Should the rabbit die,
the fox would be lonely, and
hang his head in grief.

The fact that the year's warmest point lags behind the summer solstice outside the Grand Line is evidence that the Earth holds onto the heat it receives; or so Nami's book says. Robin had been idly paging through it ever since she noticed the Coptic-stitched encyclopedia abandoned on the table, its owner attempting to pull off another well-practiced tap dance. It wasn't her fault she was facing a tough audience.

"Just listen, alright?" she'd crooned, looking Zoro dead in the eyes. That familiar cloying tone of hers had him too pre-emptively exhausted to roll them. Zoro's hollow line of sight drifted to the blank swathe of forehead just above Nami's eyebrows, his consciousness quickly softening. "It'll hardly feel like a detour. I know they're holding something nice in the contraband room, I heard the guards talking about it on break." She walked up a few steps closer. The dull click of heels on wood caught his attention enough to notice that her expression had twisted several degrees more devilish. "And you know what else? They were drinking like fish. The last thing I heard was snoring. You guys will have nothing to worry about."

"You guys."

"You." She gestured to the half-lidded pupil following her every move. "And Sanji."

Zoro scratched the back of his head, rested his other arm on his bundle of hilts. "You know, I'm fine working alone. I'll carry your little treasure chest back here, don't you worry."

"You need a lookout." At least Zoro got to see Sanji's I'm just the lookout? face.

The pirate in the double breasted suit released a stream of protests, varying his persuasive strategies with each successive complaint, and Zoro had vicariously let him say much of what he was himself thinking; but in what seemed like a blink, here they were nonetheless, the two of them taking the front and rear of the contraband room's dim corridor. The air in the room is thick with dust, the staleness of it settling heavily in their lungs, yet against their skin it's almost frigid. Zoro warily examines the solid, windowless walls that have managed to trap all the humidity of the waters splashing up against their exterior and none of the warmth of the sun.

The swordsman nods his head in the direction of the middle of the room, where a rather conspicuously placed wooden box was set to lay perhaps for all eternity. The box is just this side of rectangular, set standing up on one of its short square ends, and large enough to make Zoro wonder how Nami could so casually suggest that he and Sanji alone would be getting it out of there. Looking back at the entrance to the room, by Zoro's estimate it looks like it would just barely fit through the doorframe. The room is strangely barren for how jam packed with assorted cargo the rooms leading up to it were; either this is one of their lesser holding rooms, or...

A clattering of footsteps echoes down the hallway. "Those snoring Marines are really booking it here," Sanji mutters in frustrated monotone. Zoro quickly glances around the entire room as if he hadn't just a moment ago, repeating the instinctual search for an escape route, now in the thick of actively needing one. As the footsteps draw closer, it becomes increasingly obvious there is only one: the box. Zoro's body decides to act before he does, bolting in its direction, hoping the blonde in the room with him will just... figure it out somehow. Somewhere else.

But much to his great dismay, Sanji then starts running in the same direction. With the lead he has, Zoro tries to use it to his advantage to beat him there. There's no way they'll both fit, hopefully even Sanji isn't enough of an idiot to presume otherwise. He jumps up and grabs onto the lip at the top of the box, and as he climbs inside he immediately notices two things. One, there was actually a much smaller box hidden inside this oddly tall container all along. And two, Sanji is not living up to the very low bar of his expectations. Before Zoro can stop him, Sanji springs up and flips through the air towards the square entrance in one fluid movement.

"DON'T come this way—!"

In a flurry of tangled limbs and startled grunts, the two pirates crumple haphazardly into the wooden container. The tall box precariously tips one way, rocks the other way, then manages to settle on its end. Its occupants let out a simultaneous sigh of relief before shooting each other a murderous look.

"I told you not to come in here!" Zoro hisses, trying to keep the sound of his voice lower than the now very closely echoing thunder of over a dozen Marine-standard boots.

"Are those swords only for show? Maybe if you weren't such a coward, you'd have fought them off instead of trying to hide yourself where you don't even fit."

"I was here first. You fight them off."

Luckily, each individually thinks to himself, he managed to get all the way inside the box despite the other's intrusion. The smaller box at the bottom helpfully allows one of Zoro's feet to stand on solid ground while Sanji's lighter, more flexible frame hovers around his body. The cook presses the leather sole of his dress shoe into the wood behind Zoro's haramaki and leans a jacketed shoulder against the opposite wall.

"In here!" Not a moment later the Marines penetrate the room, a good handful by the sound of it. This close, Sanji can feel the tilt in the strange cold air as Zoro's raised hackles begin boiling it between them. They instinctually quiet the sound of their breathing as the footsteps fill the room before inquisitively surrounding them. As the men murmur among themselves the swordsman looks upwards and closes his eyes in mock prayer. The wall of the box feels absurdly thin, but they have to try, have to hope these guards will be fooled anyway.

"What, exactly, did you expect to find here?" a booming voice questions, likely the officer stationed here.

"I thought I heard the voices of two men," another hesitantly offers.

"Don't be ridiculous! You couldn't possibly fit two grown men in here." A meaty knuckle knocks threateningly close to the pirates' heads. Zoro smirks, staring directly at Sanji. He carefully shifts his shoulder to reach out and encircle Sanji's ankle within his nearby thumb and forefinger. Unable to protest, or even draw a furious breath, Sanji grits his teeth.

The Marines continue their confused bickering back and forth, combining their almighty powers of deduction to tease out what could have possibly transpired in this room despite the fact that nothing about the present situation was represented in the entrance exam nor prior field experience—when a sudden splash and a metallic clatter in the hallway outside makes everyone fall silent. Without missing another beat the hurricane of Marine boots storms into the hallway once again. Distantly, the tensed pirates can hear a desperate stream of apologies from the mop boy between admonishment from the irate officer.

The two bodies in the wooden box release a held breath. The space between sighs along with them. Before they can catch it, an altered formula of pressing hands and feet offsets the fragile balance, and the minute shift in volume crumples them further inside. The downward motion of the slide pins Zoro's limbs in place; one arm and leg each of Sanji's. After some experimental wiggling, the creeping realization that they are both helplessly stuck in their present position only becomes increasingly clear.

The teen habitually moves to take a drag, but his fingers grasp at nothing—he looks down, only then noticing that his joint had been knocked out of his mouth and fallen to the bottom among the tornado of limbs that flew in here. He spies the cherry within the darkness swallowing Zoro's foot in just enough time to witness it flickering and slowly dying out.

The cook dryly sucks air, Where my smoke really should be, needs to be as soon as I get out of here. "You've really done it this time, marimo..." Sanji grinds out flatly.

"You're the one who jumped in here with me, question mark."

"You jumped in here with me, shrub."

"Drain."

"Lichen."

"Conch."

Sanji blinks. He hadn't expected this brute's mouth to ever produce something that appealed so strongly to his romantic sense of aesthetics. "Like one you can hear the sea in..." He takes another long, hissing breath and leans his head against the box.

"Hey, how can you be so relaxed in here?" There's a curiously desperate edge to his words.

Sanji looks down. "Mn. Figures you'd get more squeezed in this cramped box, huh. Your big gorilla arms and all."

"Quit wasting my time and move," Zoro growls. Sanji quirks his eyebrow. Zoro seems unusually frantic for how notoriously level and collected he's been around Sanji in much more dire circumstances—but then it dawns on Sanji that it's not just a matter of physique.

"Oh dear. Do small spaces bother you that much? You poor thing."

"If your twiggy cricket legs weren't in the way, I could move my arms enough to get us out of here," Zoro spits. He narrows his eyes, and his voice drops half an octave. "On second thought, I oughta snap them in half."

Sanji sighs, blasé, as one would while dealing with a petulant child. "I can get us out just fine, don't you worry."

He rolls his shoulders back, recalibrating the fit of his jacket's lapels. Now was arguably the perfect time to test this out, he asserted internally. If he's able to set his heart ablaze, and concentrate, refine it, direct it, then even in here he can probably...

Zoro sniffs. "The fuck is that smell?" A small stream of smoke rising up to lick at the side of his face weaves between his earrings. "Whoa, whoa! What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"Isn't it obvious? I'm getting us out of here."

"Asshole. You trying to put me on the menu?"

That does it. This brat's impudence is too distracting; it simply can't go unsilenced. Zoro's expression carried a sour look of anticipation, still burdened with a mix of fury and fear. Despite himself, it gives Sanji an idea—the blonde grins, cheshire. His focus narrows until it's sharp enough to draw blood. Right now, Zoro might as well be his imprisoned little mouse. So as he lifts a smoldering foot, he twists his trajectory and the attached burning heel instead digs into the meat of Zoro's thigh. The bound swordsman hardly makes a noise, his very breathing barely audible above the gentle clink of his earings and the sizzling generated between linen and leather.

"Quit stalling," Zoro snarls. A toy is meant to be played with, and that's entirely a separate matter from stalling, Black Leg Sanji muses. He can't help but eye Zoro's open crotch, then, looking as inviting as a bullseye. Perhaps he's right after all; maybe the Baratie veteran should just cut to the chase. His leg winds up as if to punch a hole in the wall behind Zoro, only to nail him directly in the center of that bullseye. His crewmate grunts, irritation far overshadowing his pain, and something deep within his glare sends a chill down Sanji's spine. He loses his concentration just long enough that he fails to catch himself as he slides further down, the angle of his raised leg interlocking perfectly with the very thigh he'd just been ruthlessly pressing into.

Once the dust settles, it occurrs to Zoro he can now pull one of his arms free. His bare eyebrow twitches, and as his eyes dart to meet Sanji's a smirk tugs at the edge of his mouth, all the more threatening for its subtlety. While Sanji can't guess exactly what idea was presently blossoming underneath that coarse green fuzz, it all becomes clear when Zoro's free hand goes for the buckle of Sanji's belt. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" The ex-nomad singlehandedly unbuttons and unzips his crewmate's pants as if he can't hear him, surprisingly deft at these fine movements for how much strength and control he regularly displays with his heavy swords.

For all of Sanji's squirming, he's not really getting anywhere with it. A lump of anxiety pushes a whimper out of his throat. Frantic, rancid agitation rakes its way up his spine. No, absolutely not, this absolutely can't be happening, I'm not going to let this happen—yet once the tips of Zoro's fingers slide past the waistband of Sanji's heart print boxers and start stroking him a critical rift in his panic opens up, smaller cracks meeting and splitting into a yawning void. Sanji shivers, melts into it, falls deep, deep into the depths of what seems to his body the promise of something adjacent to sex.

—Then with a snap, as if waking from hypnosis some backup aspect of his sapience rekindles his sense of alarm, and with a renewed effort he manages to gets a hand out from beside him. Finally free, his pristine cook's hand forms a fist and flies at Zoro's balls: a personal insult of the highest calibre. Barking in surprise Zoro lets go of Sanji's dick, which he promptly stuffs back into his pants. He huffs indignantly as he buttons them. "Enough of this!" Truly intending to escape, he re-ignites his sole and kicks clean through the wall of the box. After a few more strikes it loses its structural integrity and collapses behind Zoro, successfully freeing them of their wooden prison and sending them toppling together in the process. They brush off smoldering shards of wood and flecks of dust, Zoro cracking his neck, Sanji re-tightening his tie.

Now there's only one problem. They're completely surrounded.

"Get them!" the officer roars.

One by one the two fighting wings of the Straw Hats' eponymous captain head them off, wordlessly agreeing to mop the floor with them by knocking out every Marine with efficient, effortless coordination—aside from the chore boy. Trembling, his eyes dart between his fallen comrades and the pirates; until they seemingly get stuck on the front of Sanji's pants. Once they meet the cook's line of sight, the kid's inexplicable fixation breaks and he flees with a frightened squeak. Zoro can't help but laugh before turning and running to the mysterious box, ready for the taking among the debris of its larger container. What's his problem? thinks Sanji. Looking down, however, all too suddenly reveals that he has a noticeable tent. He claps his hand over his mouth. Profound embarrassment leaks red into his ears and cheeks. Oh, for the love of...

Without further delay the two pirates sprint back to the ship, Sanji begrudgingly trailing behind Zoro. "What took you so long?" Nami purrs, drowsily hanging off Merry's taffrail.

Zoro scowls behind the box on his shoulder. "Hurry, let's get out of here!" As he chucks the heavy cargo onto the deck, Chopper morphs to catch it. Reaching all the way down to the docks, Luffy grabs onto the bounty hunter he stole and wraps him in an overjoyed hug once he's back onboard.

"You did it! I knew I could count on you!" Zoro can't help but smile at that. Out of the corner of his vision he notices Sanji leaping towards the door of the storeroom and slipping out of sight. Not a moment later Chopper lifts the anchor, and as they sail away Usopp mocks the still unconscious Marines with a barrage of alternating insults and elaborate boasts.

Taking a big breath of fresh air, Zoro scratches at the junction of his hairline and his nape. "I need a drink."

"Let's have a toast," Robin agrees.

"And then let's open this baby up," Nami adds, a dreamy look dancing in her eyes, caressing the box as one would a lover.

Zoro lets that playful half-smirk creep onto his face once more. "Alright. But I want the good stuff."

The Straw Hat Pirates scatter to prepare the impromptu celebration, grabbing supplies, arranging decorations. Mercifully, in just a few moments the cool relief of beer is spilling down Zoro's throat. As the noise of laughter surrounds him Luffy smacks him on the back, ruffles his shaggy green hair. "You guys are so cool!" he belts out, grinning. "Oh yeah, where's Sanji?" There they are, the words Zoro had been hoping to put off as long as possible.

"I think I saw him by the galley," Usopp offers. The eager look in Luffy's eyes tells Zoro that if nothing else it would make his captain happy to see Sanji around. Gathering all his strength, he rises to grab a barrel of booze and walks up the aft stairs.

The door creaks loudly as it's opened, sure enough revealing the sulking shape of a dark suit. Even as Zoro drops the heavy barrel on the countertop with a thunk that could probably be heard from the deck, that curved back remains unmoving, blending into the shadows of the room. "Hey. Aren't you gonna have some?" The unarmed swordsman nicks a mug from the cupboard and cracks a hole in the barrel. "Quit being such a little bitch and drink." That gets his attention. Studying the cup in front of his eye, he takes a moment to allow his heart to fall one way or the other. Against his better judgment he ultimately grabs it and downs the whole thing in one go, holding it out for more once it's empty.

After two or three refills—fuck, how could he let himself lose count?—the air becomes strangely heavy with something between sentimentality and surreality. The soothing rock of the waves grabs them by the shoulders to make them sway in unison. The nearly set sun bathes the room in quickly fading orange, glinting off the cutlery not too unlike the endless sparkling ripples of the ocean. To the other, each is the Devil he knows, together taking on the Devil they don't know: the Grand Line. Sanji closes his eyes, allowing himself to become immersed in the rhythm of the moment. "Je bois," he starts to quietly sing to himself, "Systématiquement, pour oublier les amis..." then abruptly stops. He leisurely opens his eyes and glances around the room as if he'll find meaning under one of the floorboards or among the cobwebs in the rafters.

"Oh yeah... that's good shit," Zoro gasps after a long swig. He meets Sanji's gaze then, staring for just long enough that the smoker starts to feel awkward.

"What?"

"You could stand to loosen up every once in a while," he says appreciatively, almost warmly. When Sanji makes to open his mouth to speak he hiccups, covers his mouth as a flush rapidly floods his face, then clears his throat.

"Don't go getting the wrong idea." Zoro has no idea what Sanji's on about, and would really rather not know, but feels too lazy to leave at this point. "I mean... don't go thinking you can always just get away with that. That kind of foul disrespect, especially toward a gentleman."

His crewmate stares off into the middle distance, mostly thinking about how this beer got too warm too fast. "Sex?"

"Yeah. You're almost as obsessed with other swords as you are your own."

Zoro places the mug on the countertop. "It's obvious you want it. And when you do it, you like it."

"It's not about that."

"Then what?"

"Maybe your big leathery brick head can't get it, but sex is something meaningful. And for me, meaningful experiences are ones I have with beautiful,"—he glances from Zoro's earrings to his eyes—"women," he says, drawing out the word. Zoro huffs, amused.

"Becoming familiar with each other over time is meaningful."

Sanji didn't take him to be sentimental in the slightest, but for how many times he's watched Zoro place the unmistakable white-and-gold hilt of the Wado in his mouth he's not really sure why. Once the surprise passes, he scoffs. "That's easy to say, but it's not so simple."

"What gives? Why do you..." Zoro scrunches his eyes and rubs across his hairless eyebrows with the heel of his palm. "What's gotta be so complicated about sex? It's sex."

Sanji gives Zoro a bitter look, then quickly turns his head away. Though mostly hidden, Sanji's rosy-cheeked pout makes Zoro inhale to stifle a laugh. "You've clearly never had real, meaningful sex." Sanji sniffs idly in the unexpected silence that follows. "And there's no way in hell you've had sex with a woman."

Zoro's eyes meander out the window to his left; he slightly cocks his head. "You want me to show you," he says, deadpan, a statement and not a proposition. Sanji snaps his head to Zoro, eyes wide.

"I never said that, moss head." The bite of his tone fails to overpower the unintentionally affectionate cloy of the nickname's familiarity. He stands and childishly balls his fists as if it'll somehow negate the moment, runs his thumbs over his knuckles.

Zoro shuffles closer to Sanji, patiently challenging his defiance as he backs him into the wall. Their faces are about level, but the sheer wideness of Zoro's frame crowding Sanji's narrow shoulders and hips makes him feel like he's being swallowed up against the dark wood. Sanji looks down and thinks that if he curled up he might be able to fit inside Zoro's chest. Their noses are alarmingly close. "First," Zoro whispers, a bullet of adrenaline in Sanji's stomach. "I gave her a kiss."

Zoro's lips meet Sanji's while he's still attempting to process the reality of it. Then it hits him, and he sputters. "Hang on! Fuck!" A gasp, and—"When will you get that I'm not the type of guy to go around kissing other guys?"

"Then get your head out of your ass and learn to be the type of guy." Zoro's chest softly pushes against Sanji's. The physical momentum knocks Sanji's head askew, giving Zoro a convenient little place to lap at the skin covering Sanji's slight neck and settle his teeth over its sinews. The resulting shiver he gets out of it gives him the impetus to ease into a full bite, hands bracing his target on each side. The Any dignity now helplessly collapsing, disintegrating, Sanji claws at the wall as his breath snags in his throat. Caught up in heady arousal, he only comes to the realization that Zoro's leaving a mark once it's already too late. The broader teen lets go, only to murmur into the narrower one's ear: "And she wasn't wearing any of this stupid shit."

A lazy sear of anger snakes up through Sanji's blurry awareness. It provides just enough will to mechanically unbutton his suit jacket, folding it and placing it neatly on the stool next to him. The double prongs on the roller buckle of his belt clink obscenely in the near silence, competing only with the sound of the waves outside and the distant jubilations of their crewmates. Sanji feels a flush creep up his neck, settling around his cheeks and soaking through his ears. For how dark it got in here, Sanji is acutely aware of the heat coming off his face, his neck and chest, his palms and fingertips, and curses this habit his body just can't seem to shake. Sanji's pants easily slip off his narrow hips, and after untying and slipping off his polished dress shoes he steps out of his slacks to free his caught ankles.

Beneath Sanji's tacky boxers the outline of his already half hard dick is clearly visible, even in the low light. Zoro angles his hips forward, grinding against it and making its owner grit his teeth. "Was this what you did with her, too?"

"Nah, this is 'cause you like it. Always wanna please a lady, right?"

As if to make a point, Zoro bucks his hips once with extra force, then ever so slowly targets Sanji's length with a strange precision. The longer this goes on the more it has Sanji wilting, a sprig of straw baking in the midday sun, and Zoro takes the opportunity to start unbuttoning his dress shirt. The shirt hangs slack on Sanji's lithe frame once the last button leaves its opposite placket. Sun-kissed hands smooth over the pale abdomen opposite Zoro, traveling up and settling around Sanji's pink nipples, working them softly as he goes in for another soft, slow kiss. "Mmh..." An uncanny sensation of full-body arousal that spreads through Sanji makes the ends of his nerves tingle, diffusely dissolving into his body instead of concentrating in his groin like he's used to. A finger hooks onto the waistband of his boxers, pulling them past his hips and catching on an obviously excited rosy dick. Sanji feels it spring obscenely as his underwear finally decides to let go and falls to the floor. Huh? What's this? What's happening to me? some aspect of Sanji's scrambled awareness ponders.

"Then, you pick her up, and carefully place her down..." Zoro says as he enacts it in real time, gradually lowering Sanji to the floor. His mouth moves in to give Sanji another kiss in a way even he would admit is rather gentlemanly. Then down, down, past his neck, past his chest, elegantly forming a path across his sternum and diaphragm—only to flip him over and grab his wrist without warning. Before Sanji can protest or even question what's happening Zoro traces a finger up his spine, an immense shiver following along with it. The blonde's mind and all the thoughts within get washed away with the action, leaving him psychologically crumpled and delicate like a dried leaf. He groans in equal pleasure and disbelief, and hearing the sound in his throat, feeling the vibrations in his chest are enough to remind him to attempt resistance again. With his unpinned wrist supporting his body, his ribcage twists this way and that, hips leaning in a direction he thinks might be away from his captor; exercising the only alternative, one bottom heavy Black Leg Sanji uselessly attempts to pull his wrist under the flash of copper binding a peachy arm. In the end all it takes is Zoro's other hand reaching for his almost completely erect member to plunge him fully into what was now happening to him.

"Mn...!" Zoro carefully—even politely—strokes him once, twice, smooths the modestly calloused pad of his thumb over Sanji's leaking tip. Just as some wayward lingering ember in Sanji's heart makes one last attempt to fight back against the present situation the swordsman quickens his rhythm, intense need drowning out its pathetic cry. Sanji's breathing shifts its push and pull as he sinks ever deeper into the sensations washing over him, gasps peppered across shaky inhales, moans intermingling with wheezed-out exhales, the cook really losing himself to the moment. And it could be because the bastard picked up on this, or it could have been his plan all along, but deep within the thick haze of sex only that lone ember becomes aware of the fact that Zoro's thumb has moved to the entrance of Sanji's ass. After all, he's currently in no position to protest once Zoro begins thumbing there, and much less so when the other pirate inexplicably finds something in there that makes the blonde's whole body shudder.

When his crewmate's thumb leaves it's replaced by his index finger, curling even more dexterously. Another finger soon joins, stretching his hole slightly; for how off-putting it could be, the way Zoro keeps milking that spot slowly and considerately just adds further fuel to the fire building in Sanji's core. Once they've apparently left for long enough that Sanji can drowsily blink his eyes open in the lull of the moment, he distantly feels the tip of Zoro's cock about to enter him, then the length of it working its way inside. It's an experience that's nothing short of strange, even downright uncomfortable—until gradually, somehow, it starts to feel so undeniably good that his mind begins to blank as he succumbs to it. The utterly foul crunch of this reality that once again Zoro is making him enjoy, desperately... want what he's doing inside his ass adds an edge to the experience that keeps dangling his climax just out of reach. It agonizingly eludes him no matter how he prays for it, if at least to have an excuse to stop: Sanji knows he's incapable of genuinely asking for it at this point. At least, that's what he thought—but then something flips, like he's now closer to it than further away, and his urgent need correspondingly flops from seeking relief to wanting nothing more than to run as far away from it as possible.

If anything... no, no, "Fuck," the way Zoro keeps pounding into him makes Sanji bite his lip to keep anything else from leaking out of his mouth. Ever since Zoro moved his hand from Sanji's dick to his lower belly it was becoming increasingly difficult, especially as Harder! and Right there! flash by powerfully in his head. At some point Sanji must have grabbed his own dick, considering the way he can feel it throbbing between his fingers, the knuckle of his thumb brushing against Zoro's hand supporting him from below. The iron pumping through his veins beats mercilessly upon his very sense of self, and for how desperate he was for release just a moment ago he's now close enough to fear it more than anything.

"I..." Sanji gasps, nearly on the verge of tears. "I'm gonna..." he hears himself pant, ragged. Like a sneeze that triggers an avalanche, he feels an internal trickle gradually burst into a torrential stream of pleasure, shooting through him with every ejaculatory contraction and accompanied by the bewildering sensation of fucking from both ends. Sanji's eyelids flutter as his pupils float towards the ceiling, powerful thighs shuddering. Once the rush of sensation wanes, he lets out one last sigh as his overheated sweaty ass crumples against the mercifully cool wood floor.

From the murky waters of post-coital haze first comes the plain knowledge that some kind of rhythmic sound is happening in front of him; as he regains his other senses, his sight, his smell, and his ability to have a single cogent thought, he dimly wonders if Zoro is watching him while masturbating. As his senses recalibrate and sharpen once more he keeps expecting to be proven wrong, only for it to become an increasingly clear sight in front of him. Well, that's fine, I guess... he thinks—right up until the bastard finishes and wipes the result on Sanji's nearby shirt.

He bolts upright. "You piece of shit! Why would you do that?" When Zoro doesn't respond in any way aside from lying down with a satisfied hum, Sanji groans, slides a hand down his face, decides he's too spent to pursue the matter further. At a loss for what else to do after having his soul forcibly extracted through his asshole Sanji puts his clothes back on piece by piece, sans shirt, tie, and jacket. Eventually, though, he has to ask. "So..." He clears his throat, swallows dryly. "So, assuming that actually happened, what was different about doing that with... me, and doing that with a lady?"

Gears seem to turn under that patch of green fuzz for a moment, but then—"It's the way you react. You respond so quickly and strongly to everything that I don't have to plan anything."

Time stops for just a moment in Sanji's world, operations halting upon suspicion of a critical error in reality. Is Zoro... complimenting him? That, and everything else about his answer to Sanji's question, seemed completely outside the realm of possible responses. Then it dawns on him. "You prick... are you calling me easy?"

Zoro smiles, and quietly lies next to Sanji for long enough that he's surprised by his response when it finally comes. "I only do this because you make it fun."

Something about Zoro's tone makes Sanji's pulse slow, and it occurs to him then that the booze must be clearing out of his bloodstream, the process possibly hastened by breaking a sweat just prior. The blonde turns over to say something to Zoro, but when he catches a glimpse of his horrifically wrinkled, cum-soiled dress shirt it once again sets his blood to boil. He leans up to punch the culprit in the forehead—and as he's being cursed out he balls up his shirt, grabs his suit and tie, and walks away. The feeling of the sea breeze outside is nothing short of refreshing on his damp skin, but it underscores the fact that he is rather pointedly shirtless. Starting now, the Straw Hats' star chef is on a mission to get decent.

Accessing the men's quarters directly without being seen is currently next to impossible while the rest of the crew is dancing on the trapdoor that leads down there, but there is one alternative... If Sanji can just manage to sneak into the storeroom while everyone is distracted, then... Oh, good, Luffy is doing impressions of everyone again. He hops down the stairs, whips into the storeroom, and stands in front of the single most intimidating door on the ship, sweat threatening to overtake the surface of his skin all over again. Now for the real hurdle: passing through the women's room in order to access the emergency exit. Sanji takes off and carries his shoes as he tiptoes across, internally seeking forgiveness from Nami, Robin, and any other deity who will listen, though once he crawls through the emergency exit into the men's quarters it all feels like it's been worth it. He tosses the balled-up shirt into his laundry pile and walks over to the wardrobe where he selects a crisp shirt, one with a similar enough color and style that the exchange will hopefully go unnoticed. Sanji retraces his steps to the storeroom, but before he heads out he dips into the bathroom to properly freshen up.

When Sanji turns on the light, one thing is immediately obvious: four large, purple marks have blossomed around his neck and shoulders, stuck to him like shadows and following him around on this entire journey. A nauseating wave of horror passes through him, but as it does the sight also undeniably pools in his groin—summoning the thought that someone had sex today, he'd had sex today, and most of all, the very recent memories of all the sensations he'd experienced that evening force a strangled groan out of his bruise-lined throat. He shakes his head. At least a consolation is the fact that the marks are low enough to get covered by his collar, he thinks as he deftly buttons his shirt back up. Following through with the familiar motions of fixing his tie, pulling his suit jacket over his shoulders, then checking his look one last time, Sanji seals the deal with a couple light slaps to his cheek and a flash of teeth. He walks out to see the party is winding down. It seems that Nami can't wait any longer to open the box.

Everyone gathers around to see what's inside; everyone except Robin, who watches from afar. Once Sanji arrives at the scene, Usopp waves at him. "Ah, there you are!"

Nami claps her hands. "Alright! Are you all ready for this? Three, two..." the thief's voice fades as she rapidly realizes something's amiss. Where she expected to be dazzled by glittering gold and jewels, a dull oblivion instead wallows within the box as if trying to drown her hopes and dreams. Sensing the situation quickly turning sour, Zoro faces away, trying to avoid getting involved.

Chopper tilts his head, stands on the tips of his hooves. "What is it?"

"There's no treasure in here," Nami laughs under her breath, the death rattle of the last of her fragile sanity slipping away.

"No treasure? What do you mean?" Sanji looks inside. There's nothing but a pile of what seem to be just some regular spiral-shaped seashells heaped into the box. A treasure trove to children, perhaps, but a far cry from the gold and jewels the crew was expecting. It did beg the question: Why on Earth would the Marines go to such great lengths to protect a box of seashells?

"No treasure," Nami quietly repeats, already speeding through all five stages of grief. She takes a deep breath through gritted teeth, straightens herself.

"Of course there's not," Sanji groans bluntly, losing his temper as much as he's capable around Nami. She says nothing, doesn't move a hair. "It's like you've never heard of a setup. I guess if there's treasure involved you get as stupid as—"

"Every time you and Zoro are involved, both of you become way stupider than either of you already are individually. That was my biggest mistake." She points at his crotch. "Your fly is undone."

"Huh?" While Sanji looks down at the front of his pants in alarm for the second time today, Nami turns on her heel and walks back inside.

Robin chuckles to herself—coyly covering most of her smile with that book she still can't put down. "That's—" Sanji tries to gesture to Zoro, but he has already wandered off, heading starboard. He glances back at Robin, who despite the festivities has kept as dry as a desert. It could be a residual habit from being on the run, but it seems like she's still not one for drinking, even among friends. "Tch..." The cook fixes his pants and slinks over to Robin, seeking commiserative company but unable to look at her directly. "Why even keep him on if he's gonna have such a huge stick up his ass?" he mutters.

"Surely you can appreciate the fact that our very own Roronoa Zoro, once a lone wolf, has devoted his life to Luffy's cause. Just like the rest of us... and by extension, every Straw Hat pirate him- and herself."

"So?"

"Oh? Haven't you realized it?" Robin leans her face onto her palm, elbow resting on the table. "Zoro is always paying close attention, hoping to keep us together by protecting us... Even you, our darling little fighting chef."

Said little chef balks at the off-the-cuff nickname, tucks his hands into his pockets and looks away. "Th-Theres no way thats true..."

Robin's attention drifts to the box of seashells. "Hm..." A copy of her palm appears beside it, and hands it to hands it to hands it to herself. "In that case, try this."

"What do you mean?"

She tosses it towards him—he catches it, examines it. "Try throwing this at him," Robin says, employing the uncanny calm with which one might suggest knocking down a hornet's nest. Sanji looks up at her, aghast, really not trying to get murdered today.

But then he swallows. Ah, what the hell... Worst case he's positive he could take him, he assures himself. Carefully preparing to aim despite his lack of depth perception, Sanji chucks the spiral shell at Zoro—who manages to catch it from behind, seemingly without looking. He turns around slowly, that electrifying glare from earlier coming back to make Sanji's hair stand on end once again. The swordsman, with all three of his swords in tow, walks over to them with heavy steps.

He slams the shell onto the table. "What's the big idea?"

"So sorry, my little wolf! It was a prank in poor taste, one of my invention," she explains. Zoro warily regards her, shoots Sanji one more threatening look, then turns around and starts trudging back to his previous position, not wanting to be bothered with the moment any further. Sanji releases a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding in. "You see? He's always paying attention to you."

"Wait, wait... That doesn't prove anything." The blonde points at the three swords crossing the deck. "He's a samurai, you know? He's gotta be ready for anything at any moment."

Robin ponders what he's saying, seems to turn it over in her mind as she picks up the shell and turns it over in her hand. To Sanji's utter horror, she decides to throw it at Zoro, herself—only for it to bean him squarely on the back of his head.