Work Text:
Zoro stared at the blinking cursor on his screen, the latest manuscript from some debut author bleeding red from his highlighted comments. Another three hundred pages of overwrought prose about star-crossed lovers who couldn't communicate.
He’d been editing romance manuscripts for four years at Grand Line Publishing, and the irony of his position had stopped being funny somewhere around year two. The white glare of the monitor was starting to burn the backs of his eyes, but he refused to blink first, at this rate he was going to go blind in at least one of his eyes.
"You're still on chapter seven?"
Zoro’s jaw tightened, his fingers pausing over the keyboard. He didn’t look up immediately, letting an agonizing five seconds stretch between them.
Sanji stood at the entrance of Zoro’s cubicle, hip cocked against the partition, holding a manila folder like a weapon. His sleeves were rolled to the elbow, exposing forearms that Zoro definitely did not notice, nor did he note the lean strength in them from hours spent hauling heavy manuscript boxes.
The blond hair fell across one visible eye, the other hidden behind that swept curtain he always tucked behind an ear when he was concentrating. He looked entirely too put-together for late Thursday afternoon, smelling faintly of the expensive coffee from the café downstairs.
"Some of us actually read the manuscripts instead of skimming for sex scenes," Zoro muttered, finally shifting his gaze to the screen.
"At least I know what sells." Sanji stepped closer. He dropped the folder onto Zoro’s desk with a sharp slap that made the stack of sticky notes rattle. "Your line edits on the Nico Robin manuscript. You cut the entire confession scene."
"Because it was garbage." Zoro didn't move the folder. He just leaned back in his mesh chair, crossing his arms.
"It was the emotional core of the book," Sanji said. He leaned over the desk slightly, forcing Zoro to look up at him. "The readers want vulnerability. They want the stakes."
"It was twenty-two pages of a grown man crying in the rain. People have umbrellas. They have phones. They have the basic sense to get out of the goddamn rain." Zoro’s eyes narrowed. "It’s unrealistic."
Sanji’s visible eye narrowed. "Tell me you've never stood in the rain for someone."
"I've never stood in the rain for anyone. Because I'm not an idiot."
"Right. Because feeling something would require you to actually have emotions instead of whatever moss grows inside that thick skull." Sanji leaned in just a fraction more.
Zoro pushed back from his desk. The cubicle suddenly felt entirely too small. He stood up, using his height to close between him and Sanji. Now, they were mere inches apart, separated only by the low corner of the desk. Sanji was close enough that Zoro could smell his cologne; something expensive that probably cost more than Zoro’s entire liquor cabinet.
"You don't know anything about what I feel," Zoro said, his voice low.
Sanji didn't back down. Instead, his gaze dropped to Zoro’s mouth for a fraction of a second before snapping back up to meet his eyes, his breathing noticeably shallower. "Then enlighten me, Marimo. Because from where I'm standing, you're just afraid of anything that isn't printed on a page."
"I know you've rejected every single social invitation from this office for two years," Sanji continued. He took another half-step forward, completely erasing any sense of personal space. "I know you eat lunch alone in your car like a truant teenager. I know your last relationship was—" He paused, stepping back just enough to make a show of counting on his fingers. "—actually, I can't count negatives on my fingers. Does the concept of human connection terrify you that much?"
Zoro’s fists clenched at his sides. The urge to wipe that look off Sanji's face was a physical ache, maybe one punch wouldn’t hurt that much.
Before he could fire back, Nami from accounting walked past the opening of the cubicle, a stack of invoices cradled in her arms. expression shifted instantly. He offered her a charming, dimpled smile as she passed. Zoro watched the transformation with absolute disgust, his stomach churning at how easily the blond could mask the venom he’d just been spitting.
As soon as Nami’s heels faded around the corner, the smile vanished from Sanji's face, replaced once more by that cold stare.
"You're a real asshole, you know that?" Zoro said.
"I learn from the best." Sanji didn't even flinch. He reached out, his index finger tapping the manila folder. Tap. Tap. Tap. "Fix the confession scene. Law wants final edits by Monday morning, and I am not taking the fall for your stubbornness."
He turned on his heel and walked away.
Zoro intended to look back at his monitor. He intended to ignore him. But his eyes betrayed him, tracking the line of Sanji's retreating back. He watched the precise way the dress shirt tucked into the waistband of his tailored slacks, the sharp line of his shoulders, and that great ass, Zoro hated himself for staring at.
Sanji disappeared around the corner of the breakroom. Zoro sat back down, the mesh chair groaning under his weight.
On the screen, the cursor kept blinking.
Seven-thirty found Zoro in his apartment, two whiskey deep, still wearing his work shirt unbuttoned halfway down his chest. He held his phone in hand.
He'd downloaded the app three weeks ago. Grindr, Scruff, something called Sniffies that he'd deleted after fifteen minutes of finding weirdos. Finally he'd settled on an app called Ghost Lily; no profiles, no photos, no names. Just location, preferences, and a chat function that self-destructed after twenty-four hours.
It was pathetic. He knew it was pathetic. But his right hand wasn't cutting it anymore, and the thought of actually going to a bar, actually talking to someone, actually going through the motions of getting to know a stranger.
Nope. He didn't have the energy for that.
The notification came through at 7:42.
blackleg:_ Still looking?
Zoro stared at the message. The profile was minimal. tall, versatile, blond, 20 miles away. The chat history showed they'd exchanged maybe ten messages over the past week, all of them logistical. The negotiation of two people who wanted to get off without the pretense of romance.
He typed back: Yeah. Tonight?
The response came within seconds. There's a club on Water 7th. Freaky . Meet me behind it at 9. I'll have the room key.
So this guy had money, or at least the foresight to book a private room. Zoro had been with guys who wanted to do it in cars, in alleys, in the bathroom of a 24-hour diner. A room meant this one was serious.
He typed back: I'll be there.
He finished his whiskey and stood up.
The walk to Freaky took twenty minutes. Zoro wore dark jeans and a black t-shirt, no cologne, nothing that could be traced back to his daytime self. He'd even left his wallet at home, just cash and his phone stuffed in his back pocket.
The club's bass was audible from two blocks away. Freaky catered to a mixed crowd: gay, straight, everything in between but the private rooms in the back were known for one thing only. Zoro had never been inside. He'd heard stories from coworkers, from the few acquaintances he'd maintained since moving to this city.
Behind the club, the alley was surprisingly clean.
"What the fuck."
Zoro’s feet stopped working. His brain stopped working. His entire nervous system ground to a halt as Sanji from the office, Sanji who wore three-piece suits, Sanji whose critiques of Zoro’s copy were infuriating, stared at him with an expression of pure horror.
"No," Zoro said.
"No, no, no." Sanji was already retreating. "Absolutely not. This is—you're—"
"Me?" Zoro’s shock curdled into something hotter, something that felt dangerously close to the adrenaline he’d been chasing. "You're the one with the anonymous profile. You're the one who doesn't use photos."
"Because I have a career! A reputation! I can't just have my face plastered across some—" Sanji made a dismissive gesture. "And you. Of all the men in this city. The universe is a sadistic fucking comedian."
"Believe me," Zoro growled, "if I'd known it was you, I would have swiped left so fast I’d have burned a hole in my screen."
"Swipe left?" Sanji took a sudden step forward. "You responded. You said you wanted to meet. You typed the words—"
"Because I didn't know it was you!"
"But you wanted it." Sanji’s voice dropped. "You wanted some anonymous hookup in a rented room. What does that say about you, Roronoa?"
A bitter laugh escaped Zoro’s throat. "What does it say about you, Mr. Professional? You booked the room. You had the key ready. You’ve done this before." He leaned in, crowding him, and felt a thrill at the way Sanji’s breath hitched. "How many times?"
"A gentleman," Sanji hissed, "doesn't discuss his history."
"A gentleman doesn't troll anonymous sex apps for strangers to—" Zoro shot back.
"To what?" Sanji’s voice was barely a whisper now. "Say it. What were you hoping some nameless, faceless stranger would do to you tonight?"
Zoro’s gaze raked over him: the rapid rise and fall of his ribs beneath the fine cotton shirt, the way his lips were parted just enough to reveal the glint of his teeth.
"I was hoping," Zoro said, forcing each syllable out, "to get to fuck someone so thoroughly I wouldn't be able to remember my own name, let alone think about work."
"But since it's you," Zoro continued, "that's clearly off the table. Because you're an insufferable, pretentious, condescending—"
"Marimo."
"—bastard who argues about Oxford commas like it's a holy war—"
"Moss-for-brains."
"—and who probably couldn't make anyone feel good if he tried, because all you do is talk, and criticize, and pick at every little thing until—"
Sanji moved. Sanji grabbed the front of Zoro's shirt and pulled.
Sanji's mouth crashed against his with the same energy as their arguments. Zoro's hands found Sanji's hips on instinct, gripping hard enough to bruise, and Sanji made a sound against his mouth that was definitely not protest.
"Fuck you," Sanji breathed, pulling back just enough to speak.
"Fuck you."
"Fuck—" Sanji kissed him again, and this time his tongue slid against Zoro's bottom lip, and Zoro opened for him because apparently his body had decided that two years of fighting was foreplay.
Sanji's back hit the brick wall. Zoro pressed against him, one thigh slotting between Sanji's legs, and the hardness he found there made his hips jerk forward involuntarily. Sanji whimpered and his head fell back against the bricks.
"The room," Sanji managed. "We should—the room is—"
"Where?"
"Third door. Left hallway. I already—" He gasped as Zoro's mouth found his neck. "I already checked in."
One moment they were against the wall, and the next he had Sanji's legs wrapped around his waist, arms under that ridiculous ass, carrying him through the back door of the club. Sanji was kissing his jaw, his ear, his neck, all while muttering what sounded like curses in three different languages.
Room 3 had a keypad lock, and Sanji reached down blindly to punch in a code, missing twice before the light blinked green.
Zoro kicked the door open and carried him inside.
A large bed at the center, fitted with dark sheets. There was a leather armchair in the corner, a side table with supplies, and a bathroom through a half-open door. The room was drenched in sexy red lights that seemed to make Sanji look even prettier.
Zoro dropped Sanji onto the bed.
"Jesus Christ," Sanji breathed, already working at his own shirt buttons. "You're stronger than you look."
"You're lighter than you should be. Do you eat anything or just smoke cigarettes and critique other people's work?"
"Shut up."
Sanji's shirt came open, revealing a plane of pale chest, a dusting of blond hair trailing down his stomach, a silver chain glinting at the hollow of his throat. Zoro's mouth went dry. He wanted to put his tongue there. He wanted to bite it so bad.
"Take off your clothes."
"Don't tell me what to do."
"I swear to god, Roronoa—"
Zoro pulled his shirt over his head in one motion. He watched Sanji's expression flicker; the way his pupils dilated, the way his lips parted just slightly, the way his eyes tracked down Zoro's chest, tracing the long scar that ran diagonal from shoulder to hip, then lower, to the V-line that disappeared into his waistband.
"See something you like, Curly?"
"Shut up."
"You've been staring."
"Because you're an idiot, not because—"
"Liar." Zoro stepped closer. "You've been hard since the alley."
"I'm topping, by the way."
"Like hell you are." Zoro's hand shot out, grabbing Sanji's jaw, forcing his head up. "I'm topping."
"I booked the room."
"And I carried you here." Zoro's thumb traced along Sanji's lower lip, pressing slightly. "You were practically dripping for me. Begging with your eyes."
"I don't beg."
"You will."
Sanji's breath hitched. His hands came up, not to push Zoro away, but to grip his forearms. "You're so fucking arrogant."
"And you're so fucking pretty when you're angry." Zoro's other hand dropped between Sanji's legs, palm pressing flat against his cock through his suit pants. Sanji gasped. "I can feel it. Hard as a rock. Just from me looking at you."
"Fuck you."
"That's the plan." Zoro squeezed, feeling Sanji twitch against his palm. "But I'm topping. And you're going to take it."
"I want—" Sanji's voice cracked. "I want someone to take over. Just for tonight. I'm so tired of making decisions. Tired of being in control. I want to stop thinking about deadlines and author emails and whether my taxes are done. I want someone to—"
"To what?"
"To make me stop thinking." His eyes were glassy, his cheeks flushed. "To make me forget my own name. To fuck me so hard I can't remember where I end and you begin."
Zoro's chest tightened. "Say that again."
"Make me forget." Sanji's voice dropped to a whisper. "Please."
He grabbed Sanji's wrist and flipped him.
It happened fast, one moment Sanji was upright, the next he was face-down on the mattress, Zoro's knee pressed between his thighs, Zoro's hand pinning both his wrists to the small of his back. Sanji struggled for half a second, then went still.
"Hey—"
"You want to forget?" Zoro's voice was rough. "Then stop arguing. Stop thinking. Just feel."
The crack of his palm against Sanji's ass was loud in the quiet room. Sanji's entire body went rigid. For one terrible second, Zoro thought he'd misread everything—the signals, the tension, the way Sanji had looked at him in the alley, the way his hands had trembled when he reached for Zoro's belt. He started to pull back, apology forming on his lips.
Then Sanji moaned.
His hips pressing back into the contact, seeking more. His fingers curled into the sheets.
"Fuck." His voice cracked. "Daddy."
A live wire straight to Zoro’s chest, his gut, his cock. His hand, still raised for another strike, trembled in the air. Sanji's face was pressed into the sheets, the tips of his ears burning red, his shoulders hunched as if he was trying to disappear into the mattress, to take back what he'd let slip.
"What did you just call me?"
Sanji's fingers curled into the sheets, knuckles white. His whole body was tense, waiting for what Zoro didn't know. Rejection? Mockery? The bed creaked as Sanji shifted, trying to bury himself deeper.
"I said—" Sanji's voice was muffled by the pillow. "Nothing. Forget it."
"Too late for that."
Zoro's hand came down again; harder this time, his palm printing red against Sanji's ass. Sanji cried out, a broken, desperate sound, his fingers scrabbling at the sheets, his hips jerking forward then pressing back, seeking more contact even as he flinched.
"I asked you a question, Curly."
Sanji's voice was barely audible when he finally spoke. "Daddy. I said—" His voice cracked. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean—it just—it slipped out. I don't know why I—"
"Shh." Zoro's palm soothed over the heated skin, and Sanji shuddered beneath his touch, a full-body tremor that started at his shoulders and rolled down to his toes. "Don't apologize. I want to hear it again."
Sanji turned his head slowly, one eye visible through the mess of blond hair. His lips parted, and for a moment, Zoro thought he might refuse. Then Sanji's voice came out, small and wrecked:
"Daddy."
Something clicked into place. Two years of fighting. Two years of tension. Two years of watching him charm women and intimidate colleagues and never, ever let anyone see him sweat.
Zoro had wondered, sometimes late at night, what it would take to make him fall apart. What was hiding behind all that bravado.
This was it.
"Okay." Zoro's voice came out rougher than he intended. "Okay. I'm going to take care of you."
"Don't—" Sanji's voice was muffled again, but Zoro caught the waver in it. "Don't say it like that."
"Like what?"
"Like you mean it." Sanji's throat worked as he swallowed. "This is a one-time thing. We hate each other. This doesn't mean anything."
"We do." Zoro leaned down, pressing a kiss to the curve of Sanji's spine, feeling him shiver. "I can't stand you. You're the most irritating person I've ever met." Another kiss, lower. "You talk too much. You smoke too much. Your stupid eyebrows curl the wrong way."
"Fuck you."
"Later." Zoro's lips traced down his backbone "Now roll over and let me take your pants off."
The laugh that escaped Sanji was wet and surprised, half a sob. "You're terrible at dirty talk."
"I'm not trying to be dirty." Zoro's hands found Sanji's hips. "I'm trying to get you naked."
"Same thing."
"Then stop arguing and let me."
Zoro flipped him over to put Sanji on his back with his arms pinned above his head. The slacks came off with some difficulty, too tight, too many buttons, Sanji squirming beneath him, but eventually they joined the growing pile of clothes on the floor.
The black briefs underneath left little to the imagination.
Zoro sat back, taking a moment to appreciate the view. Long legs, pale and smooth, parted slightly. An erection that strained against the fabric, the damp spot already visible.
He took his time looking.
"Like what you see?" Sanji's bravado was returning, but his voice was still shaky. "Or are you just admiring your handiwork?"
"I've seen worse." Zoro hooked his fingers into the waistband of the briefs, tugging them down slowly, watching the fabric drag over Sanji's skin.
Naked, Sanji was almost too much to look at.
His body was lean but not fragile, the muscles of a runner. His skin was pale, scattered with freckles across his shoulders. His cock curved up toward his stomach, flushed and leaking, the tip glossy with precum, and Zoro wanted it in his mouth with so much want that surprised him.
He wanted to taste Sanji. Wanted to hear the sounds he'd make.
"My turn," Sanji said, reaching for Zoro's jeans, his fingers brushing the waistband.
"Did I say you could touch?"
Sanji's hand froze midair.
His hand hovered, trembling, before slowly dropping back to the bed.
"Good boy."
Zoro watched the words hit; Sanji’s cock twitched against his belly. A shaky exhale escaped Sanji's lips, and his thighs fell open wider like an invitation.
"Fuck," Sanji breathed.
"Yeah." Zoro pushed his jeans and boxers down together, kicking them aside, his cock springing free, already hard and aching. "Get on your hands and knees."
Sanji scrambled to obey.
He turned onto his stomach, pushed himself up, and presented himself—ass raised, face down, forehead pressed to the mattress. The sight of him like that almost killed Zoro.
He climbed onto the bed behind him, the mattress dipping under his weight. His hands found Sanji's thighs, running up slowly. Up over the curve of his ass, squeezing gently, then spreading him open.
Sanji's breath caught. His fingers curled into the sheets.
"Look at you," Zoro murmured, thumbs tracing the inside of his thighs. "So desperate for it. You've been thinking about this, haven't you?"
Sanji’s shoulders were trembling.
"I asked you a question."
"Yes." The word came out broken. "Yes, I've been thinking about it. For months. Years. Every time you looked at me. Every time you called me names. I wanted you to—"
"To what?"
"To do this." Sanji's voice cracked. "To put me in my place. To fuck me until I can't walk. To—" He stopped, breath hitching.
"To what?"
"To fuck me so hard like I’m your bitch."
"Have you done this recently?" Zoro asked, but his fingers stilled on Sanji's thigh.
"No." A pause. A shaky breath. "It's been—a while."
He watched the way Sanji's spine curved, the way his ears burned red, the way he couldn't quite meet Zoro's eyes even from this angle. "How long?"
"Eight months. Maybe more."
Zoro's thumb pressed against his entrance, Sanji's whole body tensed in anticipation. A small, desperate sound escaped Sanji's throat.
"I'll go slow."
"Don't." Sanji looked over his shoulder, and his eyes were wet; glassy with unshed tears, the blue of them almost painful to look at. "Don't go slow. I don't want slow. I want to feel it tomorrow. I want to wake up sore and remember every second of this."
Zoro's jaw tightened. "You will." He leaned over Sanji, reaching for the side table where a bottle of lube and a strip of condoms sat waiting, placed there earlier with deliberate intent. "But I'm still going to open you up. You think I want to hurt you?"
"Maybe a little."
Zoro's hand connected with his ass without conscious thought. Sanji's moan was immediate, his back arching, his hips pressing back into the contact, seeking more.
"Not tonight." Zoro's voice was rough. His hand soothed over the heated skin, feeling Sanji tremble beneath his palm. "Tonight, you're going to feel good. Understood?"
"Yes."
"Yes, what?"
Sanji's breath hitched. His fingers curled into the sheets. "Yes, Daddy."
Zoro closed his eyes, steadying himself.
The word did something to him. He'd never been called that before. He'd never wanted to be called that before.
But from Sanji's mouth—from the mouth that argued with him daily, that spat insults and orders and sharp-edged compliments—it sounded like a prayer.
He uncapped the lube, and poured a generous amount onto his hands.
"Spread your legs a little."
Sanji complied immediately, his knees sliding apart on the sheets, opening himself up. The sight of him like that made Zoro's cock throb painfully against his stomach.
His slick fingers found Sanji's entrance again. He watched the way Sanji's breath caught, the way his hole fluttered against the touch, the way his whole body seemed to be holding itself together by a thread.
"Relax."
"I'm trying."
"Try harder." Another swat, lighter this time, more playful; a reminder of who was in control. Sanji huffed out a laugh that turned into a broken moan as Zoro's middle finger pushed past the first ring of muscle.
"There. Good. Breathe."
Zoro's cock leaked a bead of precome onto the sheets, but he ignored it. He focused entirely on the body beneath him, the way Sanji opened for him, the way his hips started to rock back.
"Another."
Zoro obliged, sliding a second finger in beside the first. Sanji's breath stuttered, his forehead pressing into the mattress. Zoro scissored his fingers gently, stretching him.
He searched for that spot—that small bundle of nerves that would make Sanji see stars.
When his fingers grazed it, Sanji's reaction was immediate. His whole body jerked, his hips pressing back desperately.
"There?"
"Yes. Fuck. Right there. Don't stop. Please don't stop."
Zoro pressed again, watching Sanji's toes curl, the muscles of his back rippling, his fingers scrabbling at the sheets. He added a third finger, and Sanji pushed back onto his hand.
"Look at you." Zoro's voice had gone hoarse. "So desperate for it. All those hours at work, arguing about comma placement and character motivation, and this is what you really needed. Someone to open you up and fuck you until you can't remember your own name."
Sanji's voice came out wrecked, stripped of all pretense.
"Please."
"Please what?"
Sanji turned his head, his face half-pressed into the mattress, one eye visible through the tangled mess of blond hair. Tears streaked his cheeks, his lips parted, his expression open and aching and so vulnerable it made Zoro's chest hurt.
"Please, Daddy." His voice cracked on the word. "I need—I need your mouth. Please. I'll do anything. I'll be good. I'll be so good for you. Just—please. I need to taste you. I need to feel you in my throat. I need—"
Zoro pulled his fingers out slowly, watching Sanji's hole clench around nothing, desperate and empty.
"No—why did you—I was so close—"
"Turn over." Zoro's voice left no room for argument. "On your back."
Sanji's mouth opened, probably to argue, but the look in Zoro's eyes made him snap it shut. He flipped onto his back, his cock bobbing against his stomach, wet and neglected.
Before he could settle, Zoro's hands were on his thighs, pushing them up toward his chest, folding him nearly in half.
Sanji was completely exposed; his hole glistening with lube, pink and stretched from Zoro's fingers. His cock lay hard and dripping against his stomach, a trail of precome smeared across his skin.
Zoro's mouth went dry. "Hold your legs."
Sanji hesitated for half a second, his eyes searching Zoro's face. Then his hands came down, hooking behind his own knees, pulling himself open wider. The submission in the gesture; the way he held himself open, the way he offered himself up without question made Zoro's cock throb painfully against his stomach.
"Such a good boy."
Sanji's breath hitched. His thighs trembled, but he didn't let go.
Zoro lowered himself onto the bed, settling between Sanji's spread thighs. He leaned in close, his breath ghosting over Sanji's entrance, watching it flutter in response.
"What are you—"
Zoro's tongue flattened against his entrance.
Sanji screamed.
It was muffled by the music from the club downstairs, but it was a scream nonetheless. His whole body jerked, his hands tightening on his knees, his back arching off the mattress.
Zoro worked his tongue against the tight ring of muscle, licking and sucking, feeling it flutter and relax under his tongue. He was patient, tracing the rim with the tip of his tongue before pressing inside, tasting the bitter-slick of lube and the musky taste of Sanji's skin. Sanji's thighs trembled against his shoulders, his hips rocking, trying to push back onto Zoro's face.
"Oh god. Oh god." Sanji's voice was wrecked, high and desperate. "No one's ever—I've never—"
Zoro pulled back just enough to speak. "No one's ever eaten your ass?"
"No. I didn't—" Sanji was babbling now, words tumbling out of him without a filter. "I didn't think people actually did that. I thought it was just—in videos—something people pretended to like. Fuck. That feels—that's so—"
"Then this is your first time." Zoro's lips curled. His tongue traced a circle around Sanji's rim, watching him shudder. "I want to hear you say it."
"Say what?"
"Say it's my first time having my ass eaten, Daddy."
The color that flooded Sanji's face was spectacular. It spread from his cheeks down his neck, across his chest. His eyes squeezed shut, his lips pressed together, and for a moment Zoro thought he might refuse.
"It's—it's my first time having my ass eaten, Daddy."
Spank.
Sanji's cock jerked at the impact, a thin string of precome arcing up to land on his stomach. Zoro had spanked him mid-sentence, leaving a pink handprint on the inside of his thigh.
"Good boy." Zoro's voice was rough with approval. He lowered his mouth again, his tongue pressing flat against Sanji's entrance.
Zoro's tongue worked him over thoroughly, wet licks that covered his entire hole and focused, pointed pressure that made Sanji see stars. He sucked at the rim, pulling it between his lips, then pressed inside again, fucking him with his tongue.
Every few minutes, he pulled back to spank him again until Sanji's entire backside was pink and hot to the touch.
Every spank made Sanji's cock leak more. Every lick made him whimper and plead. His hands never let go of his knees, even as his arms shook with the effort of holding himself open.
"Please. Please, I need to come." Sanji's voice was hoarse from moaning. "Daddy, please let me come. I've been so good. I've been so good for you. Please."
Zoro took pity on him.
He pulled back, licking his lips, savoring the taste of Sanji on his tongue. Then he wrapped one hand around Sanji's cock and took him into his mouth in a single smooth motion.
Sanji's back arched off the bed.
The sound he made was inhuman, his hips bucking up, trying to fuck Zoro's face. Zoro held him down with a hand on his hip, taking him deep, his tongue pressing against the underside of his cock.
His other hand kept spanking him. Slap. Suck. Slap. Swallow. Sanji was a mess beneath him, tears streaming down his face, drool pooling at the corner of his mouth, his whole body trembling.
Zoro hummed around him, the vibration traveling through Sanji's cock, and Sanji sobbed.
"Close. I'm so close. I'm going to—Daddy, I'm going to—"
Sanji came with a cry that sounded like Zoro's name, or Daddy, or maybe both. His release pumped hot and bitter down Zoro's throat, and Zoro swallowed.
Only when Sanji's hips jerked with oversensitivity did Zoro pull off with a string of saliva and come connecting his lips to Sanji's cock.
He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, looking up at Sanji through his lashes.
"Good?"
Sanji stared at the ceiling. His legs had fallen open, his hands releasing his knees to flop bonelessly at his sides. His eyes were glassy, unfocused, his lips parted, a thin line of drool running down his cheek.
"I can't feel my legs."
Zoro's grin was satisfied. "That's a yes."
Zoro climbed up the bed. He positioned himself over Sanji's face, knees bracketing his head. His cock was painfully hard, slick with his own precome, the tip glistening. He held it at the base, letting it hover just inches from Sanji's lips, watching the way Sanji's breath ghosted over the sensitive skin.
He tapped it against Sanji's lips once.
"Open pretty boy."
Sanji's eyes fluttered up to meet him. He opened.
Zoro pushed into his mouth and had to brace himself against the headboard.
The eager way Sanji's tongue immediately went to work—curling around the head, pressing against the underside, exploring every ridge and vein like he was memorizing the shape of him.
It was overwhelming. Sanji's mouth was as talented as the rest of him, and Zoro's hips moved before he could stop them, fucking into that willing throat.
"That's it." Zoro's voice was wrecked, barely recognizable as his own. "Take it. Take all of it."
Sanji's throat convulsed around him as he pushed deeper, and Zoro felt the gag reflex kick in. He pulled back instinctively, not wanting to hurt him, but Sanji's hands came up to grip his thighs, holding him in place.
Sanji's eyes were watering, tears spilling down his temples, but the look in them was pure determination. He wanted this. He wanted all of it. His throat worked around Zoro's cock, and the sight of him like that—face full of cock, tears streaming, still holding Zoro's thighs like he was afraid he'd pull away, made Zoro's hips stutter.
"You want more?"
Sanji nodded as best he could with a cock in his mouth. His fingers dug into Zoro's thighs, urging him forward.
Zoro's hand came down on his ass again; the angle awkward but manageable, the smack echoing in the quiet room. Sanji moaned around him, the vibration traveling up Zoro's spine, making his toes curl.
"I'm going to finger you while I fuck your mouth." Zoro's voice was low. "Is that what you want?"
Zoro reached down, his fingers finding the lube still warm from earlier and then he found Sanji's hole; still loose, still wet, still fluttering with the memory of his tongue.
He pressed two fingers in at the same moment he thrust back into Sanji's mouth.
The dual sensation pulled a muffled scream from Sanji's throat. Sanji's back arched off the bed, his hands flying from Zoro's thighs to grip the sheets, his knuckles white.
"Your ass is so tight," Zoro grunted. His fingers pumped in time with his hips, in and out, scissoring and stretching. "Even after I ate you out. Even after I stretched you with my fingers. You're still so fucking tight. You're going to feel so good on my cock."
Sanji's response was lost around Zoro's length. His throat worked, his tongue never stopping its desperate ministrations, and tears continued to stream down his face.
Zoro fucked into his mouth and fingered him in counterpoint.
"Touch yourself," Zoro commanded.
Sanji's hand flew to his cock without hesitation, already stirring back to life. He stroked himself in time with Zoro's thrusts, his fist moving frantically, his hips bucking up into his own grip.
The sight of him; Sanji debauched beneath him, mouth full, ass full, tears streaming, stroking
"I'm going to come," he warned. "Swallow it. Swallow all of it."
Three more thrusts and Zoro emptied down his throat with a groan. His vision went white for a moment, his whole body tensing, his hands gripping the headboard so hard the wood creaked.
Sanji swallowed convulsively, his throat working around Zoro's cock, milking every last drop.
He pulled out slowly, watching the way Sanji's lips clung to him, the way his tongue darted out to catch the last drop of come. Sanji's eyes were glassy, his face a mess of tears and drool and flushed skin, and he looked absolutely wrecked.
So beautiful.
Zoro collapsed beside him, his body heavy and spent. The ceiling had water stains in the shape of clouds, and he stared at them, trying to remember how to form words.
Beside him, Sanji was in no better shape. His chest heaved, his hand still loosely wrapped around his own cock, his legs splayed open. He turned his head slowly, his eyes finding Zoro's.
"That was—" Sanji's voice came out hoarse, barely a whisper. "That was adequate."
Zoro laughed. "Adequate?"
"I've had better."
"Liar."
Sanji's lips twitched, fighting a smile. "Shut up."
Zoro turned on his side, propping himself up on one elbow. His hand found Sanji's, their fingers interlacing on the mattress. "You're not done yet."
Sanji's eyes widened. "I literally can't feel my legs."
"I know." Zoro leaned in, his lips brushing Sanji's ear. "But I still haven't fucked you."
"Holy shit yeah," Sanji whispered.
"Yeah."
"You still want me to fuck you?" Zoro asked.
"I thought you'd never ask."
"Get on all fours."
Sanji shifted until he was positioned with his back arched, ass tilted high, head lowered in a shameless presentation. He looked like an offering.
Zoro reached for the lube. He rolled a condom on, his gaze never leaving Sanji. Watching him wait, watching the tremble in Sanji's thighs and the way his breath hitched in anticipation was an aphrodisiac in itself.
"You look good like this," Zoro murmured, stepping up behind him. "Bent over. Waiting. All that shouting and fighting at the office, and here you are, presenting yourself like a bitch in heat."
"Fuck you," Sanji spat.
"There it is." Zoro lined himself up, the broad head of his cock pressing firmly against Sanji's puckered entrance, teasing the rim. "There's the mouth I know. Call me Daddy again."
Sanji’s shoulders shook, his fingers digging into the mattress. "Make me."
Zoro didn't waste another second. He pushed.
Sanji let out a sharp, jagged intake of breath, his body arching as he adjusted to the sudden fullness. Zoro went slowly, one hand locking onto Sanji's hip with a bruising grip, the other pressed flat against the small of his back, pinning him down.
"Breathe," Zoro commanded.
"I'm breathing! You're just—" Sanji gasped, his voice breaking as Zoro sank deeper, stretching him open. "You're too big. I forgot how fucking big you are."
"Flattery shall take you nowhere."
"Trust me, it’s taking me to heaven right now."
Zoro bottomed out with a heavy thud of hips meeting ass. He held still for a moment, letting Sanji accommodate. Zoro groaned, his forehead resting against Sanji's shoulder, fighting the urge to lose it immediately.
"You okay?"
"Yeah," Sanji strained, his voice sounding wrecked. "Just—move. Please. God, move."
"Say it."
"Move, Daddy. Please."
Zoro moved.
He started with slow thrusts. He watched the way his cock disappeared into Sanji's heat, the sight of Sanji's hole stretching and molding around him, pink and swollen from the previous rounds.
It was obscene. It was perfect.
"You take it so well," Zoro whispered into his ear. "So greedy for it. Is this what you needed? A cock in your ass to finally shut you up?"
"Yes. Yes. Yes," Sanji chanted, his voice dissolving into a series of breathless whimpers.
Zoro gripped Sanji's hips hard enough to leave darkening fingerprints.
"Touch yourself," Zoro commanded. "I want to feel you come on my cock."
Sanji’s hand flew to his own erection, stroking himself with speed.
"Close," he gasped, his voice peaking. "Daddy, I'm close. Please... please let me—"
"Come for me."
Sanji’s orgasm ripped through him, his inner walls clamping down on Zoro. The sensation sent Zoro over the edge. He drove one last, deep thrust, grinding his pelvis hard against Sanji's prostate as he came.
Zoro pulled out before disposing of the condom. Sanji didn't move; he remained face down in the sheets, completely spent.
"That was..." Sanji’s voice was muffled, his face still pressed deep into the pillow.
"Wasn't it?" Zoro replied.
Sanji shifted, his voice regaining a flicker of its usual bite. "We still hate each other."
"Absolutely." Zoro rolled onto his back, his gaze fixing on the ceiling. "I can't stand you."
"I can't stand you either," Sanji breathed, his voice trembling slightly, though he fought to keep the softness out of it.
"Good."
"Good."
But as the cold of the air conditioning began to seep into their heated skin, Sanji moved. His hand wandered across the mattress, until his fingers brushed against Zoro's.
Zoro didn't pull away, his hand turned, meeting Sanji's halfway. Their fingers interlaced, the only honest thing left between them.
The next morning, Zoro sat at his desk at 8:47 AM, nursing a coffee that tastes like burnt dirt.
He hadn’t gotten any sleep. Every time he’d closed his eyes, the searing memory of Sanji’s face—the way his eyes had rolled back, the sound of his voice cracking on the word "Daddy," and the feeling of amazing ass.
They had left the club separately. There had been only awkward, jagged goodbyes and a mumbled "see you at work" that had sounded less like a greeting and more like a threat.
Sanji arrived at 9:02, looking immaculate. He didn't look at Zoro. He didn't look at anyone. He simply glided to his desk on the opposite side of the office and began typing with a focus.
Zoro watched him for a moment, his gaze lingering on the curve of Sanji's throat, before forcing his eyes back to his screen.
An hour passed. Then two. At 11:30, the fuse finally lit.
"The Viola ending," Sanji snapped, suddenly appearing at Zoro's desk. He slammed a printed document onto the surface. "You changed the ending."
Zoro didn't even look up from his monitor. "Because the original ending was garbage."
"It was poignant," Sanji hissed, his voice dropping an octave.
"It was predictable," Zoro countered, finally turning to look at him. He let his gaze drop, from Sanji's eyes down to the tight fabric of his slacks and back up. "The detective was the murderer the whole time? Groundbreaking. Never been done before. Truly revolutionary storytelling."
Sanji’s eyes twitched. "The foreshadowing was there from chapter two. It made sense, you philistine."
"It made boring sense," Zoro sneered, leaning back in his chair and spreading his legs. "I've read shopping lists with more tension than this trash."
Nami poked her head over her cubicle wall, shot them both a warning look that promised a pay cut if they didn't shut up, and disappeared.
Sanji didn't back off. Instead, he leaned in closer, to point at a line in the synopsis. He pressed his body just inches from Zoro's, his mouth hovering dangerously close to Zoro's ear.
"You're insufferable," Sanji breathed.
"And you're still showing up at my desk. Obsessed much?"
"I have nowhere else to be," Sanji whispered, his breath hot against Zoro's skin.
"Then find somewhere."
Sanji pulled back abruptly. "Fine," Sanji said, his voice suddenly flat and professional again, though his chest was still heaving. "I'll make my notes separately. Nami can decide whose edits to keep."
He turned on his heel and walked away, and Zoro still couldn’t tear his eyes off his ass.
Zoro stared at his computer screen for a full five minutes, the text blurring into meaningless lines.
The memories kept intruding; the sound of skin hitting skin, the sight of Sanji arched and trembling, the surrender in those blue eyes. He tried to focus, but his body was betraying him.
At 3 PM, Zoro stepped away to use the bathroom. When he returned, there was a post-it note slapped onto his keyboard.
The handwriting was Sanji’s, the same one Zoro had spent years arguing over red-inked manuscripts.
Storage room B. Fourth floor. 5 minutes. Come blow off some steam.
Zoro read it once and then twice. The third time, he grinned.
He didn't even bother to turn off his monitor.