Comments: Thanks to Ivy for helping me edit this. XD
Ratings: M… I guess.
It was dark and quiet inside the hold, only the Sunny's creaks disturbed the still air. That, and the small panted breaths that gave away the presence of two people in the room, closely pressed as they rocked together like they were one being.
Zoro leaned heavily against the cook's side, felt their sweat-slicked skin cool down together. The blond's warmth was a pleasant and welcome change to the biting cold that the Grandline presented them that night. Their pulse and breathing gradually slowed as they enjoyed the luxury of post-coital ceasefire of insults, choosing instead to appreciate the grainy press of the hardwood on their backs. Zoro could recall laying Sanji down on a small blanket but it did not withstand the intensity of their ... making love.
The swordsman could not help but smile at the thought and he reached out to take the chef's hand in his. He pressed his lips against it, cherishing it with a gentleness that surprised even himself. His warm breath worshiped the palm beneath his lips, ghosting across the hands that fed them, that kept them alive.
He reached up with a free hand to where he knew the cook's face was, the heat revealing his lover's growing blush. He grinned, foolishly content. He could almost say it, the three words that he had never even thought out loud. Zoro pulled their chef closer, wanting to hear the steadying pulse of the cook's heart. He was engulfed with the need to touch, to feel this man close and never let him go.
He looked on, dumb founded, when Sanji pulled away, roughly and in a hurry, as if the smallest touch of their naked skin burned him. The blonde locks of his hair tumbled playfully, caressing the cook's face along the way, taunting him. The cook started dressing hastily, looking everywhere but at him.
"Oi." The swordsman growled at the blond, annoyed. He tried to reach out and take hold of the other man's slim hips but was swatted off by minutely trembling hands. The green haired man wouldn't have noticed if he was not used to Sanji's perfectly stable and powerful hands.
"Fuck off, bastard. I'm tired and I need to sleep. Robin-chan likes to drink coffee early in the morning," Sanji answered as he finished dressing up in haste. The man's eyes continued darting from corner to corner, unable to meet his. It annoyed him, how the blond worshipped the women like they were the rarest treasures on the Grandline while he treated him like he was nothing but small change, trash even. The swordsman looked at the blond as all gentleness left the cook's demeanor, and his confusion grew into understanding. The understanding brought knowledge, knowledge that made him feel incredibly stupid and naive.
The cook lit a cigarette, unable to steady his trembling hands. He flicked his lighter once, twice, until he was finally able to make it work. Sanji's lighter burned an orange-red fire that revealed the chef's emotionless stare. A schooled, blank expression without a speck of what Zoro had thought he had felt and heard in the Sanji's voice earlier.
"Don't you dare tell anyone about this. I'll kill you." The blonde threatened before he left him in a huff, and Zoro wondered if it was distress or disgust he saw in those blue pools of life.
Suddenly the room was too dark, too silent. The creaking, and the snoring suddenly seemed so far away. (As far as the laughter, the grins, and the moans and teasing whispers of his name.)
The hold is suddenly dead and cold, as if Sanji had taken all signs of life with him as he left.
As if he had taken everything (everything the swordsman could give and so much more).
And Zoro was convinced that he did.
'Barya' – Filipino word for coins or small change;
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