A/N: This was actually posted to ao3 ages ago but when I tried to upload it here the title was apparently too long so I gave up because coming up with titles on the spot is really hard man. Anyway I hope you like it, now that I've finally come up with something to call this fic.
[the only person who has the right to say that I am crazy is myself]
The words have barely left his lips before there is a second long flash of movement and Sanji is slammed against the wall.
Zoro's grip on his collar is unrelenting.
"You don't get to say that." the swordsman spits out, and Zoro's eyes are launching lightning bolts straight at him. Sanji smirks, his lips curling around the cigarette in his mouth. Inside, Zoro berates himself for letting the cook wind him up. Again.
Honestly, sometimes he doesn't even understand why he fights with him. Why everything Sanji does gets on his nerves, riles him up. Makes him want to hurt the cook.
Sanji lets the cigarette fall out and crushes it under the sole of his shoe. Looking as he though doesn't have a single care in the world, let alone a murderous swordsman on his heels. Zoro grits his teeth and pushes a little harder, and maybe his grip tightens even more as his knuckles press against Sanji's throat.
Sanji exhales and blows the last of the smoke on his face, a cool ocean coloring his eyes. Zoro looks away in disgust before the smoke can snake its way into his nostrils – downs his lungs - and gives a final slight shove – relishes in the way he hears the cook's head hit the wood – before he lets go.
He lets his hand travel down Sanji's back, can feel his lashes flutter against his cheek. His breath against the side of Zoro's neck.
All of it is making his head feel light and his mind disconnected. Everything is sharp and bright. Surreal. (And he thinks that he's never going to tell Sanji this, or risk being teased for the rest of his fucking life).
"Come on, come on, comeoncomeoncomeon," Sanji eggs him on, until his words are an impatient mess of frustrated sounds that blend together - becoming some kind of mantra. His voice is hot against Zoro's skin, and his hands leave burns wherever they roam. There are stars dancing in the edge of his vision.
Zoro follows and thrusts, again and again, and Sanji's grip on his arm tightens until his nails dig into the skin like claws. Until there's blood and his knuckles are white. Zoro grits his teeth.
Bastard has always liked leaving marks. Bruises on his thighs and hips where his hands grab too hard, small bites on Zoro's chest where his teeth break through the tissue.
Something moves inside Zoro - plunges deep somewhere between his stomach and chest - as he tenses and loses his rhythm. Sanji writhes under him and his other hand winds into green hair. Nails scratch against Zoro's scalp and then his head is violently yanked down.
"Fuck. Come on." Sanji growls into his ear.
Zoro thinks that someday they're going to kill each other. Can imagine it even. It would go like this:
Zoro would raise one of his swords (it'd be Wadou, - that much he knows - and he can almost feel how the sword would weep at his side) and let it rest against the blond's neck, before cutting him clean in half. Even now his fingers itch for it.
Sanji though, he would do it differently. Slowly.
Sanji would lay him out and skin him like an animal. His finger would caress the edge of one of his precious knives before he brings it down, puts the tip down on Zoro's shoulder. His hand would be steady and precise, cutting long thin lines across his chest, and Zoro would bleed out - until his head gets light and you can't imagine his skin being any other color than red.
Zoro swallows - once, twice - imagines Sanji's hands, the tip of a knife sinking into his skin. He closes his eyes and comes.
When the fight is over, Sanji glides down onto the deck, one hand already loosening his tie as he leans heavily against the railing.
"Give me five shitty minutes," he mutters before Luffy has even opened his mouth after meat, and there is a hint of fatigue in his voice. Just enough to make everyone actually listen to him, and the crew scatters away. Some of them to look after any potential wounds and some of them to rest.
Zoro plops down a little away from the cook to begin attending to his swords. (There is a lot of blood this time).
"Shouldn't you get that washed up?" he says after a while, motioning with his head towards Sanji's leg. It's hard to see because of the black fabric of his pants but Zoro knows that the entire lower part is drenched in blood. Can almost taste it himself.
Sanji just sends him an annoyed glance in response.
"Later." he grunts.
Zoro goes back to cleaning his swords then, but he can't help looking up every now and then to regard the cook. During the fight Sanji crushed a man's head under his heel, and now he's lazing around on deck as if this was any other hard day, ignoring how the smell of blood is coming from himself.
(If they call Zoro a demon, what does that make Sanji?)
Sanji of course notices the extra attention he's receiving from the swordsman.
"Stop giving me that fucking look," he says and his eyebrows are drawn into a brief frown. "I did what I had to do." (What he doesn't say: You would have done it too.)
Of course he did, (of course he would).
"You kicked his head in." Zoro states, because really. He didn't expect that (and given the unusually quiet deck, none of the others did). Knowing the cook could do it and seeing Sanji actually fighting to - in order not to be killed - kill his opponent. That's something different.
The smell of blood is not the only thing that lies heavy in the air.
And on repeat inside his head is that final attack. The way Sanji's hip jut forward and he shot one leg out, focusing all his strength onto one single point, one steel-toed kick. The way he gave the smallest of smirks as his attack hit. The sickening sound of bones breaking and blood splashing onto his shoes, shirt, his fucking cheek.
"Yeah. You jealous?" Sanji teases and leers and his lips curl up around his unlit cigarette the same way they did earlier.
Sanji licks the shell of his ear - sucks on his earrings - and whispers; his nails grazing Zoro's skin.
"You know. Some days I want to fucking kill you."