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Chapter Text

Zeff grinned when he saw Zoro pawing at the noose around his neck. "The dress-code's the downside of working in the service industry, kid."

"I don't work in the service industry." Zoro jerked the goddamned tie loose. "I work in the 'cutting up fools who mess with this restaurant' industry."

"You don't cut up anybody, seaweed-brain. You escort rowdy patrons to the door," said Sanji, doing his trick of appearing out of absolutely nowhere. It was like the Baratie was his own special dimension in which he could move about without checking in with the laws of physics. Head Chef Space.

Fingers - deceptively elegant, strong as hell - wove under Zoro's chin, and the tie gained a new stranglehold. "Like this, moron. You're our doorman. Look the part."

Zoro waited two seconds after Sanji's back was turned to hook a finger beneath the constriction and pull. Then he went to stare at some patrons who may or may not have been planning rowdiness, but who would certainly behave now.

Sanji's fingers on his tie paced out Zoro's evening. The corrections lasted a minute on average yet oddly enough, Sanji didn't complain. Much.

...In a dark corner of the dining-room, Sanji leaned close to check the knot. "Try not to shame this restaurant."

Outside the kitchen, fingers brushed Zoro's neck and readjusted the thin black loop (the tie was Sanji's).

"I've seen more respectable-looking thugs," Sanji murmured, and flicked Zoro's earrings.

After Zoro tossed a knife-wielding drunk out the door, palms smoothed the skewed tie against his chest.

"It's like dressing a gorilla," Sanji whispered in his ear.

Closing time. A hand reached for the tie and tugged Zoro off towards the Head Chef's cabin

"But you know...it looks kinda good on you, marimo..."

Working in the service industry had its perks.

Chapter Text

Zeff glanced up from his ledger. "Stop smoking, idiot."

Sanji coughed again and continued to go through their bills, ignoring the Head Chef.

"Moron. How'd you expect to see my age if-"

"Who wants to be that old?"

"Hah! And I'll live forever before leaving you the All-Blue Baratie, eggplant."

"Asshole."

Silence punctuated by the scribble of pens.

"But stop smoking if you want to reach any age at all," Zeff muttered.

Sanji laughed, a short, raspy bark of amusement. "Come on, geezer, you know guys like me and the marimo-head don't see a ripe old age. We live well, grab our dreams, hold tight and die hard at the age of thirty-five. Forty if we're lucky."

Zeff gave a moody glance out the porthole where Sanji's other half - for three years now, not that Zeff was over the shock yet - was training, like always.

"He's good." Sanji's voice was oddly dispassionate as he watched his lover practice. "He's the best in the world. But one day he'll meet someone better, or simply younger, who'll kill him. That's the way it goes. And, it burns me to admit it, but anyone who can punch Zoro's ticket will have no problem taking me down afterwards, so my life expectancy's the same as his."

Zeff knew full well how Zoro would die one day, however much he might like the stubborn 'marimo'. It was the destiny that came with the swords. But Zeff's baby-eggplant was a different matter; Sanji was- "Wait, you're just a cook. Yeah, I do know one day some bastard will take out the world's greatest swordsman, but why would this guy kill you along with Zoro?"

Sanji shrugged. "Self-defense. I'll be trying to rip his fucking heart out."

He lit another cigarette. Zeff said nothing.

Chapter Text

"My shirt!" Sanji glared at the ripped-off buttons.

The bastard responsible for same failed to expire from guilt. "So what? It's roasting out there. Wear a t-shirt. If that." Zoro had pulled on shorts and nothing else.

"Stop being grotesque and help me find my buttons."

"I think some went down the floor drain."

"Argh!" Sanji shouted - quietly, the others were enjoying a postprandial nap while he and Zoro discreetly enjoyed a quick, cooling shower-and-fuck. "Damn...The blue one's dirty, all the others got busted in fights- Hey!"

Zoro spun him around to face the mirror, bare chest against Sanji's back. Sanji glimpsed their reflections, his own shocked and on the verge of exploding, before he twisted away. To kick Zoro's ass! But the arm around his waist tightened.

"What do you see?"

"What?! I see-"

skin-stretched bag-of-bones clothes ludicrously too big

"...a respectable cook who'd like to be well dressed, and a soon-to-be-deceased moron."

"I see a weapon." Zoro scrutinized his own reflection, dispassionate. "One that's not good enough. Yet. But sometimes, when I'm with you, I look again."

Sanji, startled by Zoro's harsh self-evaluation, was also looking again.

Two young men in the mirror looked back. Sleek and strong; powerful and solid. Chests bare, skin touching skin. Bodies shaped by battle, scars like rites of passage, and the eyes of determined dreamers...Sanji noticed he'd put on muscle. Maybe it wasn't only Zoro's fault those buttons had popped so easily earlier...

"I look again and then I tell myself, damn, the gods envy us. Go shirtless, idiot." Zoro lewdly licked Sanji's neck, blowing away any illusions of intelligence and thoughtfulness, and strutted off.

Sanji stayed and stared.

He wore a sleeveless t-shirt and mid-thigh shorts that afternoon. The wolf-whistles and encouraging comments were totally uncalled for (though appreciated from the ladies).

Chapter Text

It takes only one second for a standard-issue Marines rifle to fire a bullet across 400 meters.

"Turn!" there's an enemy gunman behind you- but Sanji doesn't have time to say all that before the trigger is pulled, just 'turn'.

It will take him a few minutes to realize he'd seriously not considered that turning around might get Zoro killed. In hindsight, 'duck' would have been much smarter; a potential wound wouldn't have been fatal from that angle. But still on the back. A swordsman's shame.

The speed of a signal through a nerve is only 100 meters per second, but it doesn't have to travel as far as a bullet. Nobody alive has been able to measure the life-and-death reaction time of a true kengo...as long as he reacts unerringly the split instant he hears the warning, without doubt or question, voluntarily neglecting the extremely skilled opponent with a large axe he is currently fighting.

It takes much less than a second for Zoro to spin around, Wadou parrying a danger only instinct and trust tell him is there.

It takes a fraction of a heartbeat - but Sanji's time has conveniently slowed to a crawl - for the bullet's trajectory to curve away from the blade as if that instinctive slash has murdered the laws of physics. Sanji remembers seeing Mihawk do the same to the bullets Krieg's pirate fired at him. He feels insanely, savagely proud and doesn't know why.

The bullet zips on to take Zoro's axe-wielding opponent in the chest. Even though the projectile is nowhere near him, it shatters something inside Sanji, too.

But it will take him a few weeks to come to terms with that. When he does, Zoro will smile faintly and ask him, what took you so long.

Chapter Text

Desserts had followed dinner. Nami and Robin had received Sanji's adoration along with fancy sundaes beneath the tangerine trees. Usopp, Chopper and Franky plied fishing rods and ate ice-cream cones. Luffy, on the figurehead, got the rest of the tub, and Zoro got the cook.

Nobody was complaining.

Zoro broke the gnawing kiss. Bloody cook was trying to eat him. One shove sent Sanji stumbling backwards towards the bed. Sanji let himself fall and caught a hand on the bed's frame. A sweeping sideways kick swatted Zoro down mid-pounce, spilling him onto the mattress which was resigned to rough treatment by now. Zoro made a grab, but got jumped instead. Sanji corkscrewed his hips between Zoro's legs, thrusting them apart, and applied a whole layer of happy-hard-rubbin' onto Zoro's boner. Zoro struggled to remember why he cared about being flat on his back like this. Remembered, gripped the cook's ass with both hands (martial arts had more respectable ways of tossing opponents, but this one had a lot going for it) and rolled them over. Sanji's indignant snarl was muffled by Zoro's mouth. He tried to kick them back into their previous position, foot hitting the wall which had joined the mattress in patient forbearance-

"Hmm-hmm! Sanji-kun's sure good at mixing flavours. This has to be my favourite by far. How about you, Robin?"

"My favourite?" Robin answered dreamily. "Vanilla and pistachio. A good strong blend of it."

Nami studied Robin's bowl of mostly melted ice-cream; looked like coffee, praline and chocolate, same as Nami's. Then she noticed her nakama's eyes were closed as if she were looking at something deep inside...or below deck. Nami moodily stuffed a spoonful of sundae in her mouth and wished she had hana-hana fruit powers too, damn it.

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Moria's defeat called for a celebration! Brook's suggestion of a masquerade party carried the day. The Sunny being miles away from any land and costumiers, the crew made do with what was on hand. Nami and Robin put together ball gowns made of sailcloth. Brook threw a sheet over himself and made some very bad puns about being a bonny bony ghost. Franky transformed into Super Franky Centaur! Chopper and Usopp fished out their Alabasta clothes. Luffy showed up with three ham joints and claimed to be Meat Man (the disguise lasted two minutes and then he just wandered around with a pleased grin on his face, watching his nakama have fun).

They were all laughing at each other's costumes and rolling out the beer keg when they realized two of their crewmates were missing, and a search was organized.

"In here! I can hear Sanji swearing!" Luffy shouted, and tried to open the gunroom door. It was locked. From behind it came muffled curses, the sound of a hastily grabbed lantern crashing to the floor, an undignified scurry and more profanities.

"Zoro, Sanji, you two ready? Wait till you see-" at which point Luffy and his enthusiasm accidentally broke the lock. "Oops- WOW! Those are great disguises! Come see, guys! Zoro is dressing as Sanji and Sanji is dressing as Zoro!"

Sanji was the first to recover from the horrified look he was giving the pants and shirt he'd pulled on in the dark. He gave his captain a weak smile. "Right, Luffy. Right. That's...what we're doing. Um. Oi, Marimo, hand me the...shitty thing you wear around your waist."

"Get it yourself, asshat," growled Zoro as he grudgingly finished pulling on Sanji's shirt. He'd just figured out he was going to spend all evening wearing a tie.

Chapter Text

Zoro and Sanji didn't agree on much, not even in bed (especially not in bed, Zoro recalled some of their best fights there). But they could certainly agree on this.

"THIS IS INSANE!" It came out embarrassingly in unison and even in harmony, but at least they'd made their point.

"No, no, this is going to work!" Luffy extended his elongated arms way above his head at an angle. "Franky!"

"Right with you, bro! SUPER!" The gorilla arms shot up, clanging together metallically, and Franky's bright orange shirt fluttered behind him in dramatic counterpoint.

"Now you, Chopper! You're the closest we have to yellow."

"YES!" shouted Chopper, adopting the same 'up and away' pose as the other two, instead of saying "actually I'm more of a fawn brown". There were sparkles in his eyes, same as Luffy, at which point Zoro knew he and Sanji had already lost the argument.

"Your turn, Zoro! Then Usopp- Usopp? Where are you?"

"Coming." Usopp hustled up from below deck with a blue tarp tied around his shoulders like a cape. He took one look at Zoro's expression and would have dodged back down again if Luffy hadn't caught him with a whip-like arm and dragged him into position.

"Great! Stand next to Sanji!"

"My suit is navy blue, not violet," said Sanji, spitting out a half-smoked but well-chewed cigarette. "And I refuse to participate in this-...this-..."

"But it looks like so much fun, Cook-san," said Robin with a smile, standing next to a giggling Nami armed with a camera, and Zoro concluded that no, nothing was going to get them out of performing Luffy's Rainbow Squad Attack, come hell or high water.

Chapter Text

The day's first argument was well under way. The cutting, disgusted edge to Sanji's voice put it pretty high on the scale of such things. It was only ten in the morning, so that was to be expected; the arguments tended to heat up, get louder and yet somehow less bad as the day progressed until it ended up with a - coughcough - fight in the storeroom some time around midnight when the two idiots thought the rest of the crew was asleep.

"-out of my kitchen once and for all, you have the manners of an ill-bred farmhand- fuck, that's an insult to farmhands everywhere, you have the manners of a shitty pig. You certainly eat my food with the appreciation of one."

"You done, dumbass?"

"Far from it, shithead. Why, you want the rest of the barnyard? You've got the ego of a fucking rooster, you swill liquor like a goat, you've got the brains and carriage of an ox, and- and-"

"And I fuck like a stallion, I know," Zoro sneered as he uncorked the bottle he'd filched, standing right there by the open kitchen door.

The argument heated up way before schedule. Out on deck, Nami idly lifted the chalkboard listing the day's chores, turned it over and put a score mark in the 'Zoro' box. "That puts him back in the lead. So Chopper's still on track to win this week's pool," she announced, and then went to check on the helm.