He looks at Zoro. “You moron,” he tells him. “You drank it all, didn’t you?”
It speaks volumes that Zoro only nods weakly. His fingers twitch against the floorboards and his legs flex. Sanji finds himself staring at the inviting curve of his ass underneath his pants and robe and takes the freedom to adjust himself while Zoro’s not paying attention.
It’s a bit of a mistake because Sanji ends up having trouble removing his hand, pressing the palm against the outline of his dick to relieve the pressure.
He exhales and some of that aphrodisiac he inhaled must still be lingering in his head because he licks his lips and goes to crouch by Zoro’s head.
When his hand touches the back of Zoro’s flushed neck, Zoro moans, curving into it like Sanji’s a balm to his scorching hot skin. He’s damp with sweat, and his heartbeat hammers worryingly fast and strong under Sanji’s thumb on his pulse point.
“Shit, could you die from this?” He asks out loud.
“‘M not gonna die, sh’tty cook,” Zoro slurs, rolling his forehead across the floorboards.
“I wouldn’t bet on it,” Sanji responds. After a second of pondering, he adds, “I’m gonna take your coat off.”
Zoro grumbles something ineligible, flapping his arms in small, feeble motions. Sanji wrestles them out of the sleeves with effort, tugging the fabric from his shoulders and back, but it gets stuck around his waist, his sash looped around who knows how many times.
Sanji curses at it, and then rolls Zoro to his back and drags him into a sitting position. When Zoro moves, his tits follow gravity and spill into two supple mounds, his nipples reddened and hard. Sanji remembers when he used to bind his chest all the time before their reunion on Sabaody, and kind of wishes he never stopped. Because this is horribly distracting.
Sanji’s dick throbs and Zoro falls limply against him. Sanji kneels between his open legs and puts his hands around Zoro’s waist, groaning when he sees that he’s still wearing that awful haramaki underneath. Leave it to the guy with the simplest wardrobe to make it the most difficult to undress him.
Sanji focuses on the knot tying the sash and resolutely ignores Zoro’s chest pressing against his ribs as well as Zoro’s unbuckled pants – and to his utter surprise the fact that Zoro is actually not going commando for once.
“Excellent timing to put on underwear, I have to say,” he says sarcastically.
“Don–don’t fuckin’ look at my dick,” Zoro tells him, weakly fisting at his blazer.
“If you wrinkle it, I will kill you,” Sanji warns and feels Zoro’s arms strain to close his fists even tighter, but with no success.
With a huff, his hands fall away, and Sanji finally unwraps the sash and throws it to the side. He opens the robe all the way and leaves Zoro to sit on it, tackling the next issue – the haramaki.
Zoro makes a grumbling noise in his throat, pawing at Sanji’s forearms, and then says, “Perv,” when Sanji accidentally presses his crotch against Zoro’s stomach in their tussle.
As if burned, Sanji yanks the haramaki over Zoro's head, screams, “This is not because of you!” and lets him sprawl on the floor again.
Zoro’s head thunks against the wooden boards and Sanji winces slightly. It’s fine, Zoro’s got a thick head anyway.
Sanji is so hard it’s starting to hurt and if he doesn’t do something about it soon, coming in his pants will become a humiliating possibility.
Unpredictably, this lack of clothing barrier doesn’t seem to have any effect on Zoro’s fever – it only gives him the opportunity to grope at his now exposed chest. His fingers sink into the soft flesh and Sanji is struck with jealousy that makes his vision turn as green as that marimo’s stupid hair.
“H-hey,” he protests weakly, eyes like saucers glued to where Zoro’s flesh bulges slightly between his fingers.
Zoro grumbles dismissively, his hips jerking up, his boots scraping against the floor as he humps the air.
Sanji’s throat is dry, his body washed over with heat like he’s the one dripping with sweat and flushed a deep red, and not Zoro. His dick pulses with need and Sanji’s resolve and decency crumble to the ground like ashes.
The sound of his belt unbuckling chimes out in the room, and Zoro rolls his head across the floorboards, looking up at him blearily.
“Shut up,” Sanji groans, thumbing his slacks open and pulling down the zipper – even though Zoro doesn’t seem like he can string a coherent sentence or an insult right now.
He looks like it takes effort to even swallow, his eyes tracing aimless shapes on the ceiling, anything except for the mindless groping and humping is beyond him at the moment.
“Fuck,” Sanji says, crawling on his knees over Zoro. “Do you even know what your name is?”
“You’r’ a dick,” Zoro croaks. Then, “‘S Zoro.”
“Wrong, it’s idiot mosshead,” Sanji tells him, but secretly he’s feeling slightly relieved. But still, he feels like he should be doing something. His skin thrums like he could implode any moment now, his mind is cloudy and slow, and he can only imagine what it’s like for Zoro.
He doesn’t know what to do. They only told them that aphrodisiacs need to be worked out of the system, and there’s only one thing that he can think of to do that.
He licks his lips, his willpower hanging on by a thread to keep him from grinding his hips against Zoro’s.
“Hey,” he says. “Uh, do you–fuck. We need to flush the aphrodisiac out of you.”
Zoro makes a vague noise of agreement, blinking lazily.
“We have to…you know,” Sanji says, clearing his throat. “ You know. ”
“Huh?” Zoro asks, completely lost.
“Fuck,” Sanji grits out, his body breaking out in goosebumps at the mere thought. Hot wet warm echoes through his head on repeat, Zoro’s skin radiating heat into the space between them.
Zoro moans and his eyes spark up, blinking at Sanji like he’s not the one to blame for all of this. Moron, just chugging down whatever he can get his hands on.
“You good with that?” Sanji asks him. Though, he’s not entirely sure Zoro would refuse even if he wasn’t okay with it. He’s acting desperate and wanton, like the slightest breeze would make him come and any cock would be the perfect one to stretch his pussy on, to fill him and wreck him–
Sanji’s getting ahead of himself.
“I’m–yeah. Yeah, I’m good,” Zoro slurs, and his face turns a deeper red than Sanji thought was possible.
He doesn’t waste time after those words, his own heartbeat impatient and buzzing in his veins. He strips Zoro out of his pants and underwear, putting in just enough effort to pull off one of his boots and free one of his legs from the mess of fabric. It gives him what he wants – free, open space between Zoro’s legs, where Zoro’s dick waits for him, wet and engorged, flushing with arousal. Sanji has seen Zoro naked before – but never hard.
His mouth salivates and he dives down, licking a line from his entrance to his dick, and almost gets his nose broken by Zoro’s pelvis when he bucks into Sanji’s mouth, whining and gasping at the sudden attention. He tastes unnaturally sweet, and Sanji puts his hands over Zoro’s hips to keep him in place while he goes in for a second taste.
Zoro’s legs trash around his head, holding him in a vice, but Sanji’s kept at the perfect spot to suck Zoro’s dick in his mouth and teasingly tongue at his hole, straining to lap at his floral, honeyed slick. Zoro moans loudly, his hands suddenly grabbing at the back of Sanji’s shirt, desperately bunching up the fabric in his fists. Sanji is tempted to get him off like this – and he’s probably not far from succeeding in it – if only to gloat about it later. But his dick demands attention and begs for touch, and Sanji doesn’t have enough restraint to ignore it any longer.
He pushes against Zoro’s thighs to spread them again and gives one last indulgent lick over Zoro’s wet, drooling hole, and then straightens up, shoving his own clothes down. His dick springs up, slapping against his stomach and smearing precome on the dress shirt he couldn’t bother to take off.
He wraps a hand around it and moans, throwing his head back. Shit. He’s not even doing anything and it already feels so good.
“God…shit–” He groans and looks down at Zoro. “You’re still good with this?”
Zoro’s got his eyes glued on Sanji’s dick, his pupils like marbles, and just nods.
“Oi,” Sanji calls sharply, even though he secretly preens. “Verbal confirmation or I’ll leave you to die of blue balls.”
Zoro scowls at him. “Quit bein’ a bastard and fuck me already,” he spits out. He squirms on the floor, arm thrown over his eyes, and reaches down to spread his folds. “Come on, cook,” he says, defeated and edged with a whine, and Sanji can’t resist it.
He shoves forward, their hands brushing as he leads his dick to Zoro’s entrance, and both of their hands are too warm, their knuckles too damp with sweat. He slides in like Zoro’s made for him, all snug, wet heat and pulsing walls, whimpering and groaning as their hips slot together.
“Mmm, yes, yes, yes–” Zoro chants weakly, lifting his hips off the ground to get closer.
Sanji folds over him, all of his strength clenched in his belly and legs, and mouths at the bare, burning skin of Zoro’s neck. Even his sweat tastes sugary, like sucking on snapdragon flowers, and once Sanji got a taste, he couldn’t stop.
He sucks on Zoro’s skin while Zoro moans under him, their hips rocking together, pleasure like a bucket full of water, rocking from side to side and slowly overflowing.
They both breathe shaky and harsh, like it comes second to the addictive sway of their bodies, the air around them cloying and thick with the sticky fragrance of the aphrodisiacs they’ve consumed. There are wet, messy sounds of their flesh meeting and when Sanji briefly resurfaces from leaving hickeys along Zoro’s overheated skin, his eyes automatically fall to where they’re joined. Where his dick is sliding in and out of Zoro’s pussy, slick and precome making a sloppy, shiny mess out of them both.
“Oh, fuck,” he mutters to himself, his pace picking up, the coil of arousal and building pleasure twisting up inside of him.
Zoro makes a noise like a mewl at the change in rhythm, his legs wrapping around Sanji’s waist and pulling him in, clinging onto Sanji like his life depends on it. Sanji bends down again, called in by the soft jiggle of Zoro’s chest, and takes one of his nipples in his mouth, sucking and flicking his tongue against the stiff bud.
Zoro howls, pawing at him, tangling his fingers in Sanji’s hair, and Sanji’s hips snap against him harder in response. He didn’t expect Zoro to be this sensitive. He didn’t expect Zoro to sound so pretty, begging, “ Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck, yes, please don’t stop– ”
It’s only normal, he thinks deliriously, that Zoro has manners in the most inappropriate situations.
His hips slap against Zoro’s skin with each thrust, every next one harder and faster than the last, fucking into Zoro’s burning, liquid heat. He feels like he wants to crawl inside Zoro with a disturbing, acute need, grinding his hips against Zoro’s crotch to get in as deep as he possibly could.
Sanji snakes a hand between the floor and Zoro’s neck and cups a palm over his nape possessively, leaving little nips and rose petal hickeys over his chest. His mouth is full of Zoro’s taste, like a sweet glaze over his tongue, and Sanji wets two of his fingers in it before reaching between their bodies. They close around Zoro’s dick and Sanji starts jerking him off with mean, tight little movements, fucking him at both ends while Zoro wails, his hands clutching onto Sanji’s shoulders and his thighs shaking against Sanji’s waist.
His hole is clenching around Sanji’s dick like a fucking suction cup, and when he starts coming, Sanji feels it. He pulls off Zoro’s abused, reddened nipple and leans up to slot their mouths together. Their kiss is sloppy and uncoordinated, but Sanji keeps kissing him, drinking up the gasps and sighs and moans that climb out of Zoro’s throat. He tastes like the most delicious dessert that Sanji has ever tasted in his life, and when his own climax starts clawing at his belly, he ducks down to close his mouth around the supple flesh where Zoro’s neck meets his shoulder. He sinks his teeth in, his mind cloudy, needy, calling to him like he wants to take a bite.
Zoro hisses, clenching around him, milking every shot of come Sanji pumps into him, and shakes with the remains of his own orgasm.
They lay in the silence for a long while, tangled up and motionless.
Sanji’s mind clears up in slow waves, like the aftershocks that still rock through him. He shivers with the evening chill and sees the same goosebumps rise over Zoro’s skin.
The moron will probably live.
Sanji rolls off of him and they both freeze at the wet pop of his softening dick leaving Zoro’s hole.
In sync, they sit up and watch Sanji’s spend spill out of Zoro’s hole. Ah.
Sanji’s sinuses pulse with a tell-tale warning of a nosebleed, and when he looks at Zoro, he hunches his shoulders sheepishly around his ears.
There’s no hint of arousal left on Zoro’s face, and while that means he will definitely live, the look in his eyes tells Sanji that he won’t.
At least it was worth it.