Just more old fics I had laying around on my computer but had yet to post here.

The things you say when you're drunk.

Sanji found that feigning ignorance was the best way to overcome his stark fear that, whatever it was they kept getting themselves drunk enough to do (in order that they might have an excuse to do it), might revolve around something more than pent up energy.

It wasn't a train of thought he was actively entertaining. What it actually was, that is.

It was getting to the point where he knew his and Zoro's breaking point. Zoro would wake up pissy and disgruntled, especially withdrawn and he typically tried to skip out on meals in a pathetic attempt to ward off the inevitable. Sanji would wake up with a curling feeling in his belly that only got worse as the day went on and he chain smoked. He also dropped things everywhere. His fighting was messier. By the end of the day, after struggling with Zoro to eat something, he disappeared up into the crow's nest until everyone had gone to sleep.

Except Zoro. No, Zoro would be down in the kitchen, working on getting himself appropriately drunk for the night's activities. As for himself, Sanji made sure to take up the cheaper wine with him to the crow's nest. Someone would trade watches with Sanji, Sanji would find Zoro drunker than anything in the kitchen, and what happened next, Sanji couldn't ever predict accurately.

They might exchange verbal spats; they might kick each other around first. Zoro might try to tear the clothes off Sanji's body, or he might do it slow, so agonizingly slow, taking such care for each button on the chef's shirt, slowly undoing Sanji's tie (or sometimes leaving it all together). Sometimes they'd just go at it like wild dogs, knocking over chairs and biting, bruising, yanking hair and leaving ridiculously telling marks all over each other's bodies.

Sometimes Sanji was the aggressor, but the blond man had to be careful of Zoro's temperament. Some days Zoro was willing to be petted and sucked off and caressed and ravaged. But there were lines that Sanji was becoming more and more accustomed to. If Sanji happened to pick the wrong day to try and dominate, he'd pay for it with the bruises and sores on his wrists and thighs. His wrists because Zoro had an amazingly powerful grip and wouldn't relent if he felt his authority was being questioned, and his thighs because Zoro liked to draw blood when he got particularly vicious. Nipping constantly, teasing the reddening skin until it broke, and then lapping the little trickles of crimson liquid that trailed down the chef's pearl skin.

Sanji, for the most part, was by no means submissive… on a regular basis. Or at least, he didn't like to admit he was. In his defense, he could only recall one instance where he just "laid back and took it" as Zoro so elegantly put it later on. It had been a very bad day. He wanted to feel like there was someone out there with power and control that could reaffirm that Sanji was okay.

He'd only top-fucked Zoro four times. It might have been five, but he had been so drunk that time that he wasn't sure either of them had technically gotten any.

What bothered Sanji today wasn't how much he wanted it right now, on the kitchen table, damn the fact that it was currently filled with food and there were people sitting at it.

What irked the chef was how much he wanted to break that unwritten 'mandatory-inebriation' rule. Zoro was always high as a kite when they fooled around. Sanji didn't mind so much how Zoro's state was. It was always good in the end. But lately the chef had been drinking less, and pretending to be farther gone than he actually was. He wasn't worried about Zoro finding out. He was worried that that was the way he actually preferred it.

He was slightly terrified and more than annoyed that he wanted to be genuinely "there" when he got fucked by the swordsman. Everything was beginning to burn so much brighter and hotter the less he drank beforehand. It felt more real. It felt so damn good.

His urges were becoming bolder. Wanting to, in broad daylight, put his hands on the idiot marimo-head in very dirty ways. Sometimes he just wanted to feel the other man's lips on his.

But daylight always came and the world they visited a few times a week in the night did not exist to Zoro, or to him.

He wasn't pining. He just knew what he wanted from the other man. His attitude might be misconstrued as pouting, but it certainly wasn't pining.

Afterall, it was purely physical. Even if he could fuck Zoro out on the deck in broad daylight, he'd still think he was a pig headed, muscle gagged, shit-for-brains marimo. A good looking, sexy as hell, rough handed, hot mouthed-

Dumbass.

Zoro enjoyed drinking. He enjoyed getting drunk. He wasn't a wild drunk, in any respect. But he liked the way his body reacted to the alcohol. It was a temporary escape from the constant training and rigorous job of being the body of Roronoa Zoro.

However, if he was going to fuck a man properly, sober was his preferred state. Sanji had no god damn idea. He hadn't even experienced half of what Zoro could do to his body, all because the idiot chef was too embarrassed to admit that in his right mind, he liked what Zoro did to him.

Sex was something Zoro liked getting a satisfactory result in. His pleasure was, for the most part, (save for very weird days when he felt like letting the cook do what he wanted) seeing the look on the smug chef's face, hearing the muffled moans, seeing how hard he could get the cook by just staring at him. And predictably, his concentration slipped when he was drunk. It was like trying to execute Oni Giri without Wadou. It was effective, to a point, but a lot more powerful with Wadou.

Sanji, however, could call it off at anytime. So could Zoro, for that matter, but he wouldn't. It was too good. Even those times when Sanji pushed his limits, it was good.

That was why Zoro was currently using ale as a mouth wash. He figured if Sanji was drunk, he'd be too distracted to notice that Zoro wasn't actually drunk himself. He took one gulp, just to ensure he at least tasted slightly of alcohol, and sadly tossed the rest out. He assured himself, however, that it was for the greater good. Sanji wasn't going to know what hit him.

Sanji hadn't thought of using wine as a mouthwash. Instead he relied on his supreme acting abilities. His stomach clenched with anticipation as he pushed open the door to the kitchen after abandoning the crow's nest to Robin. He looked disheveled enough. He wore his shirt open, revealing the wife beater underneath. His pants were slung low, his left hip peeked out teasingly. A cigarette dangled from his mouth, and he slouched against the doorway, hoping to God Zoro was drunk out of his mind tonight. Whatever slip up he was sure to make could be blamed on his "intoxicated state".

As for Zoro, he was sitting back in a chair, his feet kicked up and resting on the table. An empty mug of ale dangled from his hand and he looked up blearily to see Sanji walk in.

The chef smiled.

He nodded his head at Zoro.

Zoro grinned, a predatory gleam in his eyes. Sanji couldn't be sure why, but the shivers it normally gave the cook seemed to amplify ten fold.

He should've thought of this earlier.

The cook shut the door behind him and grabbed the chair closest to him, shoving it up under the handle. He gave Zoro a very heated look as he took a long drag off his cigarette. Hand on his hip, the other extinguishing the cigarette on the surface of the wooden table. Zoro just watched him as he got up and trapped Sanji between the table and himself.

The swordsman leaned in close, his eyes searing black and dilated. He ran his closed mouth along the chef's long, graceful neck, taking in his scent leisurely. Sanji let his head roll back, offering himself to the swordsman.

It was best not to talk if they weren't throwing insults at each other.

Sanji ran his hands along Zoro's sides, stopping to undo the swords at his hip with one hand, running the other up under the haramaki and white shirt. He found hot skin stretched over rock hard abs, and the beginning of Sanji's ultimate fascination. The scar.

Zoro growled and suddenly bit down on the muscle juncture between the ear and chin. Sanji produced a strangled gasp and dropped his hands. Apparently Zoro felt alpha male tonight. Satisfied that the cook had gotten the point, Zoro licked apologetically at what was going to be a very visible bruise tomorrow.

Instead of resuming Sanji's earlier attempts to dispatch him of his clothes, Zoro yanked Sanji's outer shirt off, running his hands along the other man's arms as the new skin was revealed to him. Sanji ached to feel that mouth on his, but Zoro wasn't having it, instead aggravating his earlier mark by continually sucking and licking. It hurt and it felt so good and Sanji was going to have to kick the idiot in the balls in the morning because he only owned one turtle neck, and he had no fucking excuse to be wearing it in 90 some degree weather.

"Take off your shoes." Zoro murmured, his voice thick, permeating with lust. He momentarily abandoned Sanji's abused neck to take the blond man's face in his hands, forcing him to look him in the eye as Sanji toed off his shoes, effectively obeying his command.

The chef was a mess inside. Zoro's eyes burned through him and he wanted to look away, but feared what would happen if he did. They were nakama, so he had no fear that Zoro would hurt him that way, but when Zoro fell into one of these "moods" Sanji felt helplessly compelled to do every single thing Zoro wanted him to do to utmost perfection. He had his excuses. He was drunk. So what if he'd never do it in his right mind. Even though that was exactly what he was doing right now. So what if he should be screaming, "Fuck you!" and trying to kick the idiot's head in. But Zoro didn't know. Zoro didn't need or have to know. Zoro would never know.

Even if it just meant not breaking eye contact while he wriggled his feet out of his shoes Sanji would do anything. He whimpered slightly as Zoro's hands wandered from his face, down his neck, across his chest, stopping to bunch up the wife beater at the collar. Sanji braced himself as Zoro gave a powerful yank, ripping the shirt down the middle and letting it fall off the blond man's shoulders to the floor.

Sanji didn't dare protest. He'd make the bastard pay tomorrow, but right now he felt it wasn't a significant enough felony interrupt what was going on. Zoro grinned, his eyes admiring his handy work. He licked his lips wolfishly at the site of Sanji's bare chest, the smooth, creamy skin and hard muscle.

That was something Zoro appreciated about Sanji. He looked like a pansy ass wearing his fruity shirts and that slim black suit, but underneath was a powerful weapon. Graceful, strong and completely male. Zoro could almost give him credit for thinking that his outward appearances could deceive his enemies, but not quite. Somehow the swordsman didn't think Sanji was that clever. Or that he even thought about things like deceiving the enemy. He was a fucking chef. A chef with long, gorgeous legs he was about to lose himself in.

"Take. Your pants. Off." Zoro growled, running his hands up the washboard stomach to stop at the taut, pink, little nubs that were teasing him from Sanji's chest. Sanji worried his lower lip and hastily undid his belt, not breaking eye contact, flicking the button open and not even needing to unzip them. They fell to a puddle at his feet and he kicked them away without another thought. His turgid erection proudly displayed itself and Sanji didn't even have the grace to blush at the fact that he wasn't wearing underwear. He concentrated on the sensations running through his pectorals at being teased like that, Zoro running the pads of his thumbs continuously over his rosebud nipples.

He wanted to close his eyes so fucking bad.

Zoro didn't even blink at Sanji's commando state. He soaked in the sight with wolfish admiration, again licking his lips.

"Hands on the table. Don't move unless I move you. Don't come, think you can handle that, shit cook?"

The swordsman didn't give Sanji time to reply before he dropped to his knees and took the blonde's hot length in his mouth in one hasty movement. Sanji closed his eyes tight, finally, a loud cry escaping his mouth as he tried not to thrust into that warm, heated, wet mouth. Not that he would have been able to anyway. Zoro's had his ass in a death grip. Strong, calloused firmly gripped each smooth globe, squeezing and kneading.

Zoro worked Sanji's length fervently, licking, sucking, only stopping once to move instead to the heavy balls beneath the shaft, taking them in his mouth in turns, caressing them with his tongue. He drank in the chef's heady scent, greedy for the taste and smell of him. This was his. Despite not ever engaging in like activities outside of designated times, Zoro would kill anyone, anyone, who even looked at the chef cross eyed.

Sanji's entire body shook at being set upon too eagerly too quickly. He wanted to spread his legs further, but Zoro's command rang clear amidst the haze and pleasure and heat coursing through his body. Zoro's mouth was so good, so hot, and he kept sucking like that-

"Nnngah, Zoro stop-" he panted.

Zoro's only response was to double his efforts, lifting Sanji's lower body into his grip, forcing Sanji to lean on his hands. Since Sanji couldn't move on his own without Zoro's permission, Zoro tortured him by pumping Sanji into his mouth for him. He hummed with satisfaction, the vibrations causing the chef's cock to twitch in his mouth.

Sanji strangled the cry rising from his throat. "Zoro nnngh stop mmmh stop haaah stop I'mgoingtocome!"

Zoro released Sanji's rear and moved one hand quickly to squeeze at the base of the weeping length. Sanji panted and trembled, his legs not quite able to support his weight. He heard Zoro chuckle. He looked down at the other man.

"F…f-fuck you asshole! Tell me not to come then do some shit like that-"

Zoro stood up and silenced Sanji with a searing kiss, his hand still on his cock, the other making its way back to grab at the other man's ass.

Sanji could taste himself on the swordsman. Bitter and salty and Sanji knew how much Zoro loved it. Finally, he was able to draw Zoro's tongue into his mouth, run his own tongue across the other man's lips. He struggled against the green haired man's efforts, taking Zoro's lower lip between his teeth and nipping hard. In return, Zoro released Sanji's erection and ground their hips together mercilessly, effectively rendering Sanji useless in this particular battle.

Damn it. Sanji's head fell back as he eagerly thrust his hips forward, his slick member grinding against rough cotton and Zoro's crotch. He could feel the swordsman's hard length against his hip and he shuddered.

"Turn around and close your eyes. Keep your hands on the table." Zoro said, releasing Sanji and stepping back.

Sanji shuddered as he followed the order. He heard the sounds of Zoro removing his swords and clothing, the thump of boots hitting the floor somewhere. A cabinet door was opened, and he heard Zoro shifting through items, looking for something.

Only moments ago all Sanji wanted to do was close his eyes against Zoro's intense ministrations, but the urge to open them now, soak in the Adonis like body of the green haired man behind him, made him groan. He knew what was coming. He spread his legs farther apart, arching his back just to feel some sort of sensation. His cock throbbed, aching and weeping pre-cum so bad he could feel it dripping off his balls and onto the floor.

He'd make Zoro clean it thoroughly later.

The floor, that is.

The rustling sounds had stopped and Sanji no longer knew where Zoro was. It was unnerving and irritating. He wanted Zoro on in, in him, something… He shivered slightly from the lack of body heat.

Hands on the table. Hands on the table. Hands on the table-

Zoro was gazing appreciatively at Sanji's rear and how the chef had managed to present himself so prettily to the swordsman, back arched, legs spread, ass sticking out like that, begging to be fucked. He'd finally managed to find the lube. There wasn't really any place or need to keep it in the bunk room, and as freely as Luffy and others roamed the kitchen, just placing in a cabinet wasn't really good enough. He coated his own length liberally, letting his mind ravage the blond before him before he could get to him. He could tell Sanji was nervous at not knowing where he was. But this was apart of what made Zoro so good when he wasn't drunk. He thought about how he was going to fuck Sanji before he did it. He wasn't exactly a sexual connoisseur, by any means, but he knew how prolonged tension could make an orgasm more like an explosion that left you quivering and unable to move. It was the same principle with masturbating. Getting it over with quick and rough produced only minimal results. Dragging it out, letting your mind get more excited than the actual physical act gets you made it so much better.

He had plenty experience in that arena, so he knew his theory was sound.

He noted momentarily how submissive Sanji was being tonight. Almost too eager and a lot less contradictory. He attributed it to his own sober state.

His erection glistening, he stepped forward quietly, feeling Sanji jump and struggle to keep from letting out a gasp of surprise when Zoro placed his hands on his hips. The swordsman let his tongue swipe once more across the reddened area on Sanji's neck before kissing his way down the cook's shoulders, following the trail of his spine, leaving behind a wet path.

He stopped just above that delicious looking cleft to briefly contemplate his many perversions. This was one of the things he was sure he'd never be able to do when Sanji was sober. He'd gotten a swift kick in the face the first time he tried it, but had been able to gradually ease Sanji into not just tolerating it, but looking forward to it. He grinned, remembering the look of utter revulsion and confusion all over the idiot chef's face. Compared to the look he was sure was on Sanji's face now, it was all so very amusing.

He flicked his tongue out and ran it lightly down the valley between those firm cheeks, careful not to do more than skim the surface just yet.

Sanji let out an embarrassingly wanton moan. It was so fucking hard to throw his pride and inhibitions out the window when he was drunk, let alone sober. He thought he'd hate it even when he was drunk. Not just rimming, but letting Zoro fuck him into submission in general. That was before Zoro made him feel how good it was to be controlled. Not ordered around or whipped or gagged or dozens of other things on his list of types-of-sex-to-never-try. But a firm hand guiding you, leading you to something you knew would be so mind shatteringly good. Threats of walking out were empty, he knew, but mentally it consumed him. Sanji knew Zoro was doing this because it felt good to him and to Sanji. But Zoro hadn't ever been so demanding before. He'd been rough, he'd left marks, he'd told Sanji when to come and when to not. But this was different somehow and it left him a quivering mess. There was something a lot more mental going on here than he'd like to give a drunken swordsman credit for.

He started panting when he felt Zoro spread his cheeks, that hot, brilliant tongue delving further, stopping just above his entrance and skipping over it to travel further down to the area between his balls and puckered hole. He wanted to pound the table with his fist and thrust his ass back at the same time. Well, Zoro didn't say anything about not being able to move his ass.

Zoro jerked in surprise when Sanji thrust back towards him, growling in frustration. "Damn it Zoro don't fucking tease me!" That moved earned a bite to his left cheek.

"Ungh!"

Zoro chuckled. "Show a little restraint… Sanji." Before Sanji had the chance to contemplate the blatant use of his name, Zoro's tongue began lathing his sensitive entrance while one hand had snuck down to his balls and were gently massaging them.

Sanji didn't whimper. He… made a sound that was less than a moan and more than a squeak. Regardless, keeping his hands on the table, he bent over completely, burying his head in his arms. He was spread completely, and his body was wracked with convulsions. He bit his forearm in frustration and pleasure, trying to hold back the screams and moans threatening to burst forth from his chest. He writhed as best he could, but his erection found no purchase with thin air. His muscles were strained to their limit, he just knew his cock had to be blue by now-

Oh gods. Zoro's tongue pushed its way past the tight ring of muscle, bathing Sanji's inner walls briefly before flicking out again, returning to torturing the abused rosebud. Zoro gave on last little kiss to Sanji's quivering entrance before standing up and replacing his tongue with two lubed fingers.

If it was possible, Sanji spread his legs further, pushing back against those probing fingers.

Zoro leaned forward to whisper in Sanji's ear. "Alright, alright. Such a whore tonight."

Sanji's eyes flew open. He was a little thrilled to hear Zoro talk dirty, but more surprised than pleased. What had gotten into the moss-head?

Said moss-head momentarily took the blond man's earlobe in his mouth, suckling. Sanji's nails were now digging into the wood.

"Keep your eyes open, keep your hands on the table." Zoro said gruffly before shoving his fingers in none too delicately. Remained in obedience but he couldn't keep from wincing. He tried to rise up on his arms, but they wouldn't hold him. He just lifted his head up, looking back to see Zoro's naked form looming behind him, his hand working Sanji's ass slowly. Zoro was grinning at him with piercing eyes. He glared back at Zoro as best he could, his face flushed and his brow covered in sweat. But then Zoro's fingers brushed briefly against that spot, enough to make him jerk forward then immediately surge backwards, trying to acquire that feeling again.

"Hit a nerve?" Zoro inquired, thrusting quicker and harder with his two fingers. Sanji growled, meeting Zoro's hand with every thrust.

He was so damn close. He closed his eyes again and balled his hands into fists.

"Ah ah ah nnngh more stupid I'm so close fuck-"

Zoro just grinned and removed his fingers.

"Want it?" Zoro said, his voice so thick with heat and lust that Sanji barely recognized it. Sanji only moaned, sweat dripping off his nose and chin.

Zoro could barely stand the sight of Sanji laid out like this. He felt bolder, more excited than he had in… ever. He leaned forward and placed small kisses on Sanji's neck before placing his throbbing manhood at the blonde's eager entrance. Slowly, agonizingly, he began to thrust in, closing his eyes as the heat and tightness of Sanji's passage engulfed him, welcomed him in a slow tide of burning pleasure.

"Unnnngh. Fuck Sanji…. We just did this the other day… how are you so god damn tight?!"

Sanji didn't whimper again. He wasn't mewling either. He WAS frustrated that Zoro was moving slower than his 92 year old grandmother that he wasn't sure existed.

He felt Zoro's large cock spearing him slowly. He felt his passage caressed and nudged, and every movement Zoro made caused Sanji to lose more of himself. He wasn't sure he was able to form the sentence, "Move faster, you fucking fucker! FUCK PLEASE MORE-", it would probably just come out in a garble of not!whimpers and not!mewls. He just tried to breathe under Zoro's weight and suddenly thrust his hips backwards to meet Zoro's, and he groaned in a very gratifying way as he took all of Zoro in, so far that Zoro's balls rested heavily against Sanji's ass.

Zoro didn't whimper. He certainly did not whimper. He did pull back out and slam back in a very brutal way that caused Sanji to surge forward and arch his back.

"Zoro more-"

"Shit-"

"Zoro ah-"

Zoro obeyed Sanji's pleas for more and quickly set a grueling pace, thrusting hard and fast, aiming for Sanji's prostate, a particular location he was well acquainted with by now. Accuracy, speed and force soon had the chef crying out nonsense, cursing and naming gods. Zoro barely had the presence of mind to be smug when he reached his hand around Sanji's waist and began pumping the other man's weeping cock.

"Zoro-"

"Mmm-" Zoro moaned and bathed Sanji's back with his tongue, continuing his hard thrusts.

"Zoro wait please I-"

Zoro growled, impatient to wait any longer. If Sanji had blue balls, imagine how tightly wound the swordsman was.

"Zoro pleeease ah ah stop I want to see you please-"

Zoro ceased all movement.

Sanji had no idea what the fuck he was saying. His mind was trying to communicate something to him, something about how his request was bordering on dangerous territory, but his body, or something like that, was telling him otherwise and the two couldn't reconcile with what was actually coming out of his mouth.

Like Sanji had been thrilled by Zoro's name calling, shivers ran up Zoro's spine to hear Sanji plea like that. He was momentarily at a loss for movement or speech. He wanted to. He wanted to flip the idiot gorgeous fucker on his back and pound into him. He wanted to see the look in those amazing blue eyes when he sent him over the edge. But he knew what it'd do to him. Sanji was drunk and had no clue what he was saying, Zoro was sure. They'd done it facing each other before, up against walls, on the floor, on the table. But Zoro had never asked Sanji to keep his eyes open. He'd never had the guts to watch, even if he had. It was going to be the end of him.

"Zoro move or something I'm going to die like this-" Sanji whimpered, yes whimpered. His body had not calmed down in Zoro's split second reverie. His every cell was on fire, his cock was an unhealthy color, a mix of purple and red, and his fucking soul ached. If Zoro was drunk than he should have just complied with Sanji's request. But he had been acting strange from the beginning-

"Ah! What the hell-" Sanji suddenly found himself flipped, minus Zoro's dick, sitting on the table facing the man's who's cock had just escaped him. Zoro looked completely bewildered but strangely determined. Resigned, even. Sanji didn't have a moment to say anything when Zoro roughly captured Sanji's mouth again, wrapping his arms around the man and lifting him to him. Sanji wrapped his legs around Zoro's waist and supported himself by holding onto the swordsman's strong shoulders. Zoro guided himself back inside the other man, laying him gently back onto the table, there lips parting as the green haired man righted himself. They gazed at each other momentarily before Zoro began to move again, thrusting slowly. Sanji closed his eyes and wrapped his legs more tightly around the swordsman to draw him closer. Their breathing was labored, Sanji's chest rising and falling quickly, both their bodies covered in sweat. Zoro ran his hands along Sanji's torso and began to pick up his pace while using one hand to stroke Sanji's manhood.

Sanji was torn between letting his legs fall open or keeping them wrapped around Zoro's waist. He settled for breaking Zoro's "don't move" rule and thrust into the swordsman's rough hand. He was so close. Zoro's length brushed Sanji's prostate again and he cried out, his eyes flying open, his body tensing. Zoro slammed into him roughly, hitting that spot mercilessly while pumping his hand in time with his thrusts. Sanji's eyes met Zoro's and Zoro's knees almost buckled. He was at the edge when Sanji choked out his name, his fucking name, and came hard all over his hand, stream after stream of sticky white fluid coating his stomach. Zoro lost it, pulling Sanji up enough to kiss him hard, letting Sanji's name be swallowed by the cook's own mouth. He'd never know that Zoro was spiraling out of control. He flooded Sanji's passage with semen, marking him with more intention than he'd ever had before.

Neither of them moved, but Zoro's strength was beginning to fail him. Send him marines, send him the entire grandline, hell, send him Luffy. He'd handle it with strength left over for a good work out. But sex really took it out of him. Always. Sanji's head rested on his shoulder, panting hot puffs of breath on the swordsman's skin. Zoro looked desperately for a soft place to collapse, but finding none. There was the hard, sticky table, or the hard, not so sticky floor. There was also the bags of rice in the corner, but Sanji would never forgive him.

Like it mattered.

He settled for dropping to the floor with a thud, Sanji on top of him, himself sitting cross legged with Sanji in his lap. Sanji stirred and slurred a "Whazzat?" looking around blearily at their new location. Throughout all the movement they had managed to stay connected, but Zoro no longer had the presence of mind to care. He was prepared to fall asleep as is. Sanji, however, came to enough to notice their naked, disheveled and… attached, state. With a grimace he slowly lifted himself off the swordsman, making to get up but he was suddenly yanked back into Zoro's lap with an "Oof."

"We need to clean up shit head-"

"Shut up." Zoro rearranged Sanji, much to the cook's chagrin, so that his legs were wrapped around his waist again, while wrapping his own arms around the skinny waist of the cook and pulling him close.

"Oi, marimo-head-"

"Sanji." Zoro said while burying his neck in the chef's neck.

Sanji bristled at the use of his name. That was the second time that night. He was starting to get nervous. Either Zoro had sobered up during their activities or he was on crack. He was nervous about the swordsman figuring out he wasn't so drunk as he had hoped to pass off he was. He done an incredibly stupid, wonderful, amazing thing by saying what he'd said, doing what he'd done. He couldn't risk anymore mistakes. And since when the fuck did Zoro like to cuddle afterwards?!

"Oi, marimo-head-"

"I have a name, Sanji."

It had to be that Sanji had had the same idea he had. Of course Sanji wasn't drunk. He didn't even smell like alcohol. Didn't taste like it. His eyes had been so god damn clear, like the ocean itself. He just couldn't believe it had taken him longer than five seconds to figure it out. Probably because he'd been so worried about putting on a good act himself. He was tired of pretenses. If they wanted to fuck each other, then so what? It's not like they had to get married. Not like they had to feel anything for each other. They could still blow off steam without saying, "It was an accident" or "I was drunk".

Sanji's energy suddenly returned to him and he pushed against Zoro. Surprised by his resistance, Zoro lost his grip enough for Sanji to stand up and start grabbing for his clothes.

"Sanji-"

"Stop it. Don't ever do that again-"

Zoro stood up, starting to get that creeping panicky feeling.

"Don't do what?"

Sanji yanked on his pants quickly and grabbed his button up shirt, throwing it on quickly. "Shut it, asshole. I was drunk. I didn't say or do anything."

Anger flared up inside Zoro, along with disappointment. "Like hell you didn't! I know you're not drunk! What the fuck's your problem? Get me all riled up then dangle something in front of me that you don't want to give?"

Suddenly the words coming out of Zoro's mouth were more shocking to him than they probably were to Sanji. Then he realized that he wasn't just talking about blowing off steam together.

Sanji glared at him. "It was an accident. I just thought it'd be better if I wasn't drunk. And it was. But I can't do that, you can't do that, and we both know it. So just stop. This has to stop. We can't do this sober. We shouldn't even do it at all."

"If you say that you better mean it Sanji. Just say the word and you'll never find me in here in the middle of the night again. I'll never come looking for you. Say the word." Zoro said quietly. He hoped to god Sanji didn't mean it. But he'd laid himself bare, said, in not so many words, what he wanted and intended. Now it was up to Sanji to take it or walk away.

Sanji's eyes looked sad and completely clear before he uttered, "This is the end of this." The blond walked out of the kitchen without another word, shutting the door behind him. He headed towards the bathroom to clean himself up.

He would then change clothes in the boys bunk, get in his hammock and sleep for the rest of the night. Soon Zoro would stop staring at the wall, get dressed, clean up their evidence and trade Robin out for the rest of the night's shift.

Maybe it isn't the things you say when you're drunk that matter, Sanji later mused. Not the things you accidentally whisper in someone's ear, or the way you treat someone when you've lost all your inhibitions. It isn't the truth that you let loose in moments of abandon.

It's the lies you spout to protect yourself and others. It's the things you say when you're sober.