Hallo! This is my first foray into writing for One Piece. I hope the characterization isn't too bad! :D

Warning: Language. A lot. But you knew that, because this story is about Zoro and Sanji. XD

Disclaimer: I do not own One Piece.


Sanji unlocked the door to the apartment wearily. It was late, almost eleven. He'd had to work the dinner shift again. Well, he wasn't complaining. The pay was good and the food was even better. Challenging. Enjoyable.

But it meant he was always coming home too late to eat with his boyfriend.

He shook his head. Zoro was probably asleep by now, the slacker. He felt a smile twitching at his lips as he carefully removed his shoes and placed them on the shelf by the door. The marimo would be sprawled on the couch, or maybe even on the bed. God knew how many times Sanji had told him not to wait up.

He walked into the apartment proper, stretching and slinging his apron onto the back of one of the kitchen chairs. Yep. Zoro was there on the sofa. He could see the fuzz of green hair over the back of the seat. He walked around to the front of the couch and grinned. Zoro's head was thrown back and he'd flung one arm over the side. He'd be losing feeling soon if he hadn't already. Sanji chuckled and climbed onto the couch beside him.

"Stupid marimo… Are you sleeping?" He poked Zoro's forehead rather firmly. "I told you to go to bed."

"I wanted to wait, obviously," muttered Zoro, grabbing Sanji's wrist before the cook could jab him again. He opened his eyes and took in Sanji's smirk before kissing him roughly on the jaw. "Nn. You smell like seafood."

"Coconut shrimp," the cook clarified, pulling away. He flopped down across the full length of the couch. "It was a special tonight. I'll shower in a minute."

"It smells good," said Zoro, examining Sanji's feet, lying carelessly in his lap. He couldn't decide if he found them annoying or not. "Better than smoke." He decided to let the feet stay.

"All you do is complain," complained Sanji, but he left his cigarette unlit, content to chew on the end for a moment. He sighed. "S'good to be home."

"Mm." Zoro had sat back again and now glanced lazily at his lover. The blonde was undoing his tie with graceful fingers. He dropped it on the floor. "You're going to pick that up, right?" commented Zoro amusedly.

"You've become so domestic," murmured Sanji. "I knew you were trainable." He fended off Zoro's half-hearted smack and nudged the swordsman with his foot. "Here. Give me a massage."

"Girl." Zoro took the proffered ankle in his hands and started to rub, feeling Sanji's sharp bones under his skin.

"Jackass." But Sanji started to relax at last. The silence of the apartment was a relief after the hearty bustle of the Baratie's kitchen and he reveled in the luxury of personal space.

"You work too much," declared Zoro, his fingers now stroking at Sanji's heel.

"You don't work enough," the cook pointed out. His eyes were drifting shut and he draped a boneless arm over his face to shut out the low light of the floor lamp.

"Not many people want to learn the sword," replied Zoro indifferently. He shrugged. "Things will work out." He started to massage the arch of Sanji's foot.

The blonde twitched. "Nn… Don't do that," he mumbled, peering sleepily out from under his elbow.

Zoro paused. "Don't do what?"

"Tickle," said Sanji. "Don't tickle."

Zoro snorted incredulously, earning an irritated noise for his trouble. "You're kidding me." Sanji growled. "All right, all right. Don't get bitchy, Princess." He started the massage again, careful not to make his touch too light or irritating. Sanji kept half-jerking away, only to cautiously return his foot to Zoro grasp a few seconds later. It was annoying.

Zoro got an idea.

"So how's the old man?" he asked, gingerly moving one hand up to hold his boyfriend's ankle again. Sanji didn't pull away.

"Shitty old geezer… He hasn't died yet, at least. Kicked me into a couple of shelves today, the bastard. Just 'cause I told him his sauce was off. And it was, too." Sanji shifted. "He's such an ass!"

"Mm-hm." Zoro secured his grip on the cook ankle and wrapped the other hand around his toes. The blonde stiffened.

"…Zoro. What are you doing?" He tried to yank his leg away, but the marimo's grip was like iron.

"Tickling."

"Oh no. Let go of me right now you shitty-" The rest of the insult was lost in a somewhat unmanly shriek of laughter as Zoro began his assault. "S-stop, you shitty, ha ha, you shitty bastard! Arrg!" The limber cook writhed in Zoro's grip, clawing at the couch cushions in a futile attempt to get away. Unfortunately, Zoro did not relent.

"I am so going to kill you later," Sanji half-giggled, struggling to escape. He aimed a kick at Zoro's unprotected stomach, landing a good blow. The swordsman swore but continued to drive his lover mad drawing a finger down his foot. Sanji lashed out again, his free foot landing dangerously close to Zoro's groin.

Apparently, things had gone far enough. Zoro dumped the gasping man onto the floor.

"Ahaha-ow!" Sanji glared up from his rather undignified sprawl. "What was that for?"

"You kicked me."

"Man up, you shitty marimo! You assaulted me!" Sanji prodded his hip experimentally, checking for bruises. "You got what you deserved."

"You asked me to give you the massage, idiot." Zoro smirked.

"Obviously your brain isn't big enough to comprehend that I wanted only a massage." He got up from the floor, straightening his silk shirt. "You had to attack me, like the stupid… beast you are!"

"Attack? Oh, I haven't even begun." That was all the warning Sanji had before his lover launched himself off the sofa to tackle him, sending him to the ground again.

"I really hate you," snarled the blonde, hooking a leg around Zoro's knees and swinging him sideways, scrambling away. He tried to drop a kick onto the swordsman's lower back but was blocked by a muscled forearm.

"I get that a lot, bitch." Zoro took up a ready stance, facing off against Sanji across the coffee table. The low wooden table would probably be overturned before the night was over.

They spent a moment at standstill before they charged at each other, each grappling for an opening. Sanji succeeded in kneeing Zoro in the side, but received a punch on the arm for his trouble. Over and over they blocked and countered. Eventually they ended up wrestling on the rug, struggling for the upper hand.

"This is a pain in the ass," growled Sanji, his foot braced on Zoro's chest as he strained to keep the heavier man off of him.

"You're a pain in the ass," said Zoro, trying to pry Sanji's fingers off his shoulder.

Suddenly there was sharp banging on the floor. "You're BOTH pains in my ass!" came the crotchety shriek of the landlady. She thumped the ceiling with her broom again. "Do you know what time it is?! Hooligans!"

A moment passed.

"I'm not giving up," said Sanji. At almost the same time, Zoro tried to yank away, intent on creating another opening. A few minutes of vicious jabbing, smacking, and biting followed while they rolled around, knocking into things.

BANG. "Shut the fuck up! You'll both be at the curb tonight if I have to come up there!" And now the Stuarts were hitting their wall, as if those partiers had any right to talk.

"Shit," said Zoro.

"Mmph," agreed Sanji, his mouth full of Zoro's arm. He eased up on the biting. "Er. I think we should go to bed. I have work tomorrow."

"Right," said Zoro. "…That means you have to let go."

"…"

"…" Zoro growled and jabbed a finger into Sanji's side until the cook fell away in a mass of giggling. "You're a pansy. Let's go." He got up and pulled Sanji with him by the collar of the cook's shirt.

"Ow. Choking, here." The two went into the bedroom together. Zoro dropped Sanji on the bed and began to get undressed. "Arrg, you shitty marimo. I think you bruised my back."

"What do you want me to do about it?" grumbled Zoro, feeling his fatigue coming back. He sat down heavily beside Sanji and looked at the cook, unimpressed.

"…You could give me a massage."


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