#they started in the kitchen but Sanji would never fight him in his sacred place | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

skaryskylar · 4 years

Text

Cherry Wine

Pairing: ZoSan

Type: One-Shot

Summary: There is a song that pervades throughout the land of Wano. Zoro can't hear the words, but somehow he still understands the lyrics.

Also available on AO3

He first hears the song when he's drinking on Kin'emon's porch. The sake O-Tsuru brought is hot on his tongue as it eases its way down his throat, rim of the porcelain cup cool on his lips. The sharp tang of alcohol clashes with the sweetness of plum, just as the heat of the drink clashes against the cool gusts of wind fiddling with the branches of the trees, playing with sturdy sakura wood and pliant, lush leaves like strings of a shamisen.

Zoro grants an ear to its melody. The white katana at his hip hums along, vibrating in its sheath. This was something secret. Sacred. And though he caught the rhythm and flow, the lyrics weren't meant for human ears. It feels like a memory teetering on the brim of his consciousness, the triumph of knowing that it was there and reaching for it before the bitterness of watching it slip through your grasp.

There was a song he could understand though. He hears the familiar thwack-thwack-thwack of a strainer, the cacophony of knives against a cutting board. Light, rich laughter that hung in the air, rustling his hair and easing the tightness in his chest. The stretch of rubber. The twang a of violin being tuned. A resounding slap as a hand is pushed away. Feminine voice mingling with a deeper baritone (Together. Always together those two.) closely followed by a child's squeal. A boisterous voice rising above all the noise, weaving a tale of insects that were larger than men and the valiant hero that dared to tame them.

This was a song of nakama, and it spoke to something deep within his center, allowing a zen even meditation did not grant him. It was one of peace and trust and love that ran deeper than blood.

He knows all the words by heart, even those unspoken.

A whizz through the air is his only warning.

He catches the bowl that was thrown at him with ease. The udon swims precariously inside but does not slip over the rim. He looks down at the thick noodles swimming in the dark dashi. Fresh, green scallions scattered over the swirling narutomaki, a few pieces floating in the broth past thin slices of beef like leaves in a river. He breathes in, savors the rich scent, then raises his hand to catch the chopsticks shot his way.

(He got used to the pain of them smacking his palm a few islands ago. He had missed it during that long week at the beginning of all this, when he wandered the land of Wano with no one to spar with nor a Captain to follow.)

"Hurry up, before Luffy gets his hands on it."

Sanji settles next to him. He can tell by how the air shifts to accommodate his lithe form, plucking the acrid smoke from his pipe and casting it away. Though they did not touch, his entire left side suddenly feels warm. The cool night does nothing to beat the sensation back, encouraging it if anything else, forcing the blonde closer with a shiver.

His hair, golden and wavy without his tools to straighten it, is strung back into a low ponytail. The stubble given a chance to reign for the day took full advantage, casting his entire jaw in shadow, relenting only to the pale, plush lips that tugged on the vice between them.

His eyes were on the stars, but they shift their attention quickly when he notices Zoro staring.

(And he was closer to that memory. He could feel the softness of it in his hands. The song was getting clearer. Wado hums at his side, bidding him to keep reaching and maybe with a final stretch-.)

"It'll get cold dumbass. Hurry up, or I'll give it Luffy."

"Don't push your luck Curly. You won't get this bowl unless I give it to you."

He takes his first bite and tastes the sea. The crisp salt of the ocean and freshness of the unpolluted air. The grit in his teeth when Luffy launched him into the grass. The billow of a mast unfurling. The crash of the waves against the Sunny's strong, sturdy Adam's wood. Early mornings in the crow's nest, a fresh cup of jasmine tea in hand as he stares out to the edge of the blue expanse.

Yes, this tasted like home.

The song grows in its intensity as he eats. The last chord only ends when the final drop of dashi slips down his throat. Sanji takes the bowl from him, making a point to get close enough for Zoro to smell the ginger-spice of oil he used for his skin, before he scowled, ripping it and the chopsticks away from him to return to his kitchen.

As soon as his foot crosses the threshold, the song stops.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He hears the song again as he walks through the forest. The morning sun sits heavy on his skin, sweat forcing the tan to glisten in its wake. The light that shone through the trees started off the ballad, soon joined by birds that darted about overhead. They seem to follow him as he walks down a rough path, nearly overrun by nature. The soil sinks beneath his sandals without resistance, an easy tempo followed by lively chirps of the birds and the cry of cicadas.

It wasn't difficult to sink into the dreamlike haze. The familiar zen of meditation washes through him, easing his breath and loosening his grip on the hilt of his swords. Which was why he jumps when Wado rattles in her sheath.

He pauses, looks around, and is entirely unsure of where he's found himself. While the rest of Wano is well-loved and taken care of post-Kaido, this area seems to be untouched from Oden's time. The trees grew tall and unhindered by human folly, wildflowers sprouting at their roots in a myriad of colors. Tiny woodland animals dart about, sniffing at his feet, pouncing at his sword. They're curious. Unafraid of him because they have never seen one of his kind.

The most noticeable of them all was the golden fox. It was perched on a branch, lazily flicking its milky tail back and forth as it peers down at him with bemused black eyes. Zoro tightens his hand on Enma's hilt. It follows the movement, then gives a huff, as if laughing at the notion that the swordsman could harm it.

It stands, stretches into a long, arc, then opens its maw in a silent yawn.

Smacking it's lips, the fox gives Zoro one last look, smirks, then scampers down the tree and trots away.

A childish, petty anger surges in his chest at the disrespect. He doesn't hesitate before he goes to follow. The little woodland animals fall over themselves to track his footsteps as he goes deeper into the forest, following the sway of that golden tail. The song in his ears grows louder, sounds forming the beginning of words till he steps into a clearing, and everything falls to a low vibration.

Wado is warm in his hand. Every nerve fires off, putting him on guard. But the clearing is empty save for the overgrown grass and the wooden markers that stood high, covered in moss and rot.

He found his feet stepping towards them before he could resist. The wood is cool against his fingertips as he brushes away the dust, struggling to make out the faint characters etched into the surface.

'Noa'...'Ro'....

"They say that they're proud of you." Kuina's voice says in his ear. Wado's hilt has turned hot in hand as he crouches. He brushes against the wood again, wanting to hear that sweet sound once more, peeling lichen out of the way to make out the rest of the name. So fervent is he in his efforts, that he fails to notice the crunch of leaves underfoot until another, deeper voice rings out, fondness sewn into the tone beneath the harsh words.

"Honestly, marimo. Can't we go to one island without you getting lost? You missed lunch asshole."

Sanji stops a couple paces away. There is nothing remarkable about his appearance. He is dressed in his usual kimono, white and yellow with the sleeves rolled up. He had just come back from work. If the low ponytail didn't indicate as much, then the carefully wrapped bento in his hand would.

Zoro had seen this man in this same position-with a frown on his face and a hand on his hip so many times before. So there was no reason for his breath to freeze in his lungs despite the heat of the day. Clearing his throat, he shiftsdiscreetly, trying to force his heart to jumpstart in his chest and give his brain the blood it needed to think clearly.

A moment of silence grew too long.

Sanji looked beyond Zoro, over to what he was doing, then his face crinkled in disgust.

"Is...Is that a grave marker? You sick necrophilia-loving fuck. Stop touching that!"

Heat flooded his face. He heard a little girl's laughter on the wind as he scrambled backwards, rubbing his hands on his dark hakama.

"I just wanted to read them! Get your head out of the gutter you perv!"

"What'd you say matcha-brain?"

"Exactly what I said Curlicue!"

He felt the kick coming before Sanji even raised his leg. Their timing is perfect, as always. A splinter of wood flies off the man's sandal when the heel meets Enma in a sonic clash. Blue eyes meet his through the burst of flames, merriment dancing in their depths despite the scowl on their owner's face.

He smirks back.

They pull apart and come together time after time again. It is their own elaborate dance, and the steps are much too complicated to be taught to anyone else. Around them, the clearing begins to roar its approval.

Wano's song descends upon the scene seamlessly, ringing in Zoro's ears as if it was always there. The golden fox adds to the chorus, cheerfully yipping as it darts about, watching the fight with the same excited vigor as the rest of the creatures gathered to watch. With each kick he meets with his blade, the words become clearer. Verse after verse, lyric after lyric, kick after kick pushing him higher, sending him towards the finale.

He rushes towards it in a flying leap. Wado sings between his teeth as he bore down on the man, unafraid of the heat of the flames even as they licked his bare skin.

When a well-placed kick knocks his swords from his hands, the song did not falter. He moves with its cadence. Slipping Wado back into its hilt to go no-sword style, he braces himself for impact and grabs Sanji by the shoulders, sending them both tumbling to the ground.

Their breaths mingle, a cool gust on the crook of his neck as he presses his nose to blonde tufts, breathes, and listens.

He knows he's close. He can taste it on his lips, sweet as plum sake and just as pleasing to his tongue. The strands of blonde tickle his nose. Vanilla and ginger mingle, scent of his conditioner strong through the man's sweat. He wasn't aware the rumble in the air was coming from him till timid fingers flutter at his shoulders, resting there as if they belonged.

He looks down into deep azure eyes and he hears the song as if it were in another room. There are lyrics, words that slit his heart open and let it weep, an outpouring of emotion so thick he can't speak.

He licks his lips and tilts his head to see if he could get a better listen.

"OI! Zoro! Sanji!" The rustle of grass beneath hooves cut off the song abruptly. The men scramble apart just as Chopper appears from the trees. The deer pants, obviously having run all the way, but his expression is joyous when he clambers up to them.

(The golden fox takes one look at the reindeer and rolls it eyes. After a pointed, pained look at Zoro, it turns on its heel and scampers away.)

"Izo and Marco are setting up a sparring contest! O-Robi's going to use swords! One hundred sword style!"

Zoro is up and running before the kid can finish. The song is left forgotten.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hiyori's fingers are a blur against the strings. Nimble, pale, and skilled, they dart across the instrument with a self-assuredness he recognizes quickly. Her shamisen is like his blades: an extension of the self so integral it was like another limb. Her chords blend easily with that song, and yet he can't help but think it is a pale mimicry of the original. He doesn't dislike it, no.

But it still feels like something is missing. The build-up is there. The rush that heats his blood and makes him want to fight is there. But it's surface level. There was a depth to the original that her song didn't achieve.

His time with the cook was the closest he got to hearing the end of it. Was anger the key? Did he need to get pissed off to understand?

(Wado laughs in her sheath, high and feminine. Free and true. It's a sound that never failed to make him feel like a fool, going back to when he was a child.)

He doesn't realize she stopped playing until she speaks.

"You seem distracted."

"Got a lot to think about," He grunts.

"Let me try to ease your mind."

The response annoys him. He wanted a push, a snarky rebuttal. There was no resistance. The pliancy-the way she bends to serve-it's unnerving.

She looks him over and he can't help the goosebumps on his skin. Her eyes are a stunning shade of blue, but they were wrong. This is the blue of the sky, of stability, the promise of 'forever' no matter how stagnant the days may become.

He craves the blue of the sea. He wants to look deep in the whorl of the waves and fall headfirst into the chaos of their storms. He seeks mystery and adventure because they can make him strong. He wants to discover the unknown, to let its tide roll through him. He wants triumph in the face of disaster. An unrelenting fire to forge his swords. The smell of ginger, spices, tobacco, steel, leather and sea salt.

Not this. Not sitting in a tiny room with an empty bottle of sake at his side, idly listening to rehearsed music as his blades waste away and grow dull.

Wado is silent. Even as Hiyori starts a new song, she is silent.

He's growing impatient. He knew it was showing on his face because her fingers began to still on the strings. She looks him over again, displeasure rolling off of her in waves. Sighing, she sets the instrument aside.

"My songs don't please you."

"They don't displease me." He offers, but he sees from the way her face shuttered that it wasn't the right thing to say. He isn't clever like the cook. He wasn't raised to be suave. His tongue is a thick, heavy clod in his mouth that resists even if his lips manage to move in the right way.

Hiyori ducks her head. One by one, she plucks the pins from her hair, setting each to side with careful clinks as waves of her silken, cerulean hair fall over her shoulders. Once they are all complete, she pushes it behind her back, revealing her face and the determination that settles in her gaze.

"Perhaps," Confusion makes his heart swing as she leans forward. Close. Much to close. "I can help with that."

He freezes back as she pulls herself onto his lap.

"Relax," She says softly. His heart batters against his ribcage, heat climbing up his skin as the slow, dreadful realization as to what was going on rattles his brain. Her hands are tiny but firm on his thighs, fingers reaching for the tie of his obi as he begs his frozen mouth to move and resist in a way that wouldn't physically harm her.

But shock isn't easily shook off. It forces a series of syllables that didn't belong to any language out before he finally, thankfully, spluttered a:

"Wait, no! Lady, stop I-!"

The shoji slides open and the voice of the last person Zoro wants to see at that moment rings out bold and true.

"Hiyori-chan!!!! I've got tea for you, then Izo and Okiku-chan helped me make cookies! Maybe you could show me how-! Eh, mosshead?"

This shade of blue is correct. He studies the myriad of navy and azure in the irises as the black pupils shrank. This is the one that reminded him of freedom and the sweet taste of victory. They promised greatness.

But there's something wrong.

Emotions flash across their surface, quick and intense as a thunderous storm. Wado rattles in her scabbard, but that sound is overshadowed by the tea set crashing to the ground, sending porcelain shards and matcha powder arcing through the air. The kettle tips over, hot water streaming quick to socked feet but it was like Sanji didn't notice. He only stares at the scene before him. His hands quiver, shaking as if he were cold, until he regains the sense of mind to clutch at the sleeves of his kimono, abruptly dipping into a low, stiff bow.

"Sorry for interrupting." He says coldly, then he turns and runs.

Zoro's heart hammers in his chest before it loses its place and falls to the depths of his gut. He scrambles to get up through the pain, chasing after the man through the hallway as Wado yells at him to 'run, run, run', bolting past rooms with booming laughter and delicious smells, ignoring Luffy's shouts of his name.

But by the time he comes to a stop at the front door, the yard is empty save for the swaying grass.

The angry chittering at his hip stops.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The rain has a long, mournful solo. There is no chirping of cicadas, no rush of the wind through the trees, no sun to kiss his skin and bid him welcome to Wano's orchestra. There is only wetness and biting cold, barely fought back by the sake in his hand.

He sits alone. Usopp had stopped by earlier with dinner. The empty bowl is at his side, resting against a still white sword, silent as the day its original master died. He watches the world in all its grayness from Kin'emon's porch. How the rain sweeps in and cleanses them all, nature and man alike, dropping its sorrowful tune on the world, slipping its melancholy through his thick haori till it chills his very bones.

The sound of the door opening and gentle yet sure footsteps perk his ears. He doesn't need to look to know who it was. (Sanji's steps were just as graceful, but they were heavier. The only other Strawhat with this grace was-.)

"I'm reading a book about soulmates," Robin says, folding her legs beneath her as she sits down. The wisteria of her perfume tickles his nose, sweet and stark against the fresh scent of the rain. He doesn't look away from the downpour. She follows the line of his gaze and does the same.

"I'm not usually one for fiction, but Franky saw fit to buy me something he'd thought I'd like. The fact that he stepped foot in a bookstore at all speaks volumes."

A stabbing pain shoots through him. He loosely knows the crawling heat of envy, and is sure it wasn't for either half of the couple in particular but that thing that they shared.

Robin could be morbid and cruel but Franky makes her laugh. He loosened her grip on the grotesque, brought her down from the icy pedestal of perfection and lets her bare her weaknesses for the crew to see. Franky is a madman, loyal to his family to a fault, a perverted genius. She forces his kindness, literally gripped him by the balls till he dared to share his visions with the world, to use his smarts to help a boy become a king.

(They are two of the most amazing, worst people he has ever met. Separated, they're horrible. If Luffy asked him to cut them down back then, he wouldn't have hesitated. Together, he trusts them with his life. Would give up his own for theirs. They made each other 'good'. Stable enough to act as parents to a genius, teenage reindeer with a knack for sticking his hands in human bodies. Wasn't it funny how fate worked out sometimes?)

"It's an interesting concept isn't it? One soul ripped into two by the gods, doomed to roam this earth for years just searching for their second half..." A red-breasted thrush flutters into the grass before them. It cocked its head at the two, rustling its feathers even as the rain pelts down, unbowed and unbroken under the deluge. Zoro straightens as its beady eyes settle on him.

Wado gives a little shiver.

"It would be easier if we were birds," Robin continues. "How lovely it must be to find someone that's singing the same song as you."

"I don't believe in fairy tales."

She just smiles softly. The rain does not cease. The melody of Wano does not come.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The days pass. The repairs on the Sunny are nearly complete. Marco the Phoenix flies back to Sphinx. Momonosuke studies hard to become a worthy leader of his beloved country. Hiyori finds him and apologizes. Outwardly, he accepts it with a grunt. Inwardly, he can't help but bluster. He resents her. Just a little bit. Only time and distance could let him overcome the instinctive surge of embarrassment every time he thinks of the incident.

(He wants to set sail. He wants to set sail. He wants to set sail.)

He trains.

He swings his swords and ignores how they no longer sing. Usopp gives him a wide berth after a particularly snappy remark. Nami forces him into bathhouses, thinking the water should 'cool him off'. Chopper fixes his practice-induced injuries but does not reprimand him. Franky keeps asking if he's okay. Robin sends him those knowing glances, saying whatever cryptic words come to her mind in that moment. Luffy says nothing, places the strawhat on his head, and encourages him to nap.

(His eyes stay wide open beneath the brim.)

He does not see Sanji outside of meal times.

He didn't realize he was looking till one day Luffy plucks the hat back, staring deep into his eyes with that rare, serious expression that made him seem years older than he was.

"Try again. Whenever you think you're going the right way, go the opposite."

The air shifts, and the boy grins once more.

"That's what I do whenever I need to find Law! Guys like us can't listen to our heads! What matters is our guts! The stomach is the answer to all our problems!"

As if summoned, the organ in question gives a loud, long rumble. Luffy groans. He flops over, letting his hat cover his face in the exact same position Zoro had been in.

"Please...hurry...Sanji doesn't make extra snacks when he's angry."

As First Mate it was his duty to follow his Captain's orders. He repeats this mantra in his mind, using this justification to steel himself as he plucks his swords from where they lean against the tree, saddles them at his hip, and begins his search.

Sanji was not at the udon shop. Nor was he at Kin'emon's place. He was not drinking tea at O-Tsuru's shop, nor was he aiding the rebuilding efforts at Oden Castle. He was not at the ship. Not flirting with girls at the geisha house.

Zoro keeps searching. He walks until his stomach begins to grumble and even sake can't silence it.

Mt. Atama was the last place he would've checked.

He finds him atop the hill, hidden in the shadow of a cherry blossom tree. He is not alone. Izo and Kiku are at his sides as they had been since the end of the battle.

(They took to each other quick. The gunslinger said the blonde reminded him of someone he used to know. That sitting in the kitchen as he worked calmed him. Sanji laid his hand on his in understanding and showed him how to make mochi.)

Tama and Toko are seated with them. All five wear flowers in their hair, carefully weaved by Tama if the stems scattered around her are any indication. They chatter and laugh, sharing tea and cookies. The cook's face is flushed red from his laughter. Toko is doing a funny dance that brings tears to his eyes. He only laughs harder when the girl drags Izo and his sister to join.

It's mid-spin that the gunslinger senses him approach. A dark, thin brow arches high, frown playing at painted red lips. Zoro waits as the man leans down to whisper to the girls, tugging his sister by her kimono sleeve to give the two some semblance of privacy.

Of course, the group has to pass Zoro on the way. Izo gives him a look that was less of glance and more of a silent threat, but he says nothing, nor does his swift pace falter.

The swordsman begins his silent rapture, ascending the curve of the hill to meet the golden man waiting for him above. The song starts again. He's in the room where its playing. He can hear every plucked string, the reverb and chorus's lively echo.

"What do you want?" Sanji asks. He's no longer laughing. The light in his eyes has gone cold. Zoro doesn't respond as he sits. The winds stirs, blowing through their hair. He smells matcha tea and flames.

They speak at the same time.

"What you saw that day-."

"You don't have to explain yourself to me-."

They stop, take a breath. Zoro tries again.

"She apologized. For, uh..." He coughs, chest suddenly feeling very tight. "She misread the 'signals' I was giving. She told me to apologize to you on her behalf."

He sucks on his lower lip, letting a short 'tch' rip past his teeth as his heart bounces in his throat. Sanji still wasn't looking at him.

"Well, I forgive her. So you can run and tell your little girlfriend that if she wants to keep you here in this tiny country all for herself, she can. You can stay here with her and make little sword-stabbing babies with weird hair and-."

"I don't want to stay here." The blond freezes. Zoro takes a breath. He reminds himself of his Captain's words and jumped to instinct.

"I want to go to sea." The 'with you' goes unsaid but, if they're listening to the same song, then it didn't go unheard.

The cook's hands are shaking. He pulls out his pipe, struggles to pack it tight and light it up. When he manages to take a long drag, the wind gives him the same affectionate consideration it did the first time, plucking the smoke and casting it towards the clouds.

Sanji watched it fly away. Zoro watched him watch it, tracing the firm collarbone and V-shaped sliver of skin with vicious longing tearing at his insides.

"She'll be disappointed."

"I don't care."

He hears a girl's gasped laughter. Wado rattles in her sheath. He unbuckles all three swords and sets them to the side. Then he takes two quick steps up to Sanji, reaches for the man's jaw and tilts it till they're making eye contact.

(His eyes are so, so blue.)

"Are you singing the same song as me?" He asks, because his mind is blank but his gut has a lot of strong opinions. Sanji pulls the pipe from his lips. Sets it aside. Then his expression crinkles into something exasperated and fond all at once.

"Have you been talking to Robin too?"

He was not stopped when he leaned in. There was no one to intervene when he pressed his lips to Sanji's own and relished the soft, little whine that rose to meet him. He's in the room where the song is playing. He can hear every beat of the drum. The chorus of Wano's ghosts sings about adventure, a great battle, victory, and love of their motherland.

The lyrics let him know he is home.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Zoro isn't a music kind of guy. He's not like Brook, playing ballads to the calm sea at night, hoping a friend living hundreds of nautical miles away was still listening close enough to sing along. He doesn't play jazz records in the middle of the night like Robin. He yells at Nami to shut up when she sings that old Navy song her mom taught her, and grits his teeth when Luffy hums that weird country song he's fond of. He has no interest in Franky and Usopp's loud, radical rock and roll nor Jimbei's strange underwater yodeling.

But he has a favorite song. He listens to it daily. It's in the smack of chopsticks against his palm when he catches them. And in the clatter of a plate of onigiri set on the ground while he's training. He hears it in a loud- nearly violent-argument over a game of jenga and the screams when the Sunny lurches and the entire tower falls over.

He hears it in soft, discreet touches (that never quite manage to miss Robin's hawk-like gaze if her little smirks mean anything) and in the affection hidden behind spat vitriol whenever a certain idiot lays it on too thick with all the compliments to the sea witch.

The lyrics are easy to remember. The trick is convincing the singer to say them.

You see, you can't just rush him into it.

No, you have to make sure his guard is down. Spar with him in the morning after breakfast to make sure he gets any aggressive energy out of his system. Don't interrupt to get sake while he's making dinner.

(If you can't resist your alcoholic tendecies, then at least stick around while you drink instead of walking away. Compliment how his hands move with a knife in them. Mention that the food smells good. Rest your hand against the curve of his ass and place your lips against that spot on his neck just the way he likes. If he laughs and nudges you away with his shoulder, you're in the clear. If he kicks you away, you will not get to hear him sing that night. Try again tomorrow.)

When dinner is done, the dishes are set to dry and the kitchen is clean, linger in the Crow's Nest. Resist the urge to work out. He'll complain if you're sweaty and that's all you'll hear about for the rest of the night. No, instead open up the overhead dome so that the light of the stars comes in through the glass, bathing the room in a pale, silver tinge.

(Allow yourself a swig of sake. Stare up at the thousands of brilliant blazes in the sky and try to remember where he showed you his favorite ones were. Andromeda. Pisces. Draco. Scorpio. Vulpecula. You couldn't find the Ursas. Make a mental note to ask him to point them out again.)

When he clambers over the ladder, pluck the bottle of wine from his hand before he accidentally breaks it.

Sit next to him as he pours himself a glass. You two will drink, whisper in the shadows, point up at the stars and listen to the stories his father told him of old, legendary sailors and the gods. Then, when the alcohol is done for the night and there's a twin flame in your hearts, he will settle his head on your chest.

(This is the most complicated part. Don't fuck it up.)

You can't rush it, but you can't go too slowly otherwise he'll fall asleep. Run your fingers through his hair. Tease him to rile him up (Never, ever mention the V*nsm*k*s). Let him torment you back and respond to his attempts with nothing more than a low grumble of a laugh. Then, when he shifts his weight to look at you, skinny arms like iron bars on either side of your head, let him lean down to kiss you.

Yeah. Let him lean down to kiss you.

It's a power thing. You don't care either way but he likes having that control of the situation. Let him pry your lips open with his tongue. Feel his fingers trace the ridges of the scar slashed across your chest. Groan as his thumb circles a nipple and hiss when he takes your arousal into his fist.

Listen carefully for the song to start. With patience, you'll find it.

The thump-thump-thump of two heartbeats sharing the same tempo. Scratches against the wood as limbs scramble to reposition themselves. Huffs, groans, whimpers, and moans all adding to create a wonderful melody as you thrust into a sweet, tight heat.

Then, if you've played all your cards right, you'll hear him sing.

They lyrics were simple. A hushed, rapid chant of:

'Iloveyou. iloveyou. Iloveyou.'

#ZoSan #ZoSan Fanfic #op fic #One Piece Fic #My Writing #ZoSan Fic #a03 link #zoro x sanji

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