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When Sanji comes back to his assigned cottage, he’s holding a wrapped plate.
“You missed lunch,” he says to Zoro.
Zoro is stretching on the ground. He doesn’t even glance up. Sanji sighs. “I’m going back to the kitchens.” He places the plate on the ground by Zoro with a deliberate clack. At the door, he glances back. “Zoro,” he says. “Eat.”
Then he leaves, and Zoro is left with the aroma of the warm plate by his side.
It’s difficult to ignore, but Zoro has always been able to keep a firm grip over his baser instincts.
They come across the island entirely by accident, well hidden that it is. They land because Luffy has never missed an opportunity to find an adventure.
It’s the strangest, more peaceful society they’ve ever come across. Everything is communal. Visitors are allowed to stay only if they can contribute to the pool of knowledge that keeps the village ever improving. Those who are unable to contribute are kindly asked to leave.
There is no war on the island. They have no need for violence, protected by centuries old landscapes that provide natural defenses. Those who stay only do so out of a genuine curiosity to study the village.
An anomaly themselves, Monkey D. Luffy’s crew is full of people who are eager to participate in an exchange of specialized skills.
Nami buries herself with their mapmakers. Robin spends her days in the library, fact checking with their historians. Chopper is an immediate hit with the medical clinic, comparing notes with admiring doctors. Usopp is delighted to dive in with the island’s inventor. Franky builds, and builds, and builds. Sanji, of course, cooks.
Luffy disappears into the village chief’s dwelling, either deep in discussion or holding court with stories that invoke roared laughter.
Everyone is happy to stay for a while.
It’s understandable.
An island of peace sounds like paradise to Zoro too, until realizes he might not have a place in it.
Every visitor is given a cottage to stay in. To a crew used to being on a ship, this is a welcome indulgence.
Zoro expects to stay on the Sunny, but Sanji ushers him into his own cottage.
“Don’t be daft,” he says to Zoro, “you’re with me.”
Zoro had frowned. “No I’m not. I’m not helping with anything on the island. I wasn’t assigned one.”
Sanji shakes his head. “Nevermind that.”
Zoro doesn’t want to be somewhere he isn’t welcome. The village is good to his crew and he doesn’t want to take advantage of that. He’s not a freeloader.
“They made their rules pretty clear, cook.”
But - “Stay,” Sanji says.
So Zoro does.
That night Sanji presses into him with long, languid thrusts. The mattress is soft beneath his body and he sinks into it. He closes his eyes and revels in the feeling of being so full of Sanji, the sound of his quiet grunts in his ear.
To fuck like this, unhurried and without the worry of nosy crewmates bursting in, is so luxurious Zoro doesn’t even know how to bask in it.
Sanji murmurs about how tight he is, how warm and gorgeous, mindless praises that Zoro doesn’t take to heart.
Zoro is so relaxed he barely notices when he comes, sighing into the pillow. Sanji continues thrusting his hips until he too comes, Zoro’s name on his lips. He reaches down to push a finger back into Zoro, gently feeling for his own spend, and Zoro shivers.
He had planned to leave afterwards but Sanji pulls the blanket over the both of them and extinguishes the lamp, and Zoro is asleep not moments later.
He knows he shouldn’t stay. If it turns out to be a problem, he’ll leave when the time comes.
It’s been a week since then.
Zoro no longer knows why he’s still here.
When Zoro first left the structure and safety of the dojo to set out on his own, he quickly came to understand that the rest of the world was a messy place.
Every day he has to find a place to sleep and figure out where his next meal will come from. The first time a man offers him a bed for the night, Zoro takes it, grateful. He ends up escaping through the window in the middle of the night.
The second time the offer to a bed comes, the man has a wife and a daughter and so Zoro agrees. This time, he sleeps sitting upright by the door. When it creaks open, he’s already halfway out the window, slipping into the moonlight.
There is no such thing as free lunch. Zoro does not make that mistake again.
Zoro is young but he is only getting stronger. He can survive on his own. If something is given to him he will earn it. He won’t owe anyone.
He’s learning the rules of the real world. There is a price for everything. A price for food and a bed, for new clothes. There are other prices too, for intangible things. A price for information. A price for a favor.
He learns how to pay for it all. He learns what people are interested in. Money, work, and the earliest: his body. The one he learned first is also the hardest to give.
The price for his safety is to be the largest threat around. All he has to do to not be messed with is to be stronger, and faster, and more skilled.
For a boy aiming to be the greatest swordsman in the world, he finds this amiable enough.
Zoro takes a walk through the village after the lunch he didn’t eat. There are children running around outside, giggling and yelling and dipping in and out of each house without a care in the world.
Zoro’s seen the way they eat where they want, sleep where they want. Their parents never worried about their safety. Food always ready in the communal dining hall.
It’s a wonder what a place without war can be.
He doesn’t like to be out without his swords. But there are no weapons in this town, and he’s been cooped up in Sanji’s cottage for far too long.
“Mr. Swordsman,” Zoro hears called out and he turns to the familiar sight of Robin with a stack of books. She smiles. “There you are. I was beginning to wonder if you’d disappeared.”
“I’ve been around,” he says.
“Are you busy?” she asks.
“Just taking a walk.”
She hums. “Would you mind accompanying me then? I’m headed to the library.”
“Okay,” Zoro says. He’s got nowhere to be.
He takes half her books from her and they walk in a companionable silence. That’s what Zoro likes the most about Robin. She doesn’t waste words.
They pass by neighbors chatting in each other's doorways, helping each other with tasks. A man holds the ladder for a woman reaching for the tiles on her roof. A girl takes a baby from a woman passing by, cooing and whisking him off to play.
The village itself seems to be made for comfort. The houses vary in color, all creamy and natural with their red tiled roofs. The streets are clean. Trees and grass seem to burst from every crack.
Robin holds the door open and he follows her into the library. As soon as the door shuts they’re enveloped by a heavy hush.
Zoro doesn’t care much for Robin’s books, but he does respect them. He likes how dignified they look, and the weight that they carry for Robin. She’s dedicated her life to them, and that’s something he can understand.
“If you’d like,” Robin says, “you can stay awhile. There’s a comfortable seat by the window.”
Zoro thinks she knows he’s looking for a place to be unseen.
He settles into the nook by the window and reaches for his hip for hilts that aren’t there. He falters, and ends up crossing his arms instead.
He passes the time like this, looking out at the happy villagers, listening to Robin flip pages.
“Do you think a place like this exists for us in the future?” He asks her some time later. Robin looks up from her pages. If anyone knows the answer, it’ll be her. She’s the smartest person he knows.
“Peace?” she asks. He nods.
“I think,” Robin begins, “that it’s not likely. There’s too much ambition on our ship for battles not to come for us. Or us for them. I don’t think anyone can predict the future though, so I won’t.”
He’s never even imagined a future where they wouldn’t be fighting. It’s never occurred to him. They’re following Luffy to the pits of hell. Of course there’d be fighting.
But now Zoro wonders.
Is there something on the other side of it all? Past the King of the Pirates. If he makes it that far, if he’s not dead and buried at the bottom of the ocean, is a town like this what will be waiting?
What will he have to exchange when violence is not needed?
He skulks out of the library some time later, hoping to get back to Sanji’s cabin unnoticed. It’s taking longer than he thought it would, and as he turns yet another corner he’s surprised to find himself near the village center.
“BRO!” he hears in Franky’s booming voice. “Zoro BRO!”
Franky waves him over, grinning. “Perfect timing. Give me a hand with these will ya? I gotta lug all of this back to the Sunny.”
It takes some time to get back to the Sunny with all the stacks of planks and nails and various other items Zoro can’t name and doesn’t care to. Franky chatters the whole time about what he’s been building.
“What’s all this for?” Zoro asks as he hefts the last stack over the railing.
“Supplies!” Franky grins, fist thumping on his own stack. “Super supplies for our super ship that I got in exchange for my super building skills.”
Zoro glances around. “They gave you all this for your work?”
“Yep,” Franky says proudly. “It’s been a good town for us. They gave Chopper herbs, and Robin books, and yadda yadda you know for the others.”
Zoro looks up. “What did Sanji get?”
“Sanji?” Franky purses his lips. “You’ll have to ask him, bro.”
Franky leaves, and Zoro stays on the Sunny. Are you sure bro? Franky had asked. At least come to the celebration tonight. You’re never around.
Zoro will not be showing up to the celebration. He will stay here on the Sunny. He’ll rummage through the pantry for something to eat and then he will sleep in Nami’s comfy bed since she isn’t here.
He won’t stay another night in a place where he can’t pay the price.
It’s chilly, but he strips off his shirt and goes through his forms. The repetition is soothing, and the burn in his muscles is a welcome comfort.
He’s winding down when he hears the thump of someone coming over the railing. The click of a lighter alerts him to who it is.
Zoro doesn’t turn around, but Sanji’s footsteps come closer and closer until he feels firm arms coming around his waist from behind. Sanji presses up against him and shoves his face into Zoro’s neck, breathing deep.
“I’m sweaty,” Zoro says.
“I know,” Sanji says. “God you’re so sexy.” He grinds against Zoro’s ass mindlessly, without any real purpose.
“You just here to be a perv?” Zoro asks.
Sanji only laughs. “I’m here to escort you back.”
“I’m staying on the Sunny.”
Sanji raises an eyebrow. “Why?”
“It’s your cottage. Not mine.”
“Don’t be an idiot.”
“You’re the idiot,” Zoro accuses. “Those who can’t contribute are asked to leave the island. Stop breaking the fucking rules.”
Sanji laughs again. “Since when do you care about breaking the rules?”
“I care about this one.”
“You’re not breaking the rules, you stubborn arse. Come on, we’ll be late for the dinner I’ve spent all afternoon preparing.”
Zoro clenches his fists. Of course the cook wouldn’t get it. People are always going to need to eat.
“What did you ask for?” Zoro grits out.
“What?”
“Franky said you all got something in exchange for the work you’ve done. What did you ask for?”
Sanji looks at him. He must be able to see the tension thrumming in Zoro’s body, so obvious it must be bursting out of him.
“Come back to the cottage,” Sanji says instead. “I’ll tell you there.”
Sanji steps into the shower with him. The water pressure in his bathroom is heaven sent, and Sanji takes his time lathering Zoro up with a bar of smooth soap. It leaves an earthy tang in the air.
Zoro brushes aside Sanji’s bangs and pushes in for a kiss. They make out lazily, steam curling around their bodies. Sanji’s broad hands grip his waist, and it grounds Zoro in a way he wishes it wouldn’t.
Zoro’s hair is still dripping when he flops back on the bed, spreading his legs.
It’s the surprise of the century when Sanji only tosses a towel on his head instead. He’s not sure he can ever recall a time when Sanji has turned down sex. He thought that’s where they’d been headed.
“Tell me what’s up with you,” Sanji says.
Zoro pulls the towel over his face. He doesn’t want to tell Sanji, of all people. Sanji, who can not only put up a damn good fight but who can also cook. Who looks after the crew in so many ways, attending to their needs in ways Zoro doesn’t understand. No, he doesn’t want to tell Sanji.
But he’s tired. And it’s been a long week.
“If I can’t spill blood,” he croaks out, “then I have nothing to offer. It’s all I’m good for.”
Sanji pulls the towel off of his face. Zoro meets his eyes, brave till the end.
“What,” Sanji says, “the bloody fuck are you talking about.”
“Why am I still here?” Zoro demands. “I wasn’t given a cottage. I’ve done nothing to improve this village. They should’ve asked me to leave by now.”
Sanji drops down heavily to sit against the headboard.
“Ask me again,” he says.
Zoro turns his head to look up at him. There’s only an arm's length distance between them but it looks vast. “What?”
“Ask me again what I asked the village for.” His face is unreadable.
Zoro swallows. “What did you ask for?”
Sanji finally turns to look at him.
“You,” he says. “I asked for you.”
Zoro doesn’t move. He doesn’t know what to say. Some feeling he doesn’t like is creeping up his sternum.
“Is that enough for you?” Sanji asks. “I know it'd never be enough for forever, but is it enough for you to exist only for me, even if just for a little while?”
“Why?” Zoro asks, voice low. “What can I possibly offer you?”
Sanji rubs a hand over his face, laughing ruefully.
“Darling,” he says, “you fucking moron. Can you just let yourself be beloved?”
Sanji leads him by the hand to the celebration that night.
There’s a bonfire going, and music and dancing and it’s raucous in a way that any party involving Luffy is. Usopp is warbling atop a log and he cuts off his song to point at them as soon as they arrive.
“Zoro!” he cries, “You’re here! Everyone, Zoro is here!” before scrambling to catch back up with the song.
Luffy looks up from a table piled with food and shouts, swinging an arm out to slingshot himself right into Zoro, slamming his torso into Zoro’s face and wrapping his legs around and around.
“Zoro’s here!” he shouts, “Where have you been Zoro? I couldn’t find you for ages!”
“Oi,” Zoro coughs, suffocated by Luffy’s entire body, “Luffy, get off. Can’t breathe.” Luffy laughs and scrambles onto his back instead.
“Zoro!” he hears from his knees. Chopper is looking up at him with watery eyes. “Did you get lost Zoro? Sanji said you were fine but we haven’t seen you for days!” Chopper hops up and Zoro catches him against his chest.
"I don't get lost," Zoro patiently explains.
He relishes the feeling of Chopper's fur between his fingers and Luffy's arm around his neck. They're usually living out of each other's pockets. He's surprised to realize that he's missed it.
“Alright,” Sanji finally says, pulling Luffy off and tossing him in the direction of the banquet table. “Lay off him, he’s been in a delicate mood.”
“What the fuck,” Zoro says. “No I haven’t, you asshole.”
“Zoro,” Chopper says, “I’m glad you’re okay. If you need something come to me okay? I’ll fix you right up.”
“Yeah,” Zoro answers, “of course." Chopper beams.
“Well, well, well,” Zoro hears, and then a slender arm is wrapping around his neck and pulling him down into a headlock. Zoro chokes as Nami digs her fist into the top of his head. Damn, she’s gotten stronger again. “Look what the cat dragged in.”
“Get off me, woman.” Zoro wheezes.
“Are you done sulking?” she asks.
Zoro does not like the way she looks like she knows exactly what’s been happening.
“Mind your own business,” he says.
She rolls her eyes. “Your business is my business.” A loud roar of laughter is heard on the other side of the bonfire. She grins. “Dice. That’s my cue. Sanji, look after him will you?”
“Of course, my lady.”
As Nami brushes past him, she reaches for Zoro’s hand and squeezes it once, tight. Zoro squeezes back. She glances at him from the side of her eyes, and he sees the fire reflected back at him.
“Come on then,” Sanji says, “let’s get some food into you.”
Later, much later, the party is still going.
Zoro, pleasantly warmed by alcohol and good food, dozes against Sanji’s chest where he’s sitting against a log. His legs come up on either side of Zoro, radiating heat from the fire.
Sanji’s been chatting with a chef from the village kitchen.
“Is he asleep?” the chef asks.
Sanji’s laugh is a rumble against his cheek. The arm slung around Zoro’s shoulder tightens briefly. “Probably. That’s the norm for him.”
“It's kind of incredible that he can sleep through this."
"Oh trust me, he's slept through far worse."
"Is he yours?”
“Yes,” Sanji says, confident and without hesitation. “He’s mine.”
“He looks like a handful.”
Sanji must be making some kind of expression because the chef breaks out into guffaws.
“Even so,” Sanji finally answers. “I’m the luckiest guy alive.”