Inspired by a pretty pretty picture on pixiv (it is also the story cover until I come up with something on my own). See the original here: www (d0t) pixiv (d0t) net /member_ ?mode=medium&illust_id=30342987

This fic is rated M.

I do not own One Piece.

It was cold. Or rather, he was cold. He doubted that it had anything to do with the actual temperature of the room, though the air conditioner probably would have appreciated a break. But that was beside the point. Sanji had been perpetually shivering ever since he had been taken.

It had been three months since he had woken up in the hotel room that served as his prison. He had no memory of how he had gotten there. All that he remembered was falling asleep in his apartment one night and then waking up, naked and bound, on the too firm mattress. He had been terrified and furious, but most of all he was freezing. Sanji had lain on the bed for hours, quietly taking in his surroundings as he struggled with the difficult combined task of stopping his teeth from chattering and quelling the panic that clutched at his heart. By now he had every nook, cranny, crack, and crevice memorized.

It was a decent-sized suite style hotel room. Longer than it was wide, there was a living area with a couch with hard pleather-covered cushions, a high-backed armchair whose threadbare upholstery was at least a decade old, and a low faux wood veneer coffee table. Across from the couch was a bulky entertainment center, whose drawers and shelves were empty but for the old analog television that fit tightly into its designated compartment. Sanji had no remote for the tv; for that matter, he didn't have any control over the device at all. Rather, it would switch on at any given hour of the day or night, its volume varying from deafening to muted, and would play everything from the news to soap operas to horror films to children's cartoons. He had even seen porn on a few occasions, though every one of those had been under circumstances where he wasn't exactly free to watch. But he preferred not to think about that.

Beyond the half living room lay the bathroom. Typical of most hotels, the washing area was separate from the toilet and the bath. Just as one stepped into the washroom, the no longer plush polyester carpet gave way to linoleum tile. There was a wide double sink made of plastic that was meant to imitate marble and a large mirror that reflected the adjoining bathroom. As with everything else in his new "home"—as They called it—the bathroom itself was cheap made cheaper by its vain attempt to look expensive. The off-white toilet bowl was chipped and missing its lid, the towel rods were plastic and yellowed with age, the walls were speckled with mildew near the ceiling, and the pinkish bathtub was patterned with several layers of rings. The drain was clogged with rust, hair, and a myriad of other disgusting things that Sanji didn't even want to guess at, resulting with his rare showers ending with him standing shin deep in his own dirty runoff. Worse yet, the water pressure was turned up way too high and it was damned near impossible to control the temperature; so when he was allowed to shower, the uneven spray from the calcium encrusted showerhead hit him with bruising force, tearing at his scalp and stinging his skin. Most of the time, however, Sanji washed himself in the sink. Like the television, the shower only worked with They wanted it to work.

Opposite of the bathroom, on the other side of the living room, was his bed. Of everything housed within his personal prison, the bed was the most familiar to him. It was where he had first awoken; where he slept away the hours of blissful lonely solitude; and where he huddled, shaking and wrapped in the flimsy blankets when he was kept awake. It was also where he entertained any house guests that They brought him. Queen-sized, the mattress was just firm enough to be uncomfortable and was covered by the typical not-quite-cotton cream bed sheets topped by a thin wool blanket and a threadbare nearly flat duvet. He had also been allotted two polyfiber-filled pillows that vaguely hurt to sleep on, and a gaudy pink throw pillow with red stitching of flowers and the phrase "Home Sweet Home". Sanji couldn't help but to wrinkle his nose every time he saw the solitary piece of decoration. He wasn't allowed to hide it, or even remove it from the bed, and had been punished the few times that he had in his early days in captivity. The pillow served as a cruel reminder that his new lifestyle was permanent and inescapable.

Huffing, Sanji shifted his weight slightly, repositioning himself as best as he could given his current predicament, purposefully avoiding making eye contact with his own reflection in the wall-sized mirror at the foot end of the bed as he turned to gaze out the floor-to-ceiling window. Made of tinted bullet proof glass, the double-paned expanse afforded him a stunning view of the city skyline and the horizon beyond, so long as the automated blinds between the panes of glass weren't closed. He had very quickly discovered that his room was east facing, as the sun shone in, completely illuminating the space, every morning. He was also high up; high, high up. When he pressed his face to the glass and peered down, the people on the sidewalk looked like ants and the cars like toys. In the early days of his captivity, Sanji had considered jumping, but the window functioned more as a clear wall than a window, with absolutely no way to be opened, and the glass was far too thick for him to shatter, especially when all of the furniture was bolted to the floor.

Reflected in the darkened nighttime glass, Sanji saw the clock on the table between the bed and the window click from 10:49 to 10:50. He felt a shiver run up his spine and flexed his arms in their newest bonds. Normally, he was allowed free run of his room, even if he spent the majority of it curled in a ball beneath the sheets. But it was a different story when he had house guests coming. Then They insisted that he be properly prepared.

Barely anything was ever revealed about the identities of his frequent and varying guests. Other than what he could gather from the ways with which They readied him for each individual and the occasional face that he recognized from the news, he was given absolutely no information. Instead, his captors would come in, force him to bathe, and then bind him or beat him or dress him or drug him or all of the above, based on the incoming guest's preferences. In the three months that had elapsed since his abduction, Sanji's so-called house guests had run the gamut from priests and politicians, to drug lords and gang members. He had entertained each one in turn, according to Their wishes, and had quickly amassed himself a small but growing list of regulars.

Tonight's visitor was a new one, and Sanji could only guess that the man was a newcomer to the organization and that he was meant to be a welcoming gift, given the way he'd been wrapped up like a present. Long bright red ribbon was entwined around his entire body. It circled his wrists, binding his arms behind his back, and then wound its way around his torso, stretching and crisscrossing over his chest and back as it snaked up and around his neck. From there, it hung down, the very small amount of slack it had been allowed swaying slightly in the currents created by the air conditioning vent in the wall directly overhead, before being wrapped tightly around his cock just below the head and tied off with a small bow. The ends of the ribbon slunk around behind him, laid out on the sheets and pillows in a semi-elaborate display before being secured to the headboard.

Per what seemed to have become the standard routine, he had been fed a cocktail of drugs that made his mind dull and fuzzy, and his body hypersensitive and compliant. It was impossible for him to ignore the dull ache that radiated around the silk that bound his erection, or the throbbing that travelled from base to tip, or the unscratchable itch that tingled at his slit with every drop of pre-cum that leaked out and burned a trail down the bound organ. A particularly violent shiver rattled its way through his body, and Sanji closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. It was at times like this that he felt the most hopeless. Being left bound, drugged, and aroused for some stranger to come and use wrenched away his humanity with terrifying force, leaving him with the harsh reality that his life was no longer his own. He had become a thing, a toy, a bartering chip. He was an unwilling instrument for pleasure, gifted and loaned out to curry favor with whomever They chose.

Cracking an eye open, he looked at the clock reflected in the window once more. 10:54p.m. His guest was to arrive at eleven. Squeezing his eyes closed again, Sanji took a shuddering breath and tried with all his might to focus on something else. Anything to take his mind off of the wait and the inevitable encounter that would follow it. His mind immediately took him back to his kitchen. He had been a sous-chef in his former life—the one that seemed so unreal now. Furrowing his brow when a particularly powerful throb down below threatened to pull him away, the chef began to mentally prepare his imaginary menu.

It was late fall now, so the food needed to be heavy and hearty. He wanted his imaginary customers to leave feeling fulfilled and sustained. This time of the year, when the wind seemed to claw through even thick down coats, the right meal could create a cocoon of warmth, a barrier against the onslaught of winter.

Sanji sighed to himself, trying his best to ignore the pain in his own empty stomach as he filled his fantasy menu with squash soup, beef, potatoes, beans, broccoli, and spinach. The other cooks would complain about his inclusion of too much green, but he silenced them with a stern glare and a menacingly raised foot every time. Soon he felt himself relaxing, his drug-dazed mind allowing him to run from reality more easily than when he was sober. The kitchen with its rowdy cooks was his refuge, and probably the only thing keeping him sane.

He was halfway through laying out the dessert menu and accompanying list of liqueur-infused beverages when he heard the heavy bolts on the other side of the door slide back. All thoughts about imaginary gourmet meals vanished in a heartbeat as Sanji's eyes snapped open and he whipped his head around to face the door located in the center of the wall between the mirror and the entertainment center. His entire body tensed as he waited to see who would step inside. He hoped desperately that whoever it was wouldn't be too violent. He didn't relish the idea of washing more blood down the clogged drain in the bathroom.

For the space of several uncomfortable halting breaths, he could only hear muffled voices on the other side of the thick wood. One of them he recognized as the burly blonde that was responsible for some of his more violent mistreatment, the other was unfamiliar. The stranger rumbled a response to an inaudible question, and was rewarded with a rough laugh. Then the handle began to turn and Sanji's breath caught in his throat. This was it. He was about to meet the man that would hold his life in his hands for the night.

A tanned hand entered the room first as it pushed the door open. For a moment, Sanji's view of the rest of the man was blocked by the door, and he held his breath as he finally emerged from behind it. The man was younger than he had expected; as a matter of fact, he was the youngest so-called guest that Sanji had yet to host. The stranger didn't look to be much older than he was, which seemed awfully young to be working with people like Them. And why the hell was his hair that outlandish shade of green?

Seemingly oblivious to the blonde's blatant staring, the man made straight for the couch, stripping off his long coat as he went and dropping it on the pleather monstrosity, and then heading for the bathroom and shutting the door. Sanji's mouth dropped open when he heard the telltale sound of liquid falling into liquid. The guy was peeing. Seriously? Did he even realize that there was someone else in the room? Sanji was pretty sure that he was kind of hard to miss, what with being naked and all. Soon, he heard the toilet flush, and the man walked out of the bathroom, washed his hands, splashed some water on his face, and then grumbled to himself when he found that there weren't any towels. Wiping his hands on his jeans, he turned to reenter the room and finally realized that he had company.

Sanji's mouth snapped shut at the same time that the man's fell open, and they both studied each other in stunned silence. As oblivious as he was, Sanji had to admit that at least the guy was handsome, even with the green hair. High cheekbones and a defined jaw framed a surprisingly youthful face. The man had a wide mouth, a thin straight nose, and gunmetal grey eyes, well, eye. The left eye was forever closed by a deep scar that cut vertically down from the eyebrow, through the lid, and ending on his cheek. Had Sanji been in the position to ask questions, one of the first would have been about the violent scar, and it took all of his self control not to just blurt it out.

He watched the man with wide eyes, a blush creeping onto his cheeks as he saw the one eye flick back and forth over his naked body, following the path of the red ribbon until it finally settled on his erection. The man stared at it for a minute, his expression one of pure shock, before his gaze moved back upward, landing on Sanji's face. Something in the grey eye hardened as it met Sanji's blue, and the blonde found himself shrinking away from the stranger, his body resuming its tense shivering. His mouth suddenly dry, Sanji attempted to swallow, only to have it stick half way down. The man looked like he was ready to kill something, and Sanji was the closest thing within strangling distance.

"Fuck this," the man finally spat after several tense minutes. With heavy booted steps, he stomped over to the couch and retrieved his coat. "I did not sign up for this shit."

With angry jerking movements, the man began to put his coat back on and head for the door. All Sanji could do was watch and hold his breath. Was he really just going to walk out? Hadn't he known that he would be there? Hadn't They told him? For that matter, what would They think when they came in the morning and found that Sanji hadn't properly entertained his guest? They always checked. Always. Sanji's body began to shake in earnest as he contemplated the punishment that They would inflict if he just let his guest leave. They wouldn't care that the man hadn't been interested. His word meant nothing, even if he was telling the truth.

"Please don't go!" he blurted just before the man's hand reached the door knob. Sanji slowly repositioned himself on the bed, spreading his legs and rolling his hips forward, meeting his guest's stunned eye with his best seductive expression. However, his act quickly withered under the intense gaze. Sanji dropped his head. "P-Please stay? If you don't…If I don't, They'll…"

Sanji could feel the man's deep frown from across the room, though he didn't look up.

"What's your name?"

Sanji twitched, startled by the question. None of his other guests had ever asked before.

"Well?" The man sounded slightly impatient, and Sanji saw him cross his arms in his peripheral vision. "You've got a name, don't you? Or did you let them take that from you too?"

For the first time in months, Sanji felt indignant rage flare in his chest, even in spite of the drugs dulling his senses. Just who the hell did this fucking grass green bastard think he was?

"I didn't just let them take anything!" he snapped, meeting the stranger's calm gaze with a furious one. "You don't know what it's like here! You can't! I—They—"

All of the emotions that he had pushed aside and buried swelled to the surface. The anger and defiance he thought had been lost mingled with his despair and hopelessness, jumbling his thoughts and snatching his words away before he could form them. His hands opened and closed behind his back, suddenly feeling much more uncomfortable in their bonds than they had before. He wanted to rip away the damned irritating ribbon and kick the crap out of the bastard, feeling another surge of frustration when the expression on the man's face softened from judgment to pity.

"I don't need you pity!" spat Sanji, just then noticing the hot tears running over his cheeks. "If you want to leave so badly, then just go! I don't care! They can do whatever they want with me! It doesn't matter anymore! They can kill me for all I care! They can—"

His eyes flicked to the locked and bolted door of the walk-in closet beside the bathroom, fear gnawing at his anger and stealing his words away. He had let his emotions run wild and spoken too soon. This man seemed important, and if he told Them what he had just heard—an involuntary shudder ran through Sanji's body.

"How long have you been here?" asked the man, the steely edge to his voice long gone.

"Three months, I think," answered Sanji off-handedly, never taking his eyes from the closet door as if he was waiting for it to spontaneously open and reveal the horrors within. Part of him was convinced that it would. "It's hard to tell. I try to count the days, but I think sometimes I miss some."

The mattress beside him sank slightly, making Sanji twitch in surprise; he hadn't noticed the man cross the room. He felt calloused fingers touch at his chin, pulling his attention away from the closet at the other side of the room. Sanji recoiled slightly. There was still pity lingering in the one grey eye, though he guessed that he probably was pretty pitiful at this point. A thumb wiped at a tear that had won the race to his jaw line.

"They'll hurt you, won't they?" the man said quietly, suddenly awkward instead of imposing. He pulled his hand away from Sanji's face, gesturing between the two of them. "I mean, if we don't…"

Sanji sniffed and gulped, half meeting the man's eye, and nodded. The man scowled, and Sanji saw his hands flex in his lap.

"I'll need your name then," he ordered.

Sanji pressed his lips together.

"I don't sleep with strangers," he explained. "So, you can either tell me your name, or I'll just g—"

"Sanji." He saw the man's eyebrows rise. "My name…My name is Sanji."

The man's lips quirked in a small, half-hearted smile. "Well, Sanji, how do you want to do this?"

There was another question that no one had asked before. Sanji bit his lip, unsure of what to say. The tentative calloused hand reached out again, caressing his cheek and jaw before gently grabbing hold of his chin and pulling him forward into a kiss. Sanji winced against the surprise action, suddenly much more aware of the red ribbon wrapped around his body. The other man simply held him in place, their lips pressed together, and waited for him to relax.

Sanji sat frozen, taking in the stranger's face, blurry from proximity, with wide eyes. His green hair looked softer up close, and there was a very small imperfection in the seemingly straight line of his nose that betrayed past damage. Closing his eyes, Sanji took in a deep calming breath. The man smelled like a combination between off-brand soap, coffee, and a bit of sweat; nothing like the sharp expensive cologne of his other guests. Breathing out, he parted his lips, leaning further into the man in invitation. He felt the hand on his chin slide around and palm the back of his head, holding him steady as a tongue slipped into his mouth, exploring but not invading.

After several minutes, Sanji found himself balanced on the edge of relaxation and tension. He wasn't being pushed or forced, but the cocktail of drugs still coursed through his body. Hypersensitive skin picked up every little touch, and the constant stimulus of the deep kiss sent wave after wave of sensation southwards. His cock throbbed painfully with want, and the tightly wound ribbon was all that was keeping him from falling over the edge just from the kiss. Then he felt the fingertips of the hand that wasn't tangled in his hair brush against his tip as it searched for the bow in the ribbon.

"Don't," he breathed, breaking the kiss.

The man pulled away and studied him, concern darkening his good eye. There was an aroused blush coloring his cheeks, and Sanji was certain that his own complexion mirrored the bright color. The man's eye flicked downward and then back up to meet Sanji's.

"That can't be comfortable." He leaned forward and kissed him again, distracting the blonde as he made to free him once more.

"Stop." The word came out more of a whine than an order. Sanji remained close to the man, their lips brushing as he tried to find the words to explain. "If you…I…They drugged…I won't last."

"Then what can I do?" asked the man, sounding slightly irritated.

Sanji thought for a moment. "Arms."

Instantly understanding him, the man reached around behind him, wrapping Sanji in a sort of awkward hug as he worked at untying the ribbon. The man seemed to the struggling a little with the tight knots around his wrists, but he gave no sign of frustration as he worked, not even tensing when Sanji nuzzled his face into his shoulder. The cotton shirt stretched over the firm muscles was soft, and Sanji sighed as he buried his face into the fabric. He had always taken clothing for granted in his former life. Now it was a luxury that he would give anything for.

Finally after several minutes of work, Sanji felt the ribbon around his arms loosen enough that he could pull them free. No sooner had the man unwrapped his arms from around his body, than Sanji reciprocated, flinging his own around the stranger's neck and rewarding his efforts with a firm kiss. With their lips still locked together, Sanji took advantage of his new leverage to shift closer to the man until he was straddling his lap, their bodies pressed against one another. As Sanji leaned against him, he could feel the growing bulge trying to fight its way free of the man's pants, and only half-managed to suppress another shiver.

"Do we need to stop?" murmured the man, pulling away and frowning slightly as he saw the hesitation on Sanji's face. The surprisingly gentle calloused hands began to rub soothingly at Sanji's back, leaving trails of warmth on his cold skin. "I don't want to force you to do anything you don't want to do."

Sanji merely shook his head. He was already being forced, though not by the man beneath him. Rather than vocalize an answer, Sanji chose action instead, reaching down and hurriedly unfastening and unzipping the man's pants. Leaning forward as if to kiss him again, he slipped his hand into the denim and palmed the tightly stretched fabric of the man's briefs.

By now the drugs in Sanji's body were in full effect. Every nerve ending hummed with anticipation and he could feel more and more pressure building and coiling down below. He needed to get this over with and fast, or he wouldn't make it to the end of this encounter. With slow motions, he began to massage the man's cock through his underwear, earning a shudder and a moan, and the hands that had been running over his back stopped mid-motion to grip tightly at his hips. Soon, three months of experience told him that the man was ready as well. Pulling his hand away, Sanji reached up once again, playing with the green hair as he whispered as seductively as possible in the man's ear.

"Do it, please?" Sanji had been trained to say these words, to beg his guests for more. This part was more ritual than anything else, and he fully expected the man to immediately comply. He leaned in closer, their bodies touching on every plane possible and his lips brushing the man's ear as he spoke. "I want you to fuck me."

Any other guest would have—and had—jumped at those words. Within the blink of an eye, Sanji would have found himself thrown against the headboard, and brutally and often viciously used until he was full and the other was empty. The man, however, simply pulled away and studied him for a moment, his face unreadable as he assessed his partner for the night. Sanji squirmed on his lap, more than a little uncomfortable under the scrutinizing gaze, especially when he could feel both of their erections twitching and weeping between them. The thin lips twitched down in a small frown and arched green-tinged eyebrows furrowed slightly as the man seemed to reach some sort of decision; then Sanji felt his grip around his waist tighten as he was lifted and gently laid on his back with his head cradled in the pillows.

Thrown off guard by the smooth, deliberate action, Sanji lay on the flattened duvet in stunned silence, simply watching as the man stripped off his clothes, first removing his shirt followed closely by his pants, socks, and underwear. If he had thought the scar over the man's eye had a violent story, it paled in comparison to the jagged gash that cut diagonally across his chest and stomach, running a path from shoulder to hip. Just who was this guy? Everything about him screamed dangerous brutality, yet he had been nothing but gentle. Sanji's eyes continued to flick over the man's body, taking in the every tanned and sculpted detail, and he felt his mouth run dry.

The man arched an eyebrow at the blonde's mute staring. "You ready?"

Sanji nodded dumbly, his mind rapidly derailing as he watched the man spit into his hand and rub it onto himself in preparation. The muscles in his back tensed involuntarily when his legs and hips were lifted from the mattress, and his breath caught in his lungs when the man aligned himself. His guest hesitated for a moment, as if not entirely convinced of his decision, and then he drove in.

Sanji's back arched and he gasped as his tight rings of muscle were penetrated. Reaching up, he gripped at the pillow with one hand and put the knuckles of the other in his mouth to stifle any noise, moaning into the sweaty skin when the man slowly pulled out and pushed in again, increasing the intensity and rate with every thrust of his hips. Soon the unrelenting itch of arousal became unbearable, causing him to buck his hips upward in the man's grip, catching him off guard in the middle of a particularly hard thrust.

Stars exploded behind Sanji's eyelids, and he nearly bit through the skin of his knuckles when the man hit his prostate, sending a whole new tidal wave of heat and pressure rocketing for his cock. The ribbon had to go. Now. The muscles in his back and legs tensed and released around the other man, and he could hear him groan and shudder in response.

"Take it—Take it off," Sanji moaned, his own limbs completely useless under the onslaught of stimulation.

The man needed no second bidding. Letting go of his hips with one hand, he quickly found the end and pulled the ribbon away. Sanji's pulse thudded hard and fast in the engorged organ, his back arching from the ecstasy of freedom. The deep well of heat that had been dammed up behind the confining ribbon rushed forth, and Sanji was unable to suppress a loud gasping moan as he came between the two of them, splashing their naked bodies and the sheets. Sanji's muscles spasmed and shook as the orgasm rocked through his body, and the man didn't last much longer.

With a grunt and a groan, he spilled inside of Sanji, filling him completely and providing the proof that They would seek later. Pulling out, he slumped onto the mattress beside him, one arm slung tiredly over Sanji's body. They lay in a simultaneously awkward and comfortable silence until the all too familiar cold gripped Sanji again and he began to shiver.

Noticing his shaking, the man cracked his good eye open and then, without a word, pulled him closer and trapped him in a firm embrace. The man's body seemed to radiate warmth, and Sanji slowly but surely felt his shuddering subside and his muscles relax in the cocoon of heat. Tucking his arms in close to his body, he snuggled closer to the man, burrowing his face into his shoulder. Normally, he couldn't sleep until his guests left the room and were well away, but there was something so comforting about his strange new mossy-headed companion. He had been so different from the others, and Sanji soon felt himself drifting off, locked securely in his embrace.

"You falling asleep on me?" The man's deep rumble vibrated soothingly throughout his body.

Sanji hummed in response, and nuzzled in deeper. He was on the edge of slumber. He hadn't felt this comfortable since before he had been taken.

"Oi, Sanji, listen to me." The man gave him a slight shake, waking him enough to hear what he had to say before exhaustion shut down his mind and body completely. "I will save you from this place. I promise."

I'm half tempted to continue this, but I'm not sure. We'll see what kind of feedback there is. ;)