An Opioid but like a kickass one

Sanji makes a startled sound that disappears straight into Zoro’s mouth because this time it is a kiss, messy and guileless because Zoro doesn’t know what the fuck he’s doing, he just wants. Wants more of that taste, more of that heat, more of the way Sanji’s mouth feels against his. His brain is just white noise and concussion and the single screaming thought that Sanji’s kissing him back and nothing has ever felt this good in his entire miserable existence. He kisses like he’s starving, all teeth and tongue and desperation, licking into Sanji’s mouth on pure instinct to taste again, sucking on Sanji’s lower lip. A wrecked sound tears out of his throat before he can stop it, worsened by the way Sanji’s hand finally leaves Zoro’s shoulder to fist in his hair, hard. Fingers tangle in the green strands and tug Zoro’s head back at an angle that makes the kiss deeper and Zoro moans into it, the sound muffled and needy. 

His free hand slides up under the edge of Sanji’s coat to find the hem of his shirt and push, palm landing on bare skin that’s hot and smooth, finding the dip of Sanji’s waist. He groans again, fingers spreading wide with trying touch every centimetre at once, dragging Sanji closer, hips lifting off the deck on pure instinct and – 

oh.

Sanji’s knees slots neatly through and around Zoro’s thighs for balance and when Zoro grinds up the friction against the solid muscle of Sanji’s thigh punches the air out of his lungs. He does it again without thinking, rutting up in short, desperate rolls of his hips, chasing the pressure, the heat, the relief. The way Sanji makes a sound that Zoro wants to hear for the rest of time.

The hand in Zoro’s hair tightens, pulling just enough to hurt in the best way, the weight of the blonde settling heavier until the heat between their bodies spikes, until Zoro can feel the way Sanji fits so precisely against him, and then his hips snap forward again, too much and not enough. He’s never felt another body moving against his with so much intent, never tasted anyone like this and he drags Sanji down harder and closer, until he can feel the other man’s heat hammering against his own chest, can feel the way both their breathing hitches everytime he grinds up. He can’t stop making noises – these low, keening sounds that get swallowed up between them until Sanji’s free hand slides down Zoro’s chest, down to his hip and pulls, guiding Zoro’s rhythm, making the grind slower and deeper and more deliberate. Sanji’s thigh is solid and warm and there; everytime Zoro rocks up, Sanji moves down to meet him, perfectly controlled even as his mouth is anything but.

Zoro thinks, briefly and wildly, that he’s going to die. This is how he dies, rutting against Sanji’s thigh on a wrecked deck in the middle of a fucking battle while Sanji kisses him like he wants to eat him alive. His first kiss and it’s already the best thing that’s ever happened to him.

Sanji shudders, hips stuttering in their rhythm, grinding down harder for one perfect second and Zoro sees stars. Then – Sanji’s hand tightens in his hair and he jerks back, enough that the kiss breaks with a wet sound that goes straight to Zoro’s dick. A thin string of spit stretches between their swollen mouths for one obscene second before it snaps. Sanji’s lips are shiny and red and raw, pupils blown so wide the blue is almost gone. He’s panting.

“What the fuck?” He manages, breathless and hoarse.

Zoro looks up at him, vision swimming and lips tingling, fingers splayed against hot skin. He can’t make his brain work. Can’t make his mouth form words. All he can do is stare and want and bite down on the whine that wants to break free, the please that’s sitting on the back of his tongue.

“You tell me,” he forces, rough and stupid, probably. “You started it.”

Sanji gapes at him. There’s a flush moving high and fast across his face now, from throat to cheekbones, horrifically bright even under all the grime and battle debris. “I was doing CPR, you fucking idiot.”

“Looked like kissing.”

“It was resuscitation!”

Zoro’s mouth twitches. His hips twitch too, a tiny, involuntary roll up against Sanji’s thigh that makes both of them suck in a sharp breath, makes Sanji’s eyes flutter shut for one little heartbeat. “Felt like kissing.”

That earns him a look of such murderous embarrassment that it’d kill lesser men. Sanji opens his mouth, probably to say something mean and creative but he never gets the chance.

“Oh, whoa!” Usopp’s voice hits the moment like a thrown brick.

Both of them freeze, and Zoro turns his head just enough to see that, beyond the ring of broken railing and broken buildings and enemy bodies and discarded weapons, the rest of the crew’s waiting. Usopp’s eyes are huge behind his goggles and Chopper’s already halfway through vaulting a piece of wreckage towards them, face already cycling through six different shades of panic. Nami has her staff in one hand and both eyebrows somewhere firmly near her hairline, her mouth trembling like she’s trying very, very hard not to laugh. 

For one awful, awful beat, nobody says anything and then Luffy points at them and grins. “You were kissing!”

Sanji gets off Zoro so fast he leaves a scorch mark on the deck, flame whipping up just as quickly as it dies. 

“I was not –” Sanji snaps but clearly stops himself because, well. He very much was. His lips are still wet and his shirt’s rumpled and he looks debauched in a way that makes Zoro want to bite him.

Or maybe Sanji can bite him – he’s not fussy.

Usopp’s face goes through about six emotions in under a second, all of them humiliating as hell. “Dude,” he says to Zoro, aghast and also a little impressed. “You almost died and that’s what you did with it?”

Zoro, still on his back and still trying to remember whether or not his ribs are attached correctly, drags one forearm over his eyes because god knows if he has to look at any of them right now he’ll throw himself into the fucking sea. His mouth still tastes like Sanji. His hips still want to move. He bites at his own skin for a second, then exhales. “Worked, didn’t it?”

“It was CPR!” Sanji snaps.

Nami makes a sound suspiciously close to a laugh but Chopper reaches them at last and drops to his knees beside Zoro, all doctor now despite the obvious scene, hooves already pressing at his shoulder and forehead and pulse points in brisk sequence. “Do not move!”

Sanji stands a few metres away and absolutely refuses to look at anybody, especially Zoro, which is interesting because Zoro can still feel the shape of his mouth and the grip of his hand and the way their bodies had been moving together like they were trying to crawl inside each other’s skin. 

Chopper shines a light into his eyes. “Follow my finger.”

Zoro does, mostly: his attention keeps dragging sideways to Sanji, who has his arms folded now like he’s trying to physically hold himself together. He’s glaring out at the sea, ears red ad neck redder. When he finally glances at Zoro there’s a whole damn fight in that look – and an entirely different thing underneath that, hotter and more dangerous and much less easily survived. Zoro almost groans through his teeth.

“Can you stop eyefucking each other for, like, five minutes?” Nami drawls pleasantly. “We’re still technically in the middle of a battle zone.”

That breaks the moment enough for Chopper to get his hands on Zoro’s jaw and turn his face back toward the light. “Focus!”

Zoro focuses, mostly: his chest still feels weird, all lit up from the inside, too full of air and pain and the phantom press of Sanji’s body over his. 

“Are you dizzy?”

“Sure.”

“Are you nauseous?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you remember what happened?”

Zoro thinks about it. “Got hit.”

Chopper nods, apparently satisfied that his brain’s probably still inside the skull where it belongs. “Don’t sit up yet.”

It’s a little too late: Zoro’s already pushing himself onto his elbows, gritting his teeth at the pain that flares down his side and through his shoulder.

Luffy, still grinning, crouches down by Zoro’s boots. “So, if any of us stops breathing Sanji’ll just… kiss us too?”

Sanji rounds on him, face thatching bright, bright red. “No!”

Robin’s smile deepens. “A shame. It seems effective.”

“It was a medical necessity!”

Zoro can’t help but laugh and, sure, it hurts like hell but it’s worth it for the way Sanji’s face goes crooked, just for a second. The cook looks like he might kill him with his bare hands and that, more than anything else so far, reassures Zoro that he’s probably going to live. The next few minutes become all practical chaos: Chopper takes command while Luffy and Usopp are sent to help secure the rest of the field and gather the wounded enemies that are still worth tying up. Robin calmly checks the horizon, the crew moving the way they always do. 

Through all of it, Sanji hovers at the edge. He kicks a broken pike out of the way before anybody trips over it, lighting a cigarette before immediately crushing it under his heel with a curse that makes even Luffy blink. Eventually, Chopper gets enough bandaging done to be satisfied that Zoro’s injuries are, if not minor, at least survivable without immediate surgery. “You’re not dead,” he says sternly. “But you came very close to making me miserable.”

“Sorry.”

Chopper narrows his eyes, then pats his shoulder and hops away to tend to someone else. Zoro pushes himself up to sitting, slower this time, grimacing at how the deck swims before it rights itself. When he looks up Sanji’s still there, hands shoved in his pockets. HIs shoulders are still a little too rigid and Zoro can’t stop looking at the way the other man’s mouth is still swollen. Can’t stop remembering the way said mouth had felt wrapped around his tongue and the way Sanji had ground down against him like he wanted to feel every last centimetre of the swordsman.

“You scared the shit out of me,” Sanji mutters. His jaw tightens. “Don’t make a habit of that.”

Zoro looks up at him from the wrecked deck, bandaged and bruised. “You worried about me, Curls?”

Sanji’s eyes flash to his face as that blush comes back again, high and sudden, crawling down his neck to disappear under the collar of his shirt. “I was trying not to get stuck giving you chest compressions all afternoon. You’re heavy.”

Zoro lets that sit for a second, watching the way Sanji’s gaze drops to his mouth like he can’t help it, like they’re both counting down the minutes until they can be alone again. He feels his own smile come, heartendingly and disgustingly genuine. “Yeah? So you kiss everyone you think is dying like that?”

Sanji looks like hes genuinely considering kicking him back into unconsciousness, but instead he stalks closer to lean down close enough that Zoro can see the pulse at his throat. “Guess you’ll have to find out.” Then he straightens and stomps off before Zoro can answer, coat flaring behind him.