Chapter Text
The island was called Celestia, a name that promised something heavenly but delivered something far more earthly. The island seemed normal as far as the New World was concerned. No crazy warlords or despots to overthrow. The forests included a large cave system that had kept half of the crew busy. The other half of the crew stuck to the town while they waited for five days to pass and the log pose to reset.
Roronoa Zoro fell into that last category.
He walked through the dark cobblestone streets with his hands in his pockets, dressed in clothes that felt foreign on his body, a simple black T-shirt that clung to his shoulders and chest, dark jeans that sat low on his hips, boots that weren’t his usual style but worked well enough. No haramaki, no swords. He’d left Wado, Kitetsu and Enma back on the ship, locked safely in his quarters. He even left his earrings behind. Going out unarmed and unadorned felt strange, but it was necessary. Tonight wasn’t about being Roronoa Zoro, right hand to Emperor Strawhat Luffy. Tonight was about being just a man.
A man looking for another man.
The club wasn’t hard to find once he’d asked around. Celestia was apparently known for its liberal attitudes, its vibrant nightlife and its hospitality toward those whose tastes ran counter to the mainstream. The Gilded Mask sat on a corner where two streets met, its exterior painted deep purple and gold, with ornate ironwork framing the windows and a doorman dressed in an elaborate costume with a vertical half-mask on working at the door.
Zoro approached and nodded at the man who nodded back.
“You new in town? Never seen you before.”
“I’m only here for a couple days more. Heard I could come here and meet some company that suits my taste.”
The man gave him a knowing smile.
“Yeah, our clientele tends to be on the… eccentric side. I’m sure you’ll find what you’re looking for,” he explained before handing him a sleek black mask decorated with silver filigree that resembled a tiger’s stripes.
“Everyone wears one inside. Keeps things interesting.”
Zoro took the mask, turning it over in his hands. It would cover the upper half of his face, leaving only his jaw and mouth visible. The perfect accessory for anonymity. That wasn’t something he usually valued, but ever since Wano, his prospects had been… stranger to say the least. He didn’t much like his partners having some kind of expectation of who he’d be thanks to his reputation as Luffy’s right hand. He preferred that they build a rapport organically rather than through newspaper clippings and bounty posters.
He tied it on, adjusting the silk ribbons at the back of his head, and stepped inside the dark room. The club hit him like a wave. Music pulsed through the space, something with a heavy bass line that he could feel in his chest layered with melodic synths that seemed to shimmer in the air. The lighting was dim, atmospheric, all deep blues and purples and occasional flashes of gold. The dance floor was packed with bodies, mostly men, moving together to the rhythm. Everyone wore masks that ranged from simple to elaborate, some covering just the eyes, others covering half the face or more. The anonymity created a kind of freedom. People touched more easily, laughed more openly, moved with less inhibition.
Zoro made his way to the bar, weaving through the crowd easily. He caught glimpses of faces, or rather half-faces, as he moved. There were women in the crowd, at least people who presented as women, but Zoro’s eye focused on the men. They were of all types here. Average height, short or absurdly tall. Bodies that ranged from muscular to slim to fuller figured to portly. Hair of every color that shimmered under the lights: blond, brunette, red-haired, there were even a few other men who had green hair of the same shade or similar to his. Skin the color of porcelain shimmered with sweat under the lights, others with smooth sepia tones made blue by the strobes, there were even people who had painted their bodies shimmering gold that made them stand out in the crowd. There seemed to be no uniform dress code. Some men wore costumes like the doorman while others wore elegant outfits like this was a ballroom and others still were dressed casually like him.
It was a veritable buffet of any and every man he could possibly want.
Except for the one he really wanted the most.
The thought came unbidden, as it always did, and Zoro pushed it down with practiced ease. He was here to forget about that impossibility. He wanted to find someone who could make him stop thinking about blond hair that caught the light like spun gold, about a sharp tongue that could cut as easily as it could praise, about hands that moved with such precision and grace whether they were wielding a knife to cook or lighting a cigarette, about legs that could shatter steel and a smile that could light up a room when it was genuine, not the performative charm he used on women.
Sanji.
Even thinking his name made something twist in Zoro’s chest. It was a pointless desire. Sanji flirted with every woman they met, fawned over them, fell over himself to please them. He’d never once looked at a man that way. Never once given any indication that he might be interested in anything other than the soft curves and sweet voices of the opposite sex.
Zoro had accepted that. He’d been accepting it for years now, watching Sanji chase after women while he found his own company in port towns and clubs like this one. It was fine. It had to be fine, because the alternative was pining after someone who would never want him back. He wasn’t that pathetic.
He came to places like this instead, found men who could scratch the itch, make him feel good for a night, help him forget for a few hours that what he really wanted was completely out of reach.
The bartender was a tall man with dark skin and a gold mask shaped like a sun. He was shirtless with only a golden bow tie around his neck. Zoro took a moment to appreciate his muscular physique. He was smirking when he finally met his gaze.
“What can I get you?”
“Sake,” Zoro said, then reconsidered. “Actually, whiskey. Neat.”
The bartender’s smile widened.
“Good choice.”
Zoro took his drink and leaned against the bar, surveying the room. He wasn’t in a rush. The night was young and he’d learned that the best encounters came when you didn’t force them. He sipped his whiskey, letting the burn settle in his throat as he watched the crowd move and shift like a living thing.
Clubs like this weren’t his preference but he’d had to become accustomed to them in order to find partners that suited him. He’d been out for years now. It hadn’t been some dramatic spiral about his identity or desires. It was just who he was. He liked men. He’d always liked men. It was a fact about him as much as the fact that he was a swordsman. Just another facet of his personality. It wasn’t a big thing. The crew knew from day one. Anyone who asked got a straight answer and anyone who had a problem with it could take it up with his swords.
Most people didn’t have a problem with it and if they did, they kept it to themselves.
It wasn’t like he felt the need to broadcast his sex life anyway. It didn’t interfere in any way with his goals or his duties towards the crew, at least not in any meaningful way. Sure, he had his moments where his body craved to exchange touches with another. In those cases, his hand sufficed until he got to an island where he could meet a midnight lover and tide himself over until the next time.
By that token, this was familiar territory. Not this specific place, but places like it. Clubs where men came to find other men, where the rules were different, where you could be direct about what you wanted without the usual dance of courtship. He appreciated the efficiency of it (even if there were times when he wanted the dance, wanted the courtship, wanted to flirt and build to a release but only with a very specific man who’d never let that happen.)
He finished his whiskey and ordered another, settling into the rhythm of the club. He was on his third drink when he noticed the blond.
~*~*~
Sanji had been standing outside the club for ten minutes, smoking his third cigarette and trying to calm his nerves. This was stupid. This was reckless. This was dangerous.
This was exactly what he needed.
He took a final drag, stubbed out the cigarette under his shoe and approached the entrance. The doorman looked him over with an appreciative eye. Sanji had dressed carefully for this. When he decided to come here (and it had taken a lot for him to decide to do so, three days of hyping himself up), he knew he couldn’t be recognized as Blackleg Sanji. Thankfully, this club thrived on anonymity.
He traded his usual suit for something more approachable. He wore a silk dress shirt in deep blue, unbuttoned halfway down his chest, the sleeves rolled to his elbows. His black pants were tight and snug around his waist and ass. He had polished his shoes to a shine and styled his hair so it was swept back instead of covering his eye. The doorman handed him a mask, an elegant silver thing decorated with blue gems, false pearls and white feathers. He tied it on carefully, making sure it covered his eyebrows completely. No one could know it was him.
“Enjoy yourself,” the doorman said with a wink.
Sanji stepped inside and was immediately overwhelmed.
The music was loud, the lights were low and everywhere he looked there were men. Men dancing, men drinking, men talking and laughing and touching. Some were clearly couples, wrapped around each other with the ease of familiarity. Others were clearly hunting, eyes scanning the crowd with predatory interest. Some, like him, seemed to be taking it all in, trying to decide what they wanted from the night.
Sanji’s heart was pounding. He’d done this before, slipped away on islands to find lovers, to scratch an itch that he couldn’t scratch on the ship. Women, mostly. That was safe. That was expected. But sometimes... sometimes it was men. Those encounters were always shrouded in secrecy, always tinged with shame, always followed by a vow that it wouldn’t happen again.
It always did.
He made his way to the bar, needing a drink to settle his nerves. The bartender was friendly, professional and didn’t ask questions when Sanji ordered a glass of wine. He took it to a corner where he could observe without being too obvious, sipping slowly and watching the crowd.
There was something intoxicating about the anonymity. Behind his mask, he could be anyone. No one here knew he was Black Leg Sanji, cook of the Straw Hat Pirates. No one knew about his reputation, his bounty, his complicated relationship with women and his even more complicated relationship with his own desires. Here, he was just another man in a mask, looking for connection.
He watched two men on the dance floor, moving together with an easy sensuality that made his chest tight. He wanted that so badly, to be able to touch another man in public, to dance with him, to kiss him without looking over his shoulder, to be free.
Like Zoro was.
The thought came despite his best effort. Sanji shoved it away immediately. He was not going to think about that stupid mosshead tonight. He was not going to think about how Zoro had come out to the crew with casual confidence, how he’d simply said “I like men” like it was the most natural thing in the world, like it was as unremarkable as stating his favorite drink or his preferred training schedule.
He was not going to think about how jealous that had made him. How much he’d wanted to say “me too” but couldn’t, wouldn’t, didn’t. How he’d watched Zoro walk off the ship on countless islands, watched him return hours later with that satisfied, loose-limbed ease that spoke of a night well spent, and felt something ugly and bitter twist in his gut.
It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fucking fair that Zoro got to just... be. That he could flirt with men openly, could touch them in bars, could take them to bed without the crushing weight of shame that followed Sanji everywhere. That he could own his desires without apology while Sanji had to hide, had to pretend, had to bury everything so deep he sometimes forgot it was there.
Except he never really forgot. Not when Zoro was around.
Not when he watched Zoro move through their training sessions, all controlled power and lethal grace. Not when he caught glimpses of Zoro’s body: the broad shoulders, the defined muscles of his back, the way his hands gripped his swords with such certainty. Not when Zoro’s rare, genuine smiles made something in Sanji’s chest ache with want.
He’d been half in love with Zoro for years and had buried it so deep he could almost pretend it wasn’t true.
Almost.
The worst part was that it wasn’t just physical attraction, though seas knew that was bad enough. It was everything else too. The way Zoro never apologized for who he was. The way he faced the world with that infuriating confidence, that absolute certainty in himself. The way he could be so casually open about something Sanji couldn’t even whisper in the dark.
Sanji both loved him for it and resented him for it in equal measure.
He hated himself for the jealousy. It was petty, small and unfair. Zoro hadn’t done anything wrong by being honest about who he was. If anything, Sanji should admire him for it. And he did. He admired Zoro’s strength, his conviction, his refusal to hide or diminish himself for anyone. That admiration was tangled up with envy so sharp it sometimes felt like a blade between his ribs.
Zoro got to be free while Sanji was trapped. Zoro got to want openly while Sanji had to steal moments in anonymous clubs on distant islands, always looking over his shoulder, always afraid of being seen, always carrying the weight of his father’s voice in his head telling him what a man should be.
And the truly pathetic part? Even here, even now, in a club full of beautiful men who might actually want him back, Sanji couldn’t stop thinking about the one man he could never have. The one man who probably saw him as nothing more than a rival and a pain in the ass.
That’s why he’d come here tonight. Not just to explore the desires he kept locked away, but to find someone who could make him stop thinking about green hair, scarred skin and that rare devastating smile. Someone who could help him forget, even for a few hours, that he was in love with someone completely unattainable.
Someone who could make him feel free, the way Zoro always seemed to be.
It never worked, but he kept trying anyway.
Sanji finished his wine and ordered another and then another. By the third glass, the edges of his anxiety had softened and he felt brave enough to move away from his corner. He drifted toward the dance floor, letting the music wash over him and his body move to the rhythm. A few men smiled at him as he passed. One reached out to touch his arm, but Sanji moved away, not ready yet. He needed another drink first.
He made his way back to the bar, squeezing into a space between two men and a woman who were all wrapped around each other intimately and a pair of men who seemed to be debating whether they should get a private room upstairs.
That’s when he saw him.
Green hair. Broad shoulders. Strong jaw. A black mask that covered the upper half of his face but left his strong jawline and lips visible. He was leaning against the bar with easy confidence as if he belonged exactly where he was. There was a glass of whiskey in his hand as his gaze swept the crowd with lazy interest.
Sanji’s breath caught.
The man was gorgeous from what he could see. Rugged and masculine in a way that made his mouth go dry. There were other green-haired men in the club, he’d noticed at least two on the dance floor, but this one stood out. Something about the way he held himself, the way he occupied space like he owned it.
He looks like Zoro, Sanji thought to himself.
He immediately felt guilty for the flash of desire the thought caused in him. He was supposed to be forgetting about Zoro, not fixating on a man who reminded him of the swordsman. Still, he didn’t look away. After a moment, their eyes met across the bar.
The man’s gaze sharpened, focusing on him with sudden intensity. A slow smile curved his lips and he raised his glass in a small salute. Sanji’s heart raced as he smiled back, trying to look confident and alluring instead of nervous and desperate. The man set down his glass and pushed off from the bar, moving toward him with the kind of predatory grace that should have been intimidating but was instead incredibly attractive.
“Hey,” the man said when he reached Sanji, his voice low and rough, “you look like you could use another drink.”
Sanji glanced down at his empty wine glass.
“I could,” he admitted, “but I’m thinking of switching to something stronger.”
“Good choice.”
The man gestured to the bartender.
“What do you want?”
“Surprise me.”
The man’s smile widened. He ordered two neat whiskeys and handed one to Sanji. Their fingers brushed during the exchange. Sanji felt a spark of electricity run up his arm.
“To surprises,” the man said, raising his glass.
Sanji clinked his glass against the other man’s.
“To surprises.”
The whiskey burned going down, but it was a good burn. Sanji welcomed it, letting it fuel his courage.
“I’m— You can call me... Sora.”
“Sora,” the man repeated, like he was tasting it. “I like it. You can call me Tetsu.”
“Tetsu,” Sanji said slowly. “That’s... unique.”
“So are you.”
It was a line, obvious and unsubtle, but the way the man said it made it sound genuine. Sanji felt heat rise in his cheeks, grateful for the mask that hid his blush.
“You come here often?” Sanji asked, then immediately cringed at the cliché.
Tetsu laughed, a low rumble that Sanji felt in his chest.
“First time, actually. You?”
“Same.”
“Masquerade virgin, huh?”
Tetsu’s gaze traveled down Sanji’s body, slow and appreciative.
“I like that shirt on you. The color suits you, really goes with your eyes.”
“Thank you.”
Sanji took another sip of whiskey, using it to buy himself a moment. He wasn’t used to this, to being on this side of the flirtation with a man, to being the one pursued instead of the pursuer. It was thrilling and terrifying in equal measure.
“You’re not so bad yourself. Though I have to say, the T-shirt is a little... understated.”
“Understated?”
“You look like you could be wearing something more... I don’t know. Impressive.”
“You saying I’m not impressive like this?”
“I’m saying you look like you’re hiding something.”
“Maybe I am.”
Tetsu stepped closer, close enough that Sanji could smell him, a scent that was clean and masculine with a hint of steel underneath.
“Maybe we’re all hiding something tonight. That’s the point of the masks, isn’t it?”
Sanji’s pulse quickened.
“I suppose it is.”
They stood there for a moment, the noise of the club fading into background static. Sanji was acutely aware of how close they were, how easy it would be to close the distance between them, how much he wanted to.
“You want to dance?” Tetsu asked.
“Dance?” Sanji blinked.
“You know, move to the music. I saw you earlier on the edge of the dance floor. You’ve got rhythm.”
“You were watching me?”
“Hard not to. You’re the most beautiful man in this club,” Tetsu asserted, his smile wicked.
Sanji’s breath hitched. He’d been called beautiful before by both women and men but hearing it from this man hit differently. It felt more real somehow, more honest. He didn’t know what to make of that.
“Flattery will get you everywhere,” Sanji managed.
“Good to know.”
Tetsu held out his hand.
“So? Dance with me?”
Sanji looked at the offered hand, calloused and strong, and made a decision. He took it.
~*~*~
The dance floor was packed, bodies pressed together in the dim light. Zoro led the blond, Sora he’d said his name was, into the crowd. He found a spot where they had just enough room to move. The music was different now, slower but still with that heavy bass that you could feel in your bones.
Zoro turned to face Sora and for a moment they just looked at each other. The mask hid the upper half of Sora’s face, but Zoro could see his mouth, his jaw, the elegant line of his neck. He was lithe but muscular, just how Zoro liked. There was a dancer’s grace in the way he held himself. The blue silk shirt hung loose on his torso but was unbuttoned halfway, allowing Zoro to see the smooth expanse of his chest, the defined muscle underneath. His pants were snug around his slender waist and tight on his pert ass. Zoro had to urge squeeze and touch but held himself back.
Sora was, without question, the most attractive man he had seen in a long time.
(The familiar shade of blond hair didn’t hurt the attraction. Neither did his blue eyes which, while hard to discern in the dim strobing lights, looked similar enough to the ocean blues of the cook that Zoro couldn’t help but be drawn in.)
“You going to stare at me all night or are we actually going to dance?” Sora asked.
There was a teasing lilt to his voice that made Zoro grin.
“I can multitask.”
Zoro placed his hands on Sora’s hips and Sora’s came up to rest on Zoro’s shoulders. They started to move, finding the rhythm together. It was tentative at first, both feeling out the boundaries, testing what was allowed, but within a few moments they’d found their groove.
Sora was a good dancer. Better than good. He moved with a fluid grace that was mesmerizing to watch, his hips swaying, his body responding to the music like it was a language he spoke fluently. Zoro wasn’t much of a dancer himself, he had rhythm but not finesse. Sora made it easy, guiding him with subtle shifts of weight and pressure.
“You’re better at this than I expected,” he said, his mouth close to Zoro’s ear so he could be heard over the music.
“What, you thought I’d have two left feet?”
“Something like that.”
“I’m full of surprises.”
“I’m starting to see that.”
They danced through one song then another. With each passing minute, they moved closer together. Sora’s hands slid from Zoro’s shoulders to his chest, fingers splaying over the fabric of his shirt. Zoro’s hands tightened on Sora’s hips, pulling him flush against his body. They were pressed together now, moving as one. Zoro could feel the heat of Sora’s body through their clothes.
“You’re a good dancer,” Zoro complimented.
“I’ve had practice.”
“Yeah? You do this a lot?”
Sora’s expression flickered, something complicated passing over his features before he smoothed it away.
“Sometimes. When I get the chance.”
There was a story there. He could tell from the way Sora said it, the careful neutrality of his tone. He didn’t push. Everyone had their secrets, especially in a place like this.
“What about you? Do you... do this often?”
“Often enough,” Zoro said honestly. “I like men. I don’t hide it. When I’m on an island and I feel like it, I find someone. Usually works out.”
Sora’s eyes widened slightly.
“You’re very... direct.”
“No point in being anything else. Life’s too short.”
“That’s...” Sora trailed off, and when he spoke again, his voice was softer. “That’s a good way to live.”
“You sound like you don’t live that way.”
Sora laughed, but it was a brittle sound.
“No. No, I don’t.”
Zoro studied him, taking in the tension in his shoulders, the way he held himself like he was ready to bolt at any moment.
“You hiding from something, Sora?”
“Aren’t we all? That’s why we’re wearing masks.”
Fair point.
The song changed again, something with a heavier beat, and the crowd around them surged. Someone bumped into Sora from behind, pushing him even closer to Zoro. The blond stumbled and Zoro caught him, his arms wrapping around him to steady him.
“Sorry,” Sora said, but he didn’t pull away.
“Don’t be.”
They were so closer now, close enough that Zoro could count Sora’s eyelashes, could see the faint flush on his cheeks, could feel the rapid rise and fall of his chest. Sora’s hands were on Zoro’s chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. His lips were parted slightly, his breathing quick.
There was something so familiar about him. Zoro couldn’t put his finger on it, but it made his desire for the man all the stronger.
“Tetsu,” Sora started, his voice was rough. “I…”
“Yeah?”
“I… I… I think I need another drink.”
“Good idea,” Zoro smiled.
They made their way off the dance floor, hands linked so they wouldn’t lose each other in the crowd. Zoro led them back to the bar where they ordered their final round, whiskey again, before he closed out his tab with the bartender. They found a spot at the end of the bar where it was slightly quieter and they could hear each other without shouting.
“So,” Zoro said, leaning against the bar top. “Tell me about yourself.”
Sora took a sip of his whiskey, considering.
“What do you want to know?”
“Anything. Everything. Whatever you want to tell me.”
“That’s a broad statement.”
“I’m a broad kind of guy.”
Sora laughed and this time it sounded genuine.
“Okay, let’s see. I’m a cook. I… work on a ship.”
“A cook?” Zoro’s interest sharpened as a flash of a familiar blond chopping vegetables expertly crossed his mind. “What kind of ship?”
“The kind that travels a lot. We go all over, see different islands, meet different people. It’s a good life. Mostly.”
“Mostly?”
Sora’s expression shuttered again.
“It has its complications.”
“Like?”
“Like... like not being able to be myself all the time. I… I feel like I have to hide parts of who I am because it’s easier than dealing with the questions or the judgement. My crew is great, don’t get me wrong, they’re practically my family. I just… it’s hard, I guess, for me to be... open and honest with them about certain things.”
Zoro nodded slowly.
“Sounds lonely.”
“It can be,” Sora’s voice was barely above a whisper.
They were quiet for a moment, the weight of that confession hanging between them. Sora seemed to shake himself, forcing a smile.
“What about you? What do you do?”
“I’m a swordsman. Not carrying my swords tonight though.”
“A swordsman?” Sora’s gaze traveled over Zoro’s body, reassessing. “I can see that. You have the build for it.”
“Yeah?”
“Definitely. All that muscle doesn’t come from nowhere I suppose.”
Sora’s hand reached out, almost unconsciously, and touched Zoro’s bicep. His fingers traced the curve of muscle through the fabric of the shirt. Zoro felt his skin heat under the touch.
“You must train a lot.”
“Every day,” Zoro said, his voice rougher than he intended. “Discipline is important.”
“I bet you’re very disciplined.”
There was something in the way Sora said it, a hint of suggestion that made Zoro’s pulse quicken.
“When I need to be.”
Sora’s hand was still on his arm, fingers now tracing idle patterns.
“And when you don’t need to be?”
“Then I do whatever the hell I want.”
Sora’s smile turned wicked.
“I like that answer.”
They both sipped their drinks, staring at each other over the rim. Zoro held his liquor well, but the alcohol was loosening them up, lowering inhibitions, making everything feel easier and more possible. They talked about inconsequential things, favorite foods, worst hangovers, scars they’d collected over the years. Sora had a quick wit and a sharp tongue. He made Zoro laugh more than he’d expected. There was something familiar about the way they bantered, like they’d done this before, but Zoro couldn’t put his finger on why.
“You’re funny,” he said at one point.
“You sound surprised by that.”
“I am, a little. Pretty and funny is a rare combination.”
Sora paused at that.
“You think I’m pretty?”
“I think you’re fucking gorgeous.”
“You can’t even see half my face,” he protested.
“Exactly and I already think you’re gorgeous. I bet if I saw your whole face, you’d knock me out.”
The bluntness of it seemed to catch Sora off guard. He blinked, his mouth opening and closing, and for a moment he looked almost vulnerable. Then he recovered, that teasing smile sliding back into place.
“You’re not so bad yourself, Tetsu.”
“Just ‘not so bad’?”
“Fishing for compliments?”
“Maybe.”
Sora leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a purr.
“Fine. You’re incredibly attractive. You have a body that looks like it was carved from stone. Your voice does things to me that I’m not going to admit out loud. The way you look at me makes me feel like I’m the only person in this entire club. Is that what you wanted to hear?”
Zoro’s breath caught.
“Yeah, that works,” he replied lowly.
They were close again, the space between them charged with electricity. Zoro could see the rapid flutter of Sora’s pulse in his throat, could smell the faint scent of his cologne mixed with whiskey and something uniquely him. He wanted to close the distance, to kiss him.
He had felt attraction to one night stands before, but never anything like this. This was something entirely different, something that went beyond the physical and into territory he’d never explored. There was a dark part of him that wanted to possess Sora, to claim every inch of him and never let go. He wanted to memorize the curve of Sora’s neck, the sound of his breathing, the way his eyes darkened when their gazes locked. The intensity of it should have scared him, should have sent him running in the opposite direction. He didn’t know where this was coming from. This primal, overwhelming need to keep Sora close, to mark him as his own, but he didn’t feel the need to deny the urge. Instead, he found himself leaning into it, letting it wash over him like a wave he had no intention of fighting.
His eyes lingered on Sora’s blond hair as strands began falling into his face. He reached out unconsciously and brushed the locks back, revealing the decorated jewels on his mask, hiding away the top half of his face. Even without seeing half of him, he really was fucking gorgeous. Sora’s breath caught at the action, but he didn’t pull away. Zoro let his hand linger as he cupped his cheek, thumb brushing over his jawline and goatee. Sora’s eyes fluttered close at the touch.
“This is going to sound weird, but I feel like… I… I’ve never wanted something so much,” the blond confessed, opening his eyes to reveal raw desire with a hint of fear in those ocean blues.
“I know. I’ve never felt like this either,” Zoro replied.
“This is crazy. I don’t even know you. I shouldn’t be feeling like this.”
“You know enough.”
“Do I?”
“You know I think you’re gorgeous. You know I want you. You know I’m not going to push you into anything you don’t want. What else do you need to know?”
“I don’t know. Your favorite color? Your birthday? Whether you’re a morning person or a night owl?”
“Green. November eleventh. Night owl. Your turn.”
“Blue. March second. Morning person.”
“There. M’not a stranger anymore. You know my favorite color.”
That startled a laugh out of Sora.
“That’s a terrible argument.”
“But it worked.”
“…Maybe.”
They sat there for a moment, the noise of the club a distant hum. Zoro’s hand was still on Sora’s face. He leaned into the touch like he was starved for it. There was something achingly vulnerable about the gesture and it made Zoro’s gut even tighter with desire.
“Come here,” Zoro said softly.
Sora shifted from his seat and moved to stand between Zoro’s legs. He spread his thighs to make room and Sora settled against him, sitting on the stool with his back to Zoro’s chest. He wrapped his arms around Sora’s waist, pulling him close. The blond melted into the embrace with a sigh.
“This okay?” Zoro asked.
“More than okay.”
They stayed like that for a while. Zoro could feel the tension slowly draining from Sora’s body, could feel him relaxing into the embrace. His hands started to wander, nothing overtly sexual, just gentle touches. He traced the line of Sora’s collarbone, the curve of his shoulder, the flat plane of his stomach. Sora’s breathing deepened as he tilted his head back against Zoro’s shoulder.
“You’re good at this,” Sora murmured.
“At what?”
“Making me feel safe.”
Zoro’s arms tightened around him.
“Good.”
Sora turned slightly, shifting so he was facing Zoro more directly. They were so close now, their faces inches apart. Zoro could see Sora’s lips parted, feel the brush of his breath on his face, see the blue gems of his mask catching the strobing lights as their little corner periodically dimmed to zero visibility before the lights hit them again.
“Tetsu,” Sora whispered.
“Yeah?”
“I think I want to kiss you.”
“Then kiss me.”
Sora closed the distance between them. Their lips met in a kiss that was soft and tentative at first, then deeper and more urgent. Sora’s hands came up to cup Zoro’s face while his hands slid down to grip Sora’s hips. The kiss was heat and need and a desperate kind of hunger that Zoro felt in his bones.
When they finally broke apart, both of them were breathing hard.
“Fuck,” Sora said eloquently.
“Yeah.”
“We should... we should probably...”
“There are private rooms upstairs,” he suggested.
“Yeah. Upstairs.”
Despite their words, neither of them moved. They stayed there wrapped around each other, stealing kisses and touches. Sora shifted again, this time standing between Zoro’s spread legs. Zoro’s hands immediately went to his ass, gripping and kneading. Sora made a soft sound of pleasure, his head falling back.
“You like that?” Zoro asked, his voice rough.
“Yes.”
Zoro pulled Sora closer, until their hips were pressed together. He could feel Sora’s arousal through his pants, could feel his own responding in kind. He leaned in, pressing his lips to Sora’s throat, then his jaw, then the sensitive spot just below his ear.
“You taste good,” Zoro murmured against Sora’s skin.
“Tetsu...”
Zoro’s tongue traced the shell of Sora’s ear and the blond shuddered. His hands were in Zoro’s hair now, gripping tight as his hips were moving in small, unconscious circles. The friction of their bodies pressed together, even through layers of fabric, sent heat spiraling through his core. He could feel Sora hardening against him and his own cock responded eagerly, straining against the confines of his pants.
Zoro bit down gently on Sora’s earlobe drawing a gasp. He felt Sora’s hips pushing forward, seeking more contact. The movement was desperate and needy.
“Fuck, that’s—”
“Good?”
“Really good.”
Zoro licked the spot he’d bitten, soothing it, then moved to Sora’s neck. Sora’s pulse raced under his lips and his whole body was trembling. His hands on Sora’s ass tightened, pulling him even closer. He began to move his hips in deliberate circles, grinding against Sora’s hardness.
Sora’s response was immediate and overwhelming. He made a sound that was almost a whimper, his body responding with desperate eagerness to every touch, every movement. His hands pulled at Zoro’s shirt, needing to feel more skin, more contact. He rocked his hips forward, then back, matching Zoro’s rhythm, their bodies moving together in an intimate dance.
“You’re so responsive,” Zoro murmured against Sora’s neck.
Sora pressed himself closer to Zoro in response, grinding against his thigh, seeking friction and contact with an almost frantic need.
Zoro’s hands slid down to grip Sora’s hips, controlling the movement, setting a slower, more deliberate pace even as Sora tried to move faster. The tension built between them, the heat of their bodies, the friction of fabric against fabric, the desperate need radiating from Sora’s every movement.
“We need to go upstairs,” Sora gasped, his voice strained and breathless.
His cock was fully hard now, pressed against Zoro’s, and every grind sent sparks of pleasure through him.
“Now. Before I lose my mind.”
“You sure?”
“I’ve never been more sure of anything.”
Zoro pulled back to look at him. Sora’s mask was slightly askew, his hair mussed, his lips swollen from kissing. He looked thoroughly debauched and Zoro wanted to be the one to finish the job.
“Okay,” Zoro said. “Let’s go.”
They made their way through the club, hands linked. Zoro led them to the stairs at the back where a discreet sign indicated private rooms were available on the third floor. They climbed the stairs and with each step, Zoro could feel the anticipation building.
On the third floor was a small reception area with another attendant, this one a milky skinned brunette in an elaborate feathered mask that resembled a black swan.
“Private room, gentlemen?” she asked with a knowing smile.
“Yeah,” Zoro said.
“How long?”
“All night.”
She handed them a key.
“Room seven. Down the hall, last door on the right. There are supplies on the nightstand and refreshments in the mini-fridge. Enjoy yourselves.”
They found the room easily. Zoro unlocked the door and pushed it open, revealing a space that was surprisingly luxurious. There was a large bed with silk sheets, soft lighting, a small sitting area with a mini-fridge and a door that presumably led to a bathroom. On the nightstand was a tray that had an assortment of oils, lubricants and condoms. It was clean, elegant and clearly designed for exactly what they were about to do.
Sora stepped inside, looking around with wide eyes.
“This is... nice.”
“Yeah.”
Zoro closed the door behind them and locked it. The click seemed to echo in the quiet room. They stood there for a moment suddenly uncertain. The club had provided a kind of momentum. Here, in the quiet intimacy of the room, everything felt more real.
“So,” Sora said, turning to face Zoro. “We’re really doing this.”
“We don’t have to,” Zoro said, even though every fiber of his being was screaming at him to touch, to take, to claim. “We can just talk or get more drinks or—”
Sora crossed the distance between them in two strides and kissed him, hard and desperate. Zoro responded immediately, his arms wrapping around Sora and pulling him close. They stumbled backward until Zoro’s back hit the wall. Sora pressed against him, their bodies aligned from chest to hip.
“I want this,” Sora said against Zoro’s lips. “I want you. I don’t want to think anymore. I just want to feel you.”
They lost themselves in it, in the kissing, the touching, the desperate need to be closer. Zoro’s hands roamed over Sora’s body, mapping the planes and curves, learning what made him gasp and what made him moan. Sora’s hands were equally busy, sliding under Zoro’s shirt to touch bare skin, nails dragging lightly over his abs. His fingers lingered on the scar on his chest, hidden beneath his shirt.
“Dueling accident,” Zoro explained shortly before kissing Sora again.
They stumbled toward the bed, hands grasping at each other. Zoro’s fingers found the buttons of Sora’s silk shirt, working them open with surprising dexterity. He pushed the fabric off Sora’s shoulders, letting it fall to the floor, revealing a lean, toned torso that made his mouth water.
Sora’s hands tugged at Zoro’s shirt, trying to pull it up, but Zoro caught his wrists gently.
“Leave it,” he said, his voice rough. “I want to focus on you.”
“But—”
“Trust me. I’ll make you feel good.”
A shiver ran through Sora’s body and he pulled Zoro back in for a desperate kiss. They fell onto the bed together, a tangle of limbs. Zoro rolled them so he was on top, settling between Sora’s legs. They were still wearing their masks. He could see Sora’s eyes through the holes, dark with desire. Something about the anonymity of it made everything feel more intense.
Zoro kissed his way down the other man’s neck, biting and sucking, leaving marks that would be visible tomorrow. Sora arched into it, his hands in Zoro’s hair, encouraging him. Zoro moved lower to Sora’s bare chest, taking a nipple into his mouth and sucking hard. He bit down gently and Sora’s whole body jerked.
“You like that?”
“Yes.”
Zoro lavished attention on Sora’s chest, moving from one nipple to the other, using his teeth and tongue until the blond was writhing beneath him. He moved lower, kissing down the center line of Sora’s stomach, dipping his tongue into his navel, before his kisses led him to Sora’s jeans.
Just before he could go any further, he felt a touch squeezing insistently at his shoulder.
“Wait. I just... I need to say something.”
Zoro looked up at him, his expression questioning.
“Are you okay?”
Sora bit his lip, suddenly uncertain.
“I’ve done this before. Hookups, I mean. With men. I’m not... I’m not new to this.” He paused, struggling with the words. “But this feels different. You feel different. I don’t know if I’m supposed to say that or if it’s too much, but I… that’s just how I feel.”
“Different how?” Zoro asked, his eye searching Sora’s face.
The other man let out a shaky laugh.
“I don’t know. I just met you tonight and I already feel more connected to you than I have with anyone else I’ve been with. It’s stupid, probably. I’m probably coming on too strong and scaring you off.”
Zoro moved back up Sora’s body, settling beside him so they were face to face. His hand came up to cup Sora’s jaw, thumb brushing over his cheekbone.
“You’re not scaring me. I feel it too.”
“You do,” Sora questioned hopefully.
Zoro’s expression was serious, almost vulnerable.
“I don’t know what it is. Don’t really understand it. But I’m not gonna waste time overthinking it.” He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to Sora’s lips. “We’ve got tonight and I want to make the most of it.”
Tension seemed to melt away from Sora’s shoulders at his words.
They kissed again, slower this time, more tender. Zoro poured everything he was feeling into it: the desire, but also the strange sense of connection, the feeling that this was more than just physical attraction. When they broke apart, Sora was smiling.
“Okay. I’m ready.”
“You sure?”
“I’m sure.”
Zoro kissed him once more, then resumed his journey down Sora’s body. He unbuttoned Sora’s slacks and pulled them down along with his underwear, revealing his cock, hard and leaking. He pulled off the man’s pants and briefs completely, leaving Sora bare beneath him while Zoro remained clothed. The contrast sent a thrill through him, Sora exposed and vulnerable while Zoro stayed covered, in control.
He took a moment to appreciate the man’s muscular legs. He wondered if he was a martial artist. Desire overtook curiosity as he wrapped his hand around Sora’s cock, stroking slowly. Sora’s hips bucked up into the touch.
“Sensitive,” Zoro observed, his voice rough with want.
“It’s been a while,” Sora admitted, his voice strained.
“I’ll take care of you,” he promised.
Zoro wanted to take this man apart, wanted to learn every sound he could make, every way his body responded, wanted to be the one to give him this.
He leaned down and took Sora into his mouth. The sound Sora made was almost a sob. The taste of him flooded Zoro’s senses, salt and musk and something uniquely him. He groaned around him, the vibration making Sora’s strong thighs tremble on either side of his head.
He worked him slowly, using his tongue and lips and just a hint of teeth, learning what Sora liked. He catalogued every gasp, every twitch of his hips, every time his fingers tightened in the sheets. Sora was responsive, his body arching and twisting. Zoro fucking loved it.
“Oh god, Tetsu. That feels so good. Fuck,” Sora gasped.
Zoro pulled off with a wet sound, his lips slick and swollen.
“You taste good.”
He licked a stripe up the underside of Sora’s cock, slow and deliberate, watching the way Sora’s stomach muscles jumped.
“Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”
The desperation in Sora’s voice made Zoro’s cock throb. He took him back into his mouth, deeper this time, relaxing his throat and taking him all the way down. Sora’s hand came to rest on the back of his head. Not pushing, just holding, like he needed to touch Zoro as much as Zoro needed to taste him.
He hollowed his cheeks and sucked hard. Sora’s whole body went taut. His thighs were shaking now and his breathing was ragged. Zoro could feel the tension building in him. He pulled back, swirling his tongue around the head, then took him deep again, setting a rhythm that had Sora writhing.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Sora chanted, his voice breaking.
Zoro hummed around him, the vibration making Sora cry out. He loved this, loved the weight of Sora’s cock on his tongue, the way he could feel every pulse and twitch, the way Sora’s body responded to every little thing he did. He slid one hand up Sora’s thigh, feeling the muscle trembling beneath his palm, then moved it to cup his balls, rolling them gently.
Sora made a sound that was almost a whimper.
“Shit, I can’t take it. It’s too much,” he whined.
Zoro pulled off just enough to speak, his breath hot against Sora’s wet cock.
“You can. You’re doing so good for me.”
He licked at the slit, tasting pre-come. Sora’s hips jerked up at the sensation.
“I’m close,” Sora whimpered, his voice desperate.
Zoro pulled off again. Sora made a sound of protest that went straight to Zoro’s cock.
“Not yet,” Zoro said, his voice rough. “I want to make this last.”
“You’re evil.”
“You’ll thank me later,” he replied cheekily.
He looked up at Sora’s face. The half of it he could see was flushed red, eyes dark and glazed with pleasure, lips parted as he panted. Zoro felt a surge of possessive satisfaction. He didn’t know where this was coming from. Sure, he felt happier with a sense of control during these kinds of encounters, but he wasn’t usually this possessive. There was something about Sora that was sending that part of him into overdrive.
Mine, something in him growled. I’m the one making him look like this.
Zoro pressed a kiss to the inside of Sora’s strong thigh then bit down gently, making him gasp. He could feel Sora’s pulse racing beneath his lips, could smell the arousal on his skin. He wanted to devour him.
He went back to work, taking Sora into his mouth again but slower this time, teasing. He’d take him deep, then pull back to just the tip, swirling his tongue around the head before taking him down again. Sora was making these desperate little sounds, his hand tightening in Zoro’s hair. He felt drunk on it, on the power of it, on knowing that he could do this to someone, could make them fall apart like this.
“Please,” Sora gasped. “Tetsu, please, I need…”
Zoro pulled off, his hand replacing his mouth, stroking slowly.
“What do you need? Tell me.”
“I need to come. Please let me come.”
The begging caused some ravenous beast caged in his chest to purr with satisfaction. It made him feel powerful, needed and wanted in a way that went beyond just physical. He leaned down and licked at Sora’s balls, then lower to the sensitive skin behind them and Sora’s whole body jerked.
“Fuck! Tetsu, that’s so good.”
Zoro did it again, his tongue exploring, tasting, while his hand kept up that slow, torturous stroke on Sora’s cock. Sora was trembling all over now, his thighs shaking, his breath coming in short, desperate gasps. Zoro could feel how close he was, could feel the tension coiled tight in his body, ready to snap.
“You’re so fucking beautiful like this,” Zoro said, his voice rough with arousal. “All spread out for me. All mine.”
“Yes,” Sora gasped. “Yours. I’m yours.”
Something in Zoro’s chest tightened at those words as he stared up at the man, all strung out on pleasure. He took Sora back into his mouth, deep and fast now, no more teasing. He wanted to feel Sora come apart, wanted to taste it, wanted to be the one to give him this release.
Sora’s hand tightened in his hair, his hips starting to move, fucking up into Zoro’s mouth. Zoro let him, relaxing his throat, taking everything Sora gave him. The sounds Sora was making were desperate now, broken little gasps and moans that made Zoro’s cock ache.
“I’m— Oh god, I’m— Tetsu, I’m gonna—”
Zoro pulled off just enough to speak, his hand stroking fast now.
“Come for me. Let me taste you.”
He took Sora back into his mouth, all the way down, and sucked hard. Sora’s whole body went rigid, his back arching off the bed.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck! Tetsu, I’m—”
His words dissolved into a broken cry as he came, hot and thick down Zoro’s throat. Zoro groaned around him and swallowed it all down. The taste of him flooded Zoro’s senses. A primal and possessive feeling roared to life in Zoro’s chest.
He didn’t pull off. He kept sucking, kept swallowing, working Sora through his orgasm and then beyond it. Sora was making these desperate, overwhelmed sounds, his thighs trembling violently on either side of Zoro’s head, but he couldn’t stop, didn’t want to. That hungry beast inside him had finally been fed and the satisfaction of it was intoxicating.
He’d done this. He’d made Sora fall apart. He’d taken him to pieces and swallowed down every drop of his pleasure. Even as that beast settled, temporarily sated, it was already stirring again, wanting more. More of Sora’s taste, more of his sounds, more of the way his body responded to Zoro’s touch.
“Tetsu,” Sora gasped, his voice wrecked. “Too much.”
Zoro sucked harder, hollowing his cheeks, trying to draw out every drop. Sora’s whole body jerked. He must be tipping into the realm of oversensitivity by now, but Zoro couldn’t make himself stop. He wanted to devour him, wanted to consume every part of him until there was nothing left but this: Sora spread out beneath him, completely undone, completely his.
“Tetsu,” Sora said again, more urgently this time. His hand tightened in Zoro’s hair, pulling. “Stop. I’m too— I can’t anymore. Need a break.”
Zoro gave one last, lingering suck, then reluctantly pulled off. He looked up at Sora’s blushing face and felt a surge of greed. He’d done that. He’d reduced this beautiful, sharp-tongued man to a trembling, oversensitive mess. He wanted to do it again and again and again.
He pressed a kiss to the inside of Sora’s thigh, then licked his lips, savoring the lingering taste.
“You taste so fucking good,” Zoro said, his voice rough and dark. “Could do that all night.”
Sora let out a breathless, overwhelmed laugh.
“You’re going to kill me.”
“What a way to go though.”
Zoro moved back up Sora’s body, kissing him deeply. Sora could probably taste himself on Zoro’s tongue. The thought made his cock throb painfully. They kissed for a long moment, hands roaming, bodies pressed together, before Sora pushed at Zoro’s shoulders.
“My turn,” Sora said, his voice rough and determined. “I want to taste you too.”
“Yeah?”
Sora looked up at him, his eyes dark with hunger.
“I want to make you feel as good as you made me feel.”
They switched positions, Sora pushing Zoro onto his back and settling between his legs. He made quick work of Zoro’s jeans and underwear, leaving him in only his T-shirt. Zoro’s cock sprang free, hard and heavy and aching. Sora looked at it with undisguised hunger—and then froze.
“Fuck, you’re big,” he commented, almost reverently. His eyes widened slightly, taking in the considerable length and girth.
“That a problem?”
“I... no. No, I like it,” Sora admitted, shyly biting his lip. He looked up at Zoro through his lashes. There was an eagerness in that look that made Zoro’s breath catch, thought there was also a hint of uncertainty. “I’ve just never... you’re bigger than anyone I’ve...”
“We’ll take it slow,” Zoro said, his voice surprisingly gentle. “You set the pace.”
Sora nodded, then leaned back down. He wrapped his hand around Zoro’s cock, stroking experimentally, getting a feel for the weight and thickness of him. Zoro groaned at the sensation. Sora leaned down and licked a stripe up the underside, from base to tip. Zoro’s whole body went taut.
“Sensitive,” Sora said, echoing Zoro’s earlier observation.
“Shut up and suck me.”
Sora grinned, wicked and beautiful, and then took Zoro into his mouth.
Holy fuck.
The heat of Sora’s mouth was overwhelming. It was wet, hot and perfect. Sora took him in slowly, carefully, relaxing his throat around Zoro’s girth. He managed to take him about halfway before he felt the head of Zoro’s cock hit the back of his throat and he had to pull back, gasping slightly.
“Easy,” Zoro murmured, his hand gentle in Sora’s hair. “Just like that. You’re doing great.”
Sora tried again, this time taking a breath before attempting to go deeper. He got a little further, but the sheer size of Zoro seemed to make it challenging. He gagged slightly, his eyes watering, and pulled back again, coughing softly.
“Fuck, sorry,” Sora said, his voice rough.
“Don’t apologize. You’re perfect. Just take your time.”
Sora stroked Zoro with his hand while he caught his breath, then leaned back down. This time he was more confident, taking Zoro in and working his way down gradually, inch by inch. His jaw stretched around the thickness. The sight of it was intense, making heat pool in Zoro’s belly as his cock throbbed against Sora’s tongue.
“That’s it,” Zoro groaned. “You’re doing so good. Taking me so well.”
Sora shivered a little at the praise. He pulled back slightly, then tried again, pushing himself a little further each time. On the fourth attempt, he managed to take Zoro deeper, his throat relaxing around the considerable girth. He held him there for a moment, swallowing around him. The sensation made Zoro’s hips jerk involuntarily.
“Fuck, Sora, that’s so— fuck,” he groaned.
Sora pulled back, gasping for air, his lips already swollen and wet. He dove back down, taking Zoro deep. Zoro’s hips bucked up involuntarily again, but Sora didn’t gag or pull away, he took everything Zoro gave him, his eyes watering slightly but his determination unwavering. The realization made something animalistic roar to life in Zoro’s chest.
“You’re so fucking big,” Sora gasped between attempts, his voice filled with awe and desire. “I love it. Love how much you stretch my mouth.”
Sora set a rhythm, bobbing his head, using his hand on what he couldn’t fit in his mouth. His other hand cupped Zoro’s balls, rolling them gently. Zoro thought he might actually die from how good it felt. Every nerve ending in his body was focused on the wet heat of Sora’s mouth, the suction, the way his tongue worked the underside of Zoro’s cock, the sight of those swollen lips stretched around his girth.
“You’re fucking amazing at this,” Zoro groaned, his voice rough.
Sora hummed around his cock and the vibration made Zoro’s toes curl. He looked down and the sight nearly undid him. Sora between his legs, lips stretched obscenely around his cock, mask still in place, blond hair falling over his face looking like some kind of debauched angel. His eyes were half-lidded with pleasure, like he was getting off on this, like sucking Zoro off was exactly what he wanted to be doing.
Zoro had hooked up with plenty of guys before. Good-looking guys, skilled guys, guys who knew what they were doing. This felt different. This felt deeper for some reason that he didn’t understand. Why did he want this man so badly? What was it about him? He didn’t get why his chest felt tight and his gut flared with warmth every time Sora looked at him with those achingly familiar blue eyes, why he wanted to possess this man completely, why one night didn’t feel like it would be enough.
Zoro felt his cock throbbing in Sora’s mouth, close to a release. The blond pulled off with a wet sound, gasping for breath. His lips were swollen and red, spit-slick and obscene. Zoro wanted to kiss him so badly it hurt.
“Not yet,” Sora said, throwing Zoro’s words back at him. “I want to make this last.”
“Evil,” Zoro said, but he was smiling.
Sora grinned and leaned back down, this time focusing on the head of Zoro’s cock. He swirled his tongue around it, dipping into the slit, before he took him deep again, all the way down. This time he managed it more easily, his throat relaxed and ready, before he held Zoro there, swallowing around him.
Zoro’s hand came up to tangle in Sora’s hair. Not pushing, just needing the connection.
Sora worked him with single-minded devotion, alternating between deep, throat-fucking strokes and teasing attention to the head. He was cataloguing Zoro’s reactions, learning what made him gasp, what made his hips buck, what made his grip tighten in Sora’s hair. He was using that knowledge ruthlessly, building Zoro’s pleasure higher and higher until he was trembling with it.
“Sora, you’re so good. That’s perfect, you’re perfect. Taking all of me like that.”
Sora pulled off again. Zoro made a sound of protest. Sora grinned up at him teasingly then leaned down to mouth at Zoro’s balls. He sucked one into his mouth, rolling it gently with his tongue.
“Fuck,” Zoro groaned.
Sora hummed in pleasure before he took Zoro’s cock into his mouth again. He sucked hard, hollowing his cheeks, taking him deep with practiced ease now. Zoro’s vision went white at the edges.
“I’m close,” Zoro warned, his voice strained.
Sora didn’t pull off. He took Zoro deeper, relaxing his throat completely, and looked up at him with those dark, hungry eyes. The message was clear.
That was all it took.
Zoro’s orgasm hit him with the force of a sea train. His whole body went rigid, his hand tightening in Sora’s hair and he came hard, spilling down Sora’s throat. Sora swallowed it all, sucking and swallowing until Zoro was completely spent.
The satisfaction was primal, overwhelming. That beast inside him roared in triumph. He’d marked this man, claimed him, filled him with his come. Sora had taken it all, swallowed it down like it was exactly what he wanted. The possessive satisfaction of that was almost as intense as the orgasm itself.
Mine. He’s mine.
Sora pulled off slowly, licking his lips. Zoro watched him with dark, hungry eyes. The blond looked debauched, his lips swollen and red, his mask slightly askew, his eyes glazed with arousal. He looked perfect and Zoro wanted more.
The realization hit him like a punch to the gut. He’d just come harder than he had in a long time. That beast inside him should have been sated, but if anything, it was more ravenous than before, prowling and hungry and demanding more.
He wanted to fuck Sora, wanted to be inside him, wanted to feel him clench around his cock, wanted to make him fall apart again, wanted to possess him completely, in every way possible.
What was it about this man that made Zoro feel like this?
He didn’t understand why the need was this intense, but he knew with absolute certainty that he needed Sora. One night wasn’t going to be enough. A hundred nights might not be enough. He had him tonight though and he was going to have him in every way he could.
Sora crawled back up his body and they kissed again. Zoro could taste himself on Sora’s tongue, and it was intoxicating. They rolled together, hands and mouths everywhere, until Zoro was on top again.
“I want to fuck you,” Zoro said, his voice rough. “I want to be inside you.”
Sora’s eyes darkened.
“Yes, please.”
Zoro placed another kiss to Sora’s lips before glancing over to the tray on the nightstand. He grabbed a bottle of lube and the right size condom, setting them on the bed beside them.
“How do you want me?” Sora asked.
Zoro’s mind went blank for a moment, overwhelmed by the possibilities.
“Hands and knees. I want to see you like that.”
Sora shivered and then rolled over, getting into position. Zoro took a moment to just look at him. the bare expanse of his back, smooth and pale in the dim light. The curve of his spine leading down to his ass. The muscles shifted beneath his skin as he adjusted his position. Zoro ran his hands over Sora’s bare back, down to his ass, squeezing and kneading. Sora pushed back into the touch and Zoro spread him open, revealing his hole.
“Fuck, you’re perfect.”
“Tetsu, please.”
“I’ve got you.”
Zoro leaned down and licked a stripe over the puckered skin, causing Sora’s whole body to jerk in surprise.
Zoro did it again, then again, using his tongue to tease and explore. He took his time, savoring the taste, the intimacy of it. He licked and sucked, occasionally pulling back to bite gently at the curve of Sora’s ass before returning to his hole.
Sora was making the most incredible sounds, gasping and moaning, his hands fisting in the sheets. His thighs were trembling and Zoro could see he was getting hard again.
“Tetsu, that feels amazing.”
Zoro hummed in satisfaction and continued his work, using his tongue to open Sora up, to make him relax and melt into the sensation. He was thorough, patient, taking genuine pleasure in every gasp and moan he drew from Sora’s lips.
After several long minutes of Sora trembling and gasping, Zoro pulled back and reached for the lube. He slicked up his fingers, then pressed one against Sora’s hole. It slid in easily, Sora being relaxed from Zoro’s mouth. Still, he worked his finger in slowly and carefully.
“More,” Sora said, his voice shaky. “I can take more.”
Zoro added a second finger, scissoring gently to stretch him.
“You doing okay?”
“Yeah, I just—” Sora paused. There was something vulnerable in his voice when he continued. “I’ve never had someone as big as you before. I’m a little nervous.”
“Hey,” he said softly, leaning over to press a kiss to Sora’s spine. “I’m not going to hurt you. I promise. We’ll take as much time as you need.”
“Okay.” Sora’s voice was small. “Okay, I trust you.”
Those words hit Zoro harder than they should have. This beautiful stranger trusted him, was vulnerable for him, and Zoro was going to make damn sure he deserved that trust.
He worked his fingers slowly, carefully, adding more lube when needed. When he added a third finger, Sora tensed slightly. Zoro immediately stilled.
“Breathe,” he advised gently. “Just breathe for me.”
Sora took a shaky breath and Zoro felt him relax around his fingers. He moved them slowly, carefully, searching. When he found Sora’s prostate, the blond gasped.
“There,” Sora breathed. “Right there.”
Zoro massaged the spot gently and Sora’s whole body shuddered.
“That feel good?”
“Yes.”
Zoro kept it up, building Sora’s pleasure. He wasn’t rushing this. He wanted Sora to feel nothing but pleasure, wanted to make this perfect for him. His fingers worked steadily, stretching and preparing him, occasionally brushing over that spot that made Sora gasp and tremble.
“You’re doing so good,” Zoro murmured. “Taking my fingers so well. You’re perfect, Sora.”
Sora made a broken sound, his hips pushing back against Zoro’s hand.
“I’ve got you. I’m going to make this so good for you.”
He added more lube, working a fourth finger in slowly. Sora was panting now, his body trembling, but he was relaxed, open, taking everything Zoro gave him.
“Tetsu,” Sora said, his voice thick with emotion. “Thank you. For being so careful with me.”
Zoro’s chest felt tight.
“Of course. You’re—” He paused, searching for words. “You’re special. I want this to be good for you.”
Sora was quiet for a moment, and when he spoke again, his voice was soft.
“I’m really glad I met you tonight.”
“Me too,” Zoro said.
He meant it with an intensity that surprised him. Sora shifted, turning to look over his shoulder at Zoro. His eyes were dark and soft, filled with something that looked almost like affection.
“Tetsu, before we do this, I want to see you. Really see you.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” Sora carefully pulled away from Zoro’s fingers, turning to face him. He reached up to touch his mask. “I want to take these off. I want to see your face when you’re inside me.”
Zoro’s heart was pounding.
“You sure?”
“I’m sure.” Sora’s hands were trembling slightly as he reached for the ribbons at the back of his head. “I want to see you. All of you.”
“Okay,” Zoro said, his voice rough.
Sora untied the ribbons slowly, then pulled the mask off, revealing his face inch by inch.
Zoro’s world tilted on its axis.
He knew that face. He knew those eyebrows, that jawline, that mouth. He’d seen them every day for years.
“Cook?” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.
Sanji (because it was Sanji, it was fucking Sanji, and Zoro was such an idiot for not realizing it sooner) froze completely. His eyes went wide, pupils dilating with shock.
“What?”
Zoro reached up, pulled off his own mask with trembling fingers and watched as recognition crashed over Sanji’s face like a wave.
“Moss?”