Archive of Our Own ^beta

Present

Sanji made Zoro greedy.  Greedy for touch, greedy for praise, greedy for affection in a way the omega had never wanted before.

“You’re taking me so well,” Sanji whispered into his ear as he rolled his hips, his cock filling Zoro repeatedly in long, slick slides.  He was pressed up against Zoro’s back, the scent of hours of being locked together, Sanji fucking Zoro fast and slow, filling the room.

Zoro shuddered at the words, pushing back with each thrust, trying to get Sanji as deep inside him as he could, trying to fill a hollow space in him.  Sanji always said these things.  But unlike previous partners Zoro had been with, Sanji said it like he meant it.  It drove Zoro insane, made him want to take Sanji even better.

“Harder,” he gritted out, elbowing Sanji in the ribs.  Chuckling low, Sanji paused for a moment, pulling Zoro up to his hands and knees and repositioning himself between his legs.  He started, slow, a measured in and out.  The sound of his dick entering Zoro was loud and obscene, the slick Zoro produced making everything wet and hot.

“Cook,” Zoro said, hoping it didn’t sound too much like he was begging, but if Sanji kept up his snail’s pace, Zoro might have to resort to a careful plea.

“I got you,” Sanji said.  His hands on Zoro’s waist gripped down, and he was thrusting in, hard and fast, exactly the way Zoro liked it.  Zoro’s back arched, meeting Sanji eagerly, enjoying the power in Sanji’s hips and legs.  Fuck, he was strong, Zoro barely managing to keep himself upright as Sanji pounded into him, reaching somewhere deep in Zoro.  He pulled out slower than he pushed in, as if reluctant each time to leave Zoro’s tight heat.  The feeling of Sanji’s cock sliding past all the sensitive spots inside him was intoxicating. 

Zoro’s arms eventually gave out.  He bent forward, placing his forehead on the cot, and moaned at the changed angle.

“Fuck, Zoro, yes, please let me hear you,” Sanji said, breathless, “I want to know what feels good.  Please teach me.”

“It all fucking feels good,” Zoro managed to say.

“What feels the best?” Sanji asked, bending over him, nipping at his shoulder blade.  Zoro whined at the barest hint of Sanji’s teeth.

“Do that again,” he said, and Sanji obliged him, leaving gentle nips and licks all over his back, never breaking skin, but the mere possibility of it made Zoro nearly explode from desire.  The way Sanji was positioned now allowed only for shallow thrusts.  Zoro could hear him panting close to his ear.

Sanji reached down and began stroking him, long, slender fingers running up and down his cock.  Zoro grimaced at the sensitive feeling.  He had already come half a dozen times that night.

“Should I stop?” Sanji asked, sensing Zoro tense up.

“No,” Zoro said, “Keep going.  I’m close, cook.”

“Good, you’re so good, you’re perfect,” Sanji whispered, fingers gripping tighter and moving faster until Zoro came, howling as his entire body tensed, hot cum spilling onto the bedsheet underneath him.  His skin felt like it was burning, pricking sensations of pleasure spreading through his body in waves.  Through it all, Sanji said that he was good and strong, encouraging him to make as much noise as he needed.

When Zoro collapsed, legs giving out underneath him, Sanji pulled out and slowly turned him over.

“What else do you need?” Sanji crooned, placing tiny kisses on his chest.

Zoro covered his face, embarrassed.  “Want to feel your knot,” he said finally.

“Okay,” Sanji said, pulling Zoro close to him without a moment of hesitation.  In a slow slide, he was seated in Zoro again, “But only if you’re ready.”

“Give me a minute,” Zoro gasped, trying to breathe through the remnants of his orgasm.  His past heats had been short, one and done when his partner would help him come once, then Zoro would deal with their fucking knot after they couldn’t last longer, after which he would kick them out, most of the heat satisfied.  With Sanji, he wanted more and more.  More positions, more words, more of Sanji’s touch.

Even now, Sanji waited patiently, his hands roamed across Zoro’s body, touching him reverently, squeezing at the muscle in his legs, on his stomach, his arms.

“Now, cook,” Zoro demanded, and he watched as Sanji nodded and began grinding into Zoro.  Sanji’s eyes remained on him, his mouth slightly open as he watched Zoro.  His hair was sweaty, and Sanji had pushed it off his forehead.  Fuck, he was handsome, Zoro thought, hoping beyond hope that was his heat talking and not a real-life Zoro problem.

They had made an agreement.  During Zoro’s heats, Sanji could be his overbearing, insufferably loving alpha self.  Any other time, they were rivals, barely friends, reluctant crewmates.

That was all Zoro was interested in.  He didn’t need Sanji, after all.

“Zoro,” Sanji moaned, “Can I, please?”

“Yes, yes, fuck yes,” Zoro said, feeling his own erection raging again in anticipation of Sanji’s knot.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Sanji gasped, bending over Zoro, face scrunched up as an unbelievable pressure hit Zoro, stretching him, filling him, all heat and Sanji’s murmurs.  The cook was babbling now, susurrations rather than words, lips pressed to Zoro’s neck as his hips stuttered against Zoro’s.  Zoro drank in the sounds happily, feeling the butterfly movements of Sanji’s lips on his jugular.  The light press of Sanji’s teeth drew out a moan as Zoro came, trying to push up into Sanji, the orgasm almost painful.

When Sanji’s breathing slowed, he propped himself up shakily on his forearms.  He gave Zoro a silly grin that led to a horrible dancing feeling in his chest.

“Feel good?” he asked.

“You always ask me that,” Zoro muttered.

“I want to know,” Sanji said, face serious, “I need to know that it feels good for you.”

“It feels good, idiot,” Zoro said, shifting slightly to itch his side.  They would be stuck like this for a while longer.  This was usually awkward, but Sanji would entertain him until his knot receded.

“Let me,” Sanji said, fingers replacing his as he gently scratched Zoro’s skin.  Zoro sighed, goosebumps traveling up and down his body at the feeling.

“A bath, after this,” Sanji said, a hand moving to Zoro’s shoulder to give him a few light prods, “Then a massage.  Then food.”

“Yes, yes, yes,” Zoro murmured, feeling sleepy already.  Ignoring his better instincts, he pulled Sanji down onto him, wrapping his arms around his shoulders and rubbing his cheek against Sanji’s hair.  Sanji’s weight was comforting.  He vaguely knew that tomorrow he would be mortified at this action, but for now, he liked feeling every point of contact between him and the alpha.

Sanji let him cuddle, nuzzling into his neck.  Zoro could feel his breath and had to steel himself against the rising urge to ask Sanji to mark him.  That wasn’t what this was about.  This wasn’t to form a bond.  Once Sanji made sure Zoro was bathed, comfortable, fed, and past his heat, he would turn business-like and leave.  The next time they saw each other, they would bicker about alcohol and pretend like none of this had happened.

---

Three months ago

Zoro sighed.  They were acting like he was deaf.  His senses were heightened during his heats, but they were having a conversation right outside.

“He’s an omega?”  The cook’s voice drifted through the door.

“Yup,” Nami said, and Zoro could hear her turn the pages of a magazine.  “Surprised you couldn’t tell.  He doesn’t use suppressants.  Though he is usually covered in dirt and grime and other peoples’ blood.”

“And he’s in heat?”

“Yup,” Nami said, “They’re pretty short.  The last time he locked himself in a room on Syrup Village for a day with a cask of beer and then we went on our merry way.”

“How can I help?  Is there anything he likes to eat?  Does he need blankets or heaters?”

Zoro rolled his eyes.  Of course the cook would go out of his mind about this kind of stuff.  His heats were pretty shitty, but he had always dealt with them fine.  Uncomfortably hot then cold.  An ache in his gut, extreme sensitivity in his dick.  Nausea and migraines occasionally.  Nothing he couldn’t meditate his way through.

“I’m fine,” he barked out, and heard a clatter, probably the cook dropping something, “You’re bothering me.”

“Mosshead,” Sanji said shakily, “Fuck, sorry.  Do you need anything?”

“Peace and quiet.  If you apologize to me again, I’m turning all of your pants into shorts with my swords when I’m done with this bullshit.”

He heard Nami laugh, and then the sound of Sanji’s stomps fading away.

“You too, witch,” Zoro said.

“Yeah, yeah, holler if you need anything,” she said, and finally Zoro was left in peace.  He took a deep breath, adjusting to a more comfortable seated position with his back against the case of sake he had stolen from the kitchen, and resumed his meditating, clearing his mind of want and need.

A day later, he emerged from the closet, slightly tipsy and exhausted, though at least the nausea had subsided.  He stumbled to the kitchen.

Sanji stared at him, wide-eyed when he wandered to the refrigerator, famished beyond belief.

“Any leftovers?” Zoro grunted.

“I’ll make you something,” Sanji said, reaching for him before pulling his hand back.

“Anything will do,” Zoro muttered.

“I’ll make you something,” Sanji repeated.  Zoro rolled his eyes but went to sit down.  He noticed Sanji’s tense shoulders; the cook’s hand was over his nose as he peered in the cabinets, taking various things down.

“Shit, sorry, I’ll go shower,” Zoro sighed, realizing he was likely covered in omega heat smells.  He left and took a longer shower than usual, his muscles aching from sitting in one position for hours.

When he returned, a veritable feast had been laid out on the table, Sanji still busy stir frying something on the stove.  Zoro grunted his thanks, sat down, and began devouring everything in sight.

“Oi.”

He looked up, mouth full of rice.

Sanji was glaring at him.  He chewed at the end of his cigarette, before finally saying, “It’s not healthy.  What you’re doing.”

“Oh fuck off,” Zoro said, anger immediately rising at Sanji’s comment, “Mind your own business, curly.”

Eyes narrowing, Sanji pointed his spatula at Zoro, “You look like shit.  You can’t sit in your heat for a day, not eating, not drinking, not letting anybody take care of you.”

“I don’t need someone to take care of me,” Zoro said, “Made it all the way till now perfectly fine alone.”

Sanji’s eyes widened.  “You’ve never—”

“I’ve been fucked during a heat before.  Random assholes I’ve found or volunteered their services,” Zoro said, rolling his eyes, “It’s worse than just dealing with it on my own.  Don’t need some shitty, clingy, possessive alpha all over me for a day, treating me either like a precious object or a sex toy.”

Sanji turned purple at this, mouth falling open.  The cigarette dropped out of his lips.

“Then whoever you’ve been with has been fucking doing it wrong,” Sanji hissed, “Omega heats are… are special.  They should be special for both the omega and the alpha.  You’re not supposed to just get fucked.  You’re supposed to experience pleasure and your alpha—”

“’m full,” Zoro said, standing up abruptly, “Thanks for the food, cook.”

“Zoro,” Sanji called after him, but Zoro ignored him, retreating to the crow’s nest so he could get some much-needed sleep.

---

Present

“Full?” Sanji asked, playing with a strand of Zoro’s bangs, still wet from the bath.  Zoro nodded, sighing happily as he pushed away from the empty plates.  His body felt like it was floating.  He was warm, satiated.

“Sleep,” Sanji said, toweling Zoro’s hair off a bit more, then arranging the cot for him, replacing the sheets covered in their cum and sweat with fresh sheets and bundling up the used ones.  He would do the laundry while Zoro slept.  He helped Zoro into bed, tucking the covers up to his shoulders.

“Thanks, cook,” Zoro murmured.

“Yeah yeah,” he heard, then felt Sanji’s cool fingers on his cheek, “Rest well, mosshead.  See you on the other side.” 

Zoro drifted off to the feeling of Sanji’s fingers threading through his hair.

---

When he woke, he walked into the kitchen to grab a bottle of rum and was met by a foot to his face that he was barely able to block.

“Don’t,” Sanji glared, “I’m using that for spiced rum cakes for Nami.”

“She’s more of a vodka kind of person,” Zoro replied, pushing back on the foot.  Sanji took a few hops backwards, balance almost upset, and lowered his foot, glowering at Zoro.

“Don’t touch the rum,” he repeated.  Zoro shrugged and reached for a whiskey instead.  Sanji again kicked his hand away, handed him a glass of juice, and glared until Zoro slunk back to the deck.

Sanji was remarkably good at switching off his alpha caretaker mode, Zoro mused.  When they first settled on this middle ground arrangement, Zoro hadn’t believed that Sanji would be able to stop from simpering around him like he did with Nami.  But the cook always managed to be as much a shithead when Zoro wasn’t in his heat as he was kind when Zoro was in heat.  This suited Zoro well.

Yet, this time, he couldn’t help but feel a little put off by Sanji’s treatment.  He touched his hair, remembering Sanji playing with his bangs the day before.  “It’s one fucking bottle of whiskey,” he muttered, looking off into the distance.  He had asked for alcohol while he was in his heat, and Sanji had been horribly gentle in denying him, peppering him with kisses and plying him with snacks until he forgot.

“You look like you could use a drink,” Nami said, walking up to him.  He glared at her for her insensitive comment, but she tossed him a bottle of whiskey before he could say anything mean-spirited.

“Sanji said to give it to you,” she said, “He also said you’re a sack of moldy vegetables that should jump off the side of the ship and drown.”

“Whatever,” Zoro replied, opening the bottle with his teeth and taking a gulp.  Satisfied at the burn, he headed to the crow’s nest to train.  On the way there, he decided to stop by the storeroom converted to his heat room once a month.  He peeked inside, taking a deep breath.  The smells of them were still there, still potent in the air.  Zoro didn’t usually smell Sanji, the alpha hiding his scent with suppressants, but he was everywhere in the room, a potent musk that made Zoro’s head spin.  Looking around furtively, Zoro slid into the room, sitting down on the ground.

He looked around.  It was bigger than he remembered.  When he was in heat, the room felt stifling.  Sanji with him, it felt like it was just enough space for the two of them.  Guiltily, he let his mind drift to the previous day.  Sanji holding him as he bounced in his lap, whispering praise until Zoro became too embarrassed and shoved a hand over Sanji’s eyes.  Sanji sucking his cock, making noises like he was the one being pleasured, as he took Zoro deep into his throat.  Sanji holding him as Zoro napped in between their marathon sex sessions. 

Looking down, Zoro groaned when he realized he was hard.  Fuck, what was he doing?  He stood quickly and exited the room.  Only to run into Sanji.

“What are you doing, mosshead?” Sanji asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Forgot something,” Zoro muttered, pushing his way past him.  He hurried to the crow’s nest, but snuck a quick glance over his shoulder to see Sanji still standing at the door to the storeroom, looking in.  Prissy cook probably wanted to wash the other set of sheets that Zoro had slept on.

When Zoro made it to the crow’s nest, he quickly shed his pants, sitting down to take care of his situation as quickly as he could.  As he stroked himself, his traitorous mind drifted to Sanji again.  The sight of Sanji’s long fingers moving up and down his shaft, those same fingers slipping easily into Zoro.  The sound of Sanji’s groan when they did.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.  Zoro tried to push Sanji out of his mind, then let out an annoyed sigh as he found no other way to chase his orgasm teetering at the edge.  Gritting his teeth, he thought about Sanji’s face when he came, and moments later he came as well, covering his mouth with his hand to stifle the moan.

This was not good.

---

Two months ago

“No,” Sanji said, when Zoro slunk into the kitchen to grab a crate of alcohol.

“No what?” Zoro asked.

“You are not doing what you did last time for your heat,” Sanji glared.

“And what am I going to do instead since you seem to know my heats so intimately?”

“First, I converted one of the storerooms into a room for you,” Sanji said, “You can use it for your heats.  Don’t you fucking lock yourself in a closet again.”

“Oh,” Zoro said, surprised.

“Second,” Sanji said, “No.  Alcohol.  It’s bad for your heats, your body is already going to be dehydrated.  Drinking yourself silly and meditating is the dumbest way of getting through heats I have ever heard of.  I’m packing food for you, juice, water with supplements.”

“You don’t have to do all this, shit cook,” Zoro muttered, “I’m not fucking weak.”

“I know you’re not,” Sanji hissed, “But you’re my crewmate.  And after your last heat, you looked like you just recovered from the plague.  It doesn’t have to be this way, Zoro.  I can respect that you don’t want someone to take care of you in… in an intimate way, but let me at least take care of your health.  Which leads me to, third, I’m going to be checking on you.  I’ll just help you keep clean and make sure you’re warm enough.”

Zoro shuffled from foot to foot.  “You really… don’t do that, cook.  You’re an alpha, it’ll be hard—"

“I’m not going to touch you if you don’t want me to,” Sanji spat out, “Don’t think so low of me.  I’m on really fucking strong suppressants.  You… mostly smell like body odor and blood to me.  Why you insist on not taking them yourself is beyond me.”

“They make my head cloudy, and I feel sick and woozy all the time when I’m on them.”

Sanji sighed.  He handed Zoro a laden picnic basket.  “Lock the door if you don’t want me to come in at any point,” he said, when Zoro took it, “I’ll be close by if you need anything.”

Zoro made his way to the storeroom, peeking inside to see a simple cot laid out on the floor, a basin of water, towels, and a veritable nest of blankets next to it.  The cook really went overboard in everything he did.

Sitting down on the cot, which was admittedly more comfortable than the floor, Zoro sprawled out, looking up at the ceiling and waiting for the slow creep of his heat to overtake him.  He moved to open the picnic basket and sighed happily, pulling out his favorite foods one after another, along with pressed juices and bottles of water.  He opened a bottle and took a sip, before munching on some sesame crackers.  It wasn’t so bad to let the cook do this for him.  It was basically what he always did, making meals for the crew, doing the laundry, forcing Luffy and Zoro to shower every now and then.

Curling up on the cot, Zoro felt his body grow hot.  Maybe he’d masturbate this time.  It had been a while since he’d done so during his heat, finding that it was more often worse after he touched himself.  But this time, with all the new creature comforts he had scattered around him, hopefully it wouldn’t be that bad.

He reached down, touching between his legs and noting that he was already wet.  Investing in a dildo was something he idly considered as he shed his pants and began fingering himself, thrusting as far as he could go, adding fingers one by one.  Coating his other hand with his slick, he began stroking himself, head tilted back at the waves of pleasure that washed over him.

Then, the door was opening, and Sanji walked in, holding a bag in his hand.

“A change of clothes.  You really don’t own that many—”

He made a choking noise when he saw Zoro.

“You— I told you to lock—” he stuttered, pupils dilating as his eyes moved between Zoro’s face and his ass and his cock.  Zoro himself was too stunned to respond, hands frozen in place.  Sanji swallowed hard, dropping the bag and making as if to step back.  Instead, he fell on his butt, his feet rooted to the spot.

“Guess your suppressants probably aren’t meant to cover this situation,” Zoro managed to joke, trying to find humor where he could.

Sanji spluttered, face red and splotchy, and if the situation weren’t so dire, Zoro would have laughed.  Instead, his dick ached when Sanji inched closer.

“Curly,” he whispered.  Want, want, want burst in his chest as he watched Sanji wet his lips.  He shook his head, pulling his hands away from himself, chiding himself for the bout of neediness.  He was Roronoa Zoro.  He didn’t need anybody during his heats.

“I’m fine,” he said, reaching to grab the bag of clothes in front of Sanji and tossed it to the side.  Sanji had stopped moving, and Zoro watched him close his eyes, breathing ragged as he clenched his hands.

“Lock the door,” Sanji croaked out, pushing himself to his feet.  He held onto the doorknob, gripping it so tight his veins stood out on his fingers.

“Zoro,” he said, a desperate sound to his voice, “I— fuck, you shouldn’t have to be alone.”

“Later,” Zoro said hoarsely, “Talk to me later, about this.  Not right now.”

Sanji nodded, slamming the door shut behind him.  Zoro held his breath, listening for the sound of Sanji leaving.  He didn’t hear anything, but chalked it up to the ringing between his ears.  Shakily, he pulled his pants back on and dragged a stack of nearby blankets over to cover himself.  A nap, first, then meditate, he decided.

When he emerged from the heat, still shaky and nauseous but much more content than after his previous ones, he found Sanji sleeping next to the door, looking far worse for wear than Zoro himself.

“Cook,” he said, prodding him with his foot.  Sanji looked up at him, bleary-eyed, then scrambled to his feet, backing away from Zoro, his hand moving to cover his nose.

“I’m going to shower,” Zoro said, “Thanks for… thanks for the food and everything.”  Sanji nodded, once.  “You didn’t have to stay there,” Zoro continued.  Sanji nodded again, and Zoro retreated to the washrooms.

When he returned, Sanji was still sitting outside the storeroom, eyes closed.  He looked exhausted.

“Cook,” Zoro said, putting a hand on Sanji’s forehead.  Sanji’s eyes slowly blinked open.  When he saw Zoro, he stood and put some distance between them quickly.

“I’ll make you something,” he muttered.

“No,” Zoro said, grabbing his wrist, “I’ve eaten enough for a week.  Completely stuffed.”

“Was your heat… better than last time?” Sanji asked.

Zoro nodded, “Yeah, much better.”  They fell into an awkward silence.

“I’m sorry for walking in on—”

“No, it’s my fault, I didn’t lock the door.  Wasn’t planning on it when I laid down,” Zoro said, feeling his cheeks heat up.

“It’s worse to masturbate,” Sanji said, voice serious, “I’ve read about it.  In books.”

At this, Zoro broke into laughter.  “Are you reading porn novels in your spare time, pervert cook?”

“No,” Sanji hissed, his own face turning red, “Medical books.  It’s important to understand heats if you’re an alpha so you can take better care of an omega.  And know what they need.”

“So you know what I need during my heats, cook?” Zoro challenged.

“I probably know better than you,” Sanji said, crossing his arms, “Seeing as your previous heat management techniques are outdated and from the Void Century.”

“Believe me, cook, if you had to deal with shitty alphas in tavern rooms like I’ve had, you would prefer to just meditate for 24 hours too.”

“Again, the previous shitty alphas you were with didn’t know what they were doing if you had such a horrible experience.”

“And you do?” Zoro asked, “Have you ever been with an omega?”  He was genuinely curious at this point.  The straight-laced chef was stupid around women, but he seemed like the kind of man who wanted a romantic candle-lit dinner more than a night of fucking an omega through a heat.

“I… haven’t,” Sanji said, looking away for a moment before turning back to Zoro with a determined look in his eye, “But I’ve been with betas.”

“So you’ve read a lot of books about omegas and now are the foremost expert on giving omegas a good time?” Zoro asked, leaning against the wall.  Sanji looked as flustered as Zoro had ever seen him, enough for Zoro to begin feeling guilty for teasing him.  When Sanji didn’t respond, Zoro pushed off the wall and prepared to walk away.

“I just think you shouldn’t give up on your heats being a happy time for you, rather than just something you have to endure.”

Zoro froze, surprised at the sadness in Sanji’s voice.  He turned and saw Sanji fiddling with an unlit cigarette, the man practically leaking sincerity from his pores.  He really believed in this.  That there was something magical about heats.

What Zoro said next surprised even him.

“Show me then,” Zoro said, “I’ll let you take care of me during my next heat.”

Sanji’s mouth opened in shock, then closed, then opened again.

“One day a month, you can act like an alpha to me,” Zoro said, “The other days, I’ll fucking kill you if you try any alpha caretaker bullshit.  Does that work for you?”

Sanji nodded mutely.

“Good,” Zoro said.

“Fine,” Sanji replied.

“See ya.”

“Bye,” Sanji said and whirled away before either of them could embarrass themselves anymore.

---

Present

Zoro reached for the handle of Chopper’s office door, but it opened before he could grab it.  Sanji emerged, a brown bag clutched in his hand.

“What’s that?” Zoro asked.

“Oh, let me check,” Sanji said, opening the bag and peering inside, “It’s… none of your fucking business.”  He brushed past Zoro after his unnecessary theatrics, moving quickly away from him to the sanctity of his kitchen.

Zoro slipped into Chopper’s office for the post-heat check-up the little doctor insisted on.

“How do you feel, Zoro?” Chopper asked, patting the seat in front of him with a hoof.

“Great,” Zoro said as Chopper put on his stethoscope and began puttering around him.  The reindeer nodded happily.  “You’re in good shape for an omega after heat,” he said, “Much better than the first time I saw you.”

“Yes, well, the cook is good at that kind of shit,” Zoro said, “Being a… caretaker and stuff.”

“I’m glad you have a heat partner,” Chopper said, “Going through heats alone when you’re not on suppressants is very painful.”

“Was fine,” Zoro muttered.  He paused before asking, “What was the cook doing here?”

“I can’t tell you that, Zoro,” Chopper said carefully.

“Yeah, I know, confidentiality and stuff, but just, he’s okay, right?”

Chopper looked up at him, expression neutral but Zoro could see some conflict on his face.  “You’ll have to talk to Sanji, please, Zoro.”

“Well, that’s never going to happen.  We don’t talk,” Zoro sighed, “But thanks Chopper.  Clean bill of health?”  Chopper nodded, giving him a sweet smile.

He patted Chopper on the head, then exited, deciding to head to the kitchen.

“Hey,” he said, when he found Sanji cutting fruits.  Sanji tossed a few apple slices in a bowl and handed them to Zoro, before continuing to carefully arrange a selection of fruits on a plate, clearly for Nami.

Zoro munched on the apples, staring at Sanji from behind as he worked.  Mostly, his eyes drifted to the backs of Sanji’s thighs, his dress pants just tight enough for Zoro to see the contours of muscles.  He thought about Sanji pounding into him from behind.  The slap of his thighs against the backs of Zoro’s.

“Stop staring at me,” Sanji said, breaking Zoro out of his daydream.

“What was in the paper bag?” Zoro asked.

Sanji spun around and glared, “Why are you being so nosy?”

“Because,” Zoro said, “You got medicine or some shit from Chopper right after my heat.  Just wanted to… just wanted to make sure you’re okay or whatever.”

A strange expression crossed Sanji’s face.  He turned back around before Zoro could fully analyze it.

“I’m fine, it’s more suppressants,” he said, “Don’t worry about it.”

“You just got more suppressants last month,” Zoro frowned.  He didn’t quite know how suppressants worked, but it seemed too soon for Sanji to need another supply.

Sanji put the knife down, grabbed the empty bowl in front of Zoro, and pointed at the door.  With his raised arm, he was covering his nose, a furrow between his eyebrows.  Reluctantly, Zoro got up, not satisfied with Sanji’s answer, but deciding he would continue the battle later.  Instead, he went to chase down Nami.

“Hey witch,” he said, sitting down next to her, “I don’t smell like anything to you, do I?”

“No, you smell awful to me, but that’s nothing to do with you being an omega,” she said.

“Do I smell different when I’m in heat?” Zoro asked, ignoring her insult.

“I can tell when you’re in heat, but just barely.”

“And that’s because of the suppressants?”

“I’m assuming,” she shrugged, “You can’t smell me, can you?”

“Nope,” Zoro said, sniffing the air around her until she pushed him away.

“Why are you being weird?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

“It looked like my smell was bothering the cook,” Zoro said, “But he’s on suppressants too.”

Nami frowned, “I don’t really know how it works, Zoro.  Maybe you should just ask him if it’s an issue.”

“We don’t talk about that stuff.”

“You’re heat partners, and you don’t talk about how you affect each other outside your heats?” she asked dubiously.

Zoro thought about this and realized that she had a point.  “Thanks,” he said, turning on his heel and heading back to the kitchen.  When he barged in, Sanji jumped, shaking the bottle in his hand and scattering pills across the counter.

“What is it, marimo?” Sanji asked, trying to gather them up.

“Are those suppressants?” Zoro asked.

“Yes,” Sanji said, his reply curt.

“What’s going on, cook?” Zoro asked, knowing that Sanji had just taken some suppressants a week before.

Sanji sighed, popping one of the pills into his mouth and swallowing a gulp of water.

“Stronger suppressants,” he muttered, “The previous ones I was on weren’t working to… mask your scent.  I didn’t want to do something I’d regret.”

Zoro stared at him, guilt writhing in him, as Sanji capped the bottle and put it in a cupboard.

“S-sorr—”

“Don’t apologize, mosshead,” Sanji said, waving him away, “Please don’t apologize.  It’s fine.  It’s what I should be doing.  I can’t take care of the crew if I’m not in my right mind.  Get some more rest.  Lunch will be ready soon.”

“I’ll take suppressants too,” Zoro blurted out.

“They make you sick, right?” Sanji said, “Stop worrying, mosshead.  It’s not a big deal, it’s probably just a temporary thing since we only just started…”  He closed his eyes, as if to center himself.  When he opened them again, he just looked tired.  “Everything is fine, Zoro, I can do this much.  Go sleep or workout or whatever it is you do in your spare time.”

---

One month ago

Zoro was feeling strangely nervous.  As the day of his heat approached, Sanji busied himself with preparations.  He made more sets of box meals than he needed to for the rest of the crew, placing them in the fridge and marking them carefully for Usopp to handle and Nami to protect.  He cleaned the entire ship, making sure all the laundry was done.

Then he turned to Zoro, humming a cheerful tune as he organized the storeroom, bringing in an additional cot and placing them side by side.  He puttered around the room, clearing a shelf and putting spare sheets and towels on it.

“You look chipper,” Zoro overheard Nami saying.  He held his breath, hiding around the corner.

“I’ve never done this before,” Sanji whispered conspiratorially, “I want to make sure I do a good job.”

“You’d do this for any omega?” Nami said, voice casual.

“Of course, dear Nami,” Sanji said.  Zoro rolled his eyes, heading back to the crow’s nest before he could hear anymore.  Sanji would definitely go out of his way for any omega; that was just the cook’s fucking personality.

When he felt the first hint of discomfort in his stomach, he poked his head into the kitchen to see if Sanji was busy.  He was reading a newspaper, one leg crossed over the other as he smoked.

“Cook,” Zoro said quietly.  Sanji looked up.

“It’s… starting,” Zoro continued, “I can go first but just wanted to… let you know.”

Sanji immediately put down his newspaper and stubbed out his cigarette, placing his pack and lighter on the counter of the spotless kitchen.  He nodded as he loosened his tie, the silken sound loud in Zoro’s ear as Sanji took it off and hung it by his apron.

“After you,” Sanji said quietly, grabbing two picnic baskets.

Wondering if he was the only one who felt ridiculous about the whole thing, Zoro stomped away to the storeroom.  Sanji closed the door behind them.

It was quiet.  Sanji didn’t move, just stood by the door.

Zoro swallowed, throat dry.  He felt an ache in the pit of his stomach, which usually didn’t happen until a few hours into his heat.

“Water,” Sanji said, breaking his silence and placing the picnic baskets on the ground.  He opened one and pulled out a thermos.

“It’s hot,” he said quietly, “Lemon and mint.  Will be good for your stomach.”

“Thanks,” Zoro said, taking the thermos and sitting down on one of the cots.  He sipped slowly, watching as Sanji busied himself taking other things out of the basket, creating a veritable picnic.  When he ran out of things to do, he looked over at Zoro.

“Are you looking for permission to sit?” Zoro asked, trying to make his voice gruff to keep his nerves from being too apparent.

Sanji sat down next to him, not quite close enough to touch.

“Want some?” Zoro asked, offering him the thermos.  Sanji shook his head, still regarding Zoro carefully.

“You’re creeping me out, cook,” Zoro sighed.  He was already on edge about the whole situation, and Sanji’s reticence was making it worse.  The way Sanji sat so stiffly next to Zoro made him wonder if Sanji regretted his agreement to assist with Zoro’s heat.

“Sorry,” Sanji said, “Now that… now that it’s here.  I’m not really sure what to do to make you comfortable.”  He looked slightly distraught, worry in his eyes as they roamed around the room looking for something to do.

Letting out a heavy sigh, Zoro thought for a moment before throwing caution to the wind and scooching over to Sanji.  He sprawled out on the cot, placing his head in Sanji’s lap.  He closed his eyes, mainly out of mortification and so he wouldn’t have to see Sanji’s expression.  Sanji stiffened for the briefest of motions before relaxing, letting out a soft chuckle.

“You’re like a cat,” he said, and Zoro felt Sanji’s hand gently pat his hair.  He opened one eye to give as disgruntled a look as he could before curling his knees into his chest and settling into a more comfortable position.

“I’ve always wondered what your hair feels like,” Sanji said quietly, “I had assumed it would have more of a seaweed texture, but it’s very soft.”

Zoro grunted.  He felt Sanji’s fingers tentatively brush his temple.  He leaned into the touch, and Sanji began massaging lightly, making gentle, circular motions with his thumb.

“This is okay?” Sanji asked.

“Feels good,” Zoro said.

“Roronoa Zoro, Pirate Hunter, Demon of the East, likes curling up in laps and forehead massages when he’s in heat,” Sanji chuckled.

“If you tell anyone, I’ll deny it and then toss you off the boat,” Zoro said.

“I know, I know, that goes without saying,” Sanji replied, “Nothing that happens here will leave the room.”

Zoro closed his eyes again, taking comfort in Sanji’s words.  The cook was annoying, but he was reliable to a fault.  Sanji continued his ministrations, and a drowsiness descended over Zoro.  His body felt heavy, waves of warmth radiating from his gut traveled to the top of his head and the tips of his curled toes.

“Sleep, Zoro,” Sanji whispered, and Zoro drifted off.

When he woke, uncomfortably hot, Sanji was no longer in the room.

“Cook?” he called out, a slight panic in his voice.  Had they been attacked?

“I’m here, Zoro,” Sanji said, opening the door and entering with a basin and a few towels.  He knelt next to Zoro and began wiping at the sweat on Zoro’s face and neck.  The cool towel was a relief against his warm skin.

“How are you feeling?” Sanji asked.

“Hot,” Zoro croaked out, “This shit is so annoying, ‘m gonna be cold in two seconds.”

“I know,” Sanji said, offering Zoro some juice, then began peeling a pear.  Zoro drank the juice, watching Sanji, his movements quick and competent.  He surreptitiously checked the clock on the wall.  Two hours had passed since his heat had started and so far all Sanji had done was act like a nursemaid and personal masseuse.  The last time Zoro had been with a partner, the man had started taking his clothes off before the door to their cheap motel room had closed.

Sanji placed the cut pear in front of Zoro and began slicing strawberries, the red juice staining his fingers as he carefully removed the stem and flavorless white section of each.  Zoro snuck a glance to Sanji’s face while he was concentrating on the fruit.

He was handsome.  Zoro would never admit it to anyone, certainly not Sanji, but Zoro wasn’t immune to the striking features, strong shoulders, the long powerful legs of their cook.  Several issues had kept Zoro from offering a Mutual Exchange of Resolving Sexual Needs to Sanji as soon as the attractive man had joined the crew.  First among them that he assumed Sanji would never agree.

But now Zoro had Sanji all to himself for a day, at a point where his own sexual needs were at their strongest.  And Sanji was making him a fruit salad.

“Not going to eat?” Sanji asked, looking between Zoro and the cut pears and strawberries.  Deciding to take advantage of how buried he was under layers of blankets, Zoro just opened his mouth.  Sanji stared at him for a moment, before edging forward and picking up a pear slice. 

He practically dropped it in Zoro’s mouth, hand pulling back quickly.

“I’m not an alligator,” Zoro said after he swallowed, “You don’t have to feed me like I’m going to chomp your fingers off.”

Sanji chuckled, “You have strangely sharp teeth for a human.  You might have some alligator in you.”  He placed another pear slice in Zoro’s mouth, not retreating quite so fast this time.

When he fed Zoro a strawberry, Zoro leaned toward him, his lips closing over Sanji’s fingers momentarily before pulling back.  Sanji swallowed, and Zoro did a small secret victory dance.  They continued this strange ritual, Zoro’s lips and tongue lingering longer on Sanji’s fingers each time.  When Zoro finished the last strawberry, he held onto Sanji’s wrist, licking the juices off each finger before letting go.

“I still have to wash my hand, you know,” Sanji said thickly.  His cheeks were red, and the feelings of want raged more desperately in Zoro.  He rinsed his hand off in the basin and began standing up to refresh the water.

“Cook,” Zoro said, voice coming out hoarse and husky, “Come here.  I’m cold.”

Sanji immediately moved closer, tucking Zoro’s covers tighter around his shoulders.

Zoro sighed at the unnecessary action.

“Curly, when are you going to start fucking me?” he asked, deciding the time for modesty was long past.

Sanji choked at this.  “It’s not always about fucking,” he said, waving his arms in the air, “It’s about providing and caring and whatever you need and want—”

“I want you to fuck me,” Zoro interrupted.  Future Zoro would be embarrassed by the statement, but Present Zoro was too amused by Sanji’s reaction and too turned on by the cook’s thighs so close to his face to care.

“Christ, Zoro,” Sanji moaned.  He ran his hands through his hair before taking a shuddering breath, “Okay, fuck, how do you want to—”

Deciding that interrupting Sanji mid-sentence was the only way they were going to get anywhere, Zoro seized Sanji’s collar and pulled him down into a kiss.  Sanji froze for a second, their lips just barely touching.  Then, he let out a sound akin to a growl, grabbed Zoro’s chin, and deepened the kiss.

Sanji pushed him back onto the pillow, the slick slide of their tongues growing more and more frantic.  Zoro allowed his hands to fumble over Sanji’s body, reaching under his shirt to grip at the defined muscle of his back.  Sanji’s hand remained cradling his chin, the other gripping Zoro’s hair.

When Sanji pulled back, pupils dilated, panting, on the edge of restraint, he still looked like he was searching for some kind of assent from Zoro.

“Take care of me properly, cook,” Zoro murmured, “Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do?”  Sanji’s forehead furrowed at the challenge, and he began removing the layers of blankets between them.

“Comfortable?” he asked, his fingers at the hem of Zoro’s shirt.

“Like I’m on a fucking cloud,” Zoro grunted back.  Sanji slowly edged his shirt up, then bent down to leave kisses along Zoro’s stomach as he pushed the shirt to Zoro’s shoulders.  Zoro arched into Sanji’s touch.  In one quick movement, Sanji placed an arm on the small of Zoro’s back and pulled Zoro up with one arm, taking the shirt off with the other.  He laid Zoro down, gentle and slow.

“I’m not a baby bird,” Zoro grumbled.

Sanji chuckled, returning to his slow, languorous kisses at Zoro’s waistline.  His fingers curled at Zoro’s pants, pulling them down and repeating the same process with Zoro’s shirt until Zoro laid completely bare before him, cock fully erect.  Sanji, kneeling at the foot of the cot, his own erection apparent in his dress pants, ran his eyes up and down Zoro’s body.

“If you call me beautiful or some shit like that, I will kick you in the balls,” Zoro said.

Laughing, Sanji lifted one of Zoro’s legs and kissed the hollow of his ankles.

“The most handsome marimo in all the seas,” he said, holding tight to Zoro’s legs to prevent the aforementioned kicking.  Zoro glared, but didn’t move.  When Sanji was satisfied that Zoro wasn’t going to resort to violence, he began kissing along Zoro’s leg.  As he inched closer to Zoro’s cock, Zoro had to resist the urge to buck his hips.

The pressure in his groin was becoming too much.  When Zoro shifted, trying to relieve the ache, he could feel the gathering slick between his legs and on the blankets beneath him.

“Cook, hurry the fuck up,” he moaned.  His moan turned into a gasp when Sanji’s fingers caressed his hip.

“Fuck, your fingers are cold,” he said, lifting his head to glare at Sanji.

“Sorry,” Sanji whispered, kissing and sucking at his inner thigh in apology.  Sanji’s fingers traced down between his legs slowly, Zoro’s body heat warming them up.  They paused as Zoro’s entrance.

“Zoro,” Sanji said, voice choked, “You’re so wet.”

“Yes, that’s what happens.  Didn’t you read about it in your fucking books?” Zoro gritted out, surprised he still had the mental capacity to banter.

Sanji slid a finger in, and Zoro tilted his head back, hands clenching at the slight stretch.

“More,” he moaned, “More, cook.”  He gasped when Sanji’s other hand gripped his cock, pumping up and down, increasing the pressure along the shaft and pausing to stroke the engorged vein on the underside of his cock with his thumb.  Sanji slid another finger into Zoro, then a third, pushing in and out, quirking his fingers and massaging, looking for the spots that made Zoro clench around him.

“More,” Zoro said, annoyed when it came out as a needy whine, “The first time I come, you better fucking be in me, cook.  I’m not coming from just your fucking hands.”

At this, Sanji retracted his hands, a momentary loss of stimulation that made Zoro reach for him, sitting up and grabbing onto Sanji’s leg to maintain some sort of connection.  Sanji fumbled at his belt, fingers coated in Zoro’s slick, finally managing to pull out his own cock.

Zoro bit his lip at the sight, already unable to wait to have Sanji inside him.  Sanji’s cock would fill him deep.  Sanji pulled his pants off, exposing his long, pale legs full of impossible power.  As he unbuttoned each of the stupid buttons on his dress shirt, Zoro began growling with impatience.

“God, fine,” Sanji sighed, sending buttons scattering as he practically tore his own shirt off.  That action made Zoro desperately close to coming, and he squeezed his eyes shut, digging crescents into his palms to keep from touching himself to chase his release.

“How do you want me?” Sanji asked, his voice dangerously calm like he was asking about the rareness of a hamburger.

“Like this is fine,” Zoro said, “I’m assuming we can do other ways later.”  He watched Sanji’s expression, saw Sanji shiver, and smiled as he waited for Sanji to line himself up.

Sanji moved slowly, waiting for Zoro to relax as he pushed forward until he was seated deep inside him.  Zoro breathed through the stretch, feeling unbearably full.  The ache in his stomach was gone, replaced with coursing pleasure and swelling desire.  He had never felt this way during previous heats, never had the sense of safety that Sanji’s arms, bracketing his body, now gave him.  Even now, Sanji waited for Zoro, though Zoro could feel the trembling of his legs where they met Zoro’s.  Sanji was leaning forward, forehead pressed against Zoro’s chest as he tried to steady his breathing.  It was comforting to see Sanji as shaken as Zoro felt.  When Sanji finally raised his head, eyes bright, Zoro nodded.

In a quick movement, Sanji pulled out before sliding back in, faster than the first time, but still horribly slow.

“I’m not going to break,” Zoro said.

“I know, asshole,” Sanji said, “I’m the one who feels like breaking.”  Zoro looked up at this, taking in the almost pained expression on Sanji’s face.  Sanji took a few steadying breaths, eyes flicking up to Zoro’s face and then away.

Before Zoro could ask why, Sanji began moving faster, driving all thought from Zoro’s head.

Each thrust, each meeting of their hips felt like completion.  Goosebumps erupted across Zoro’s body as he tossed his head back, trying to keep quiet but still hearing his own moans echoing around the room.  He was embarrassed to hear “cook” and “yes” interspersed among the otherwise incomprehensible sounds he was making.  Sanji grabbed onto his hands, keeping him in place as he pounded forward.

After a particularly pointed thrust, Zoro let out a shout, arching his back as his orgasm approached.  Sanji changed the angle in response, leaning over Zoro and making short thrusts, the sound of his cock sliding in, mixed with the gathering slick between them, was loud.

“Zoro,” Sanji said, “Zoro, Zoro, you can come.”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” Zoro moaned, and then he came, a release that felt like it went on for hours as Sanji slowly ground into his new favorite spot in Zoro.  When he was able to open his eyes again, he expected to see Sanji with a smirk on his face.  Instead, the cook had on a half-smile, almost fond.  A bit of Zoro’s cum had landed on his face, and Zoro automatically reached up to wipe it off.

He froze when Sanji nuzzled into his hand, misunderstanding why Zoro was reaching for him.  Awkwardly, Zoro rubbed the bit of cum off Sanji’s chin with his thumb, as Sanji leaned into the touch.

“Okay, mosshead?” Sanji asked.

“Yeah, was good,” Zoro said, dropping his hand.

“I’ll get you cleaned up,” Sanji said, pulling out slowly and eliciting a groan from them both.

“You didn’t…” Zoro said, waving at Sanji’s cock.

“I want to make sure you’re satisfied first,” Sanji said, wetting a towel and carefully running it across Zoro’s chest.  “I read that omegas can orgasm many times in a row,” Sanji said softly, wiping the mixture of slick and cum off Zoro’s crotch.

Zoro hissed when the towel touched his cock, still incredibly hard.  It began throbbing again.  Quickly, Sanji tossed the towel aside and began stroking him.  Zoro bucked his hips upward, thrusting into Sanji’s hand until Sanji milked out another orgasm from him, this one just as powerful as the last.

“More?” Sanji asked softly, Zoro’s cock in his hand still erect.

“Yes,” Zoro admitted, “Skip the stupid towel.  I’m going to be covered in my own fucking cum the whole night, I’ve accepted that.”

“Am I doing a good job?” Sanji asked, hand reaching between Zoro’s legs again, his long fingers slipping into Zoro with ease.

Zoro didn’t respond.

“Am I, Zoro?” Sanji asked again, practically crooning.

“Ah,” Zoro gasped when Sanji quirked his fingers, “Fuck, yes, you are, shit cook.”

Sanji took his time, ignoring Zoro’s protests, wringing out Zoro’s third orgasm with just the skillful maneuvering of his fingers.

“Cook, I need more,” Zoro moaned.

Nodding, Sanji flipped Zoro over in a quick motion.  On his knees and hands, Zoro glared back at Sanji.

“No?  Not this position?” Sanji asked, his hands firm on Zoro’s hips.

Zoro wanted to complain, but his body wouldn’t let him, already rocking back against Sanji.  He turned forward again, glaring instead at the bedspread as he felt Sanji run his cock up and down Zoro’s crack until he pushed in suddenly.

“Fast or slow?” Sanji asked when Zoro stopped cursing and thrashing under him.

“Fast, hard,” Zoro gritted out.

“You got it,” Sanji said bravely, though Zoro could tell from the trembling in his voice that he was close.

“You can… your stupid knot… you can do it inside,” Zoro said.

Sanji tensed above him, unmoving, until Zoro wriggled impatiently, and Sanji began slamming into him.  From this position, Sanji was able to truly put all the force of his legs and hips into fucking Zoro senseless.  Zoro’s arms soon gave out and his cheek landed on the soft bedspread, mouth slack, eyes blurred as Sanji’s grip on his hips pulled him backwards with each of his forward thrusts.

“Too much, cook,” Zoro moaned, when the pressure inside him built to a point where he wasn’t sure if he would orgasm or pass out first.  In response, Sanji pulled him up onto his lap, shortening his thrusts, and clinging tight to Zoro as he bounced him up and down.

“Zoro, you feel so amazing,” Sanji whispered in his ear, “You’re doing such a good job.”

“I don’t—” Zoro began, wanting to communicate that he didn’t need to hear that from Sanji, but he stopped when Sanji’s words brought him closer and closer.  He wanted to cum, he wanted to cum and then feel Sanji’s knot and be held so tightly it would feel like Sanji was breathing for both of them.

“Please, cook,” he croaked out.  Sanji buried his forehead in Zoro’s neck and stroked him until Zoro came, practically howling as every muscle in his body tensed at once.

“Ready, Zoro?” he heard Sanji ask.  His vision was black as he nodded, and he felt a swelling and a heat inside him.

“Zoro, this is—” Sanji babbled, “Fuck, Zoro, I’ve never—  This feels—”  And Zoro realized this was the first time Sanji had knotted anyone.  This should have made him terrified, but instead, he only felt a sense of victory, holding onto Sanji’s arms around his chest for dear life as they both fell forward.

Sanji’s pants were harsh in his ear.

“Does it hurt?” he asked.

“No,” Zoro answered, “It… just feels…”  He struggled with what to say about the sudden overflow of emotion he felt toward Sanji.  He had been knotted before, but mostly found it an annoying process.  Here, now, he wanted every part of his body to be touching Sanji, wanted to wrap Sanji’s arms around him and never let go.  Dangerous.

“It’s okay?” Sanji asked when Zoro didn’t finish his sentence.

“Yeah, it’s okay,” Zoro said quietly.

“I don’t know how long this lasts,” Sanji said.

“Depends,” Zoro said, “Some are longer than others.  If it’s your first, then we might be stuck like this for a bit.”

Sanji let go of Zoro momentarily to pull the blankets over them, and Zoro buried more snugly into his arms, hoping that Sanji would attribute that to being cold.

After a moment of quiet, Sanji said, “Thank you.”

“Don’t fucking thank me,” Zoro growled, “Like I’ve given you some precious gift.  This was an agreed-on arrangement—”

“I know, I know, fuck, I know that’s a stupid thing to say,” Sanji moaned, “But I didn’t know how else to… Never mind, Zoro.  I’m just feeling weird.  Chemicals and stuff, I guess.”

“Yeah,” Zoro responded, gripping Sanji’s hand tighter.

“You can sleep, Zoro,” Sanji said, “When the knot is gone, I’ll clean you up.  And if you wake up and need more, and I’m sleeping, just kick me awake.”

“Yeah, okay, cook,” Zoro replied, letting the security and comfort of Sanji’s arms and legs wrapped around him lull him to sleep.

---

Present

Zoro watched Sanji saunter across the deck with a drink for Nami.  He surveyed him carefully, looking for any signs of illness or side effects from his new suppressants.

When Sanji walked past, Zoro stuck his foot out in his path.  Sanji stopped immediately, kicked his boot aside, and continued.  Reflexes were still fine, Zoro noted.

Once Sanji put the drink down in front of Nami, Zoro stood, flexing his shoulders and putting his hands on his swords.

“I’m busy,” Sanji said when he saw Zoro.

“Don’t care,” Zoro grinned, leaping forward and striking down at Sanji with Kitetsu.  Sanji dodged to the side, hands still in his pockets as he kicked at Zoro’s face.  Determined to get Sanji to fight him for real, Zoro pulled out Yubashiri.  When he lashed out, Sanji arched gracefully, the blade passing centimeters above his face.

Then, Sanji stumbled backwards.  Eyes widening, Zoro grabbed for him, twisting so that he landed first with a thump.

“What the fuck, mosshead?” Sanji asked, irritated.  He quickly extracted himself from Zoro’s grip.  “I tripped on this fucking thing,” he said, kicking at a wrench lying on the ground, “Usopp must have left it.”

“Oh,” Zoro said, still on his back.

“What were you doing?” Sanji asked.  His voice was strained as he looked down at Zoro.  “What’s with the sudden attempt at heroism?”

“I… don’t know,” Zoro said, “I just… didn’t want you to get hurt.”

Something strange flashed across Sanji’s face.  He chewed the inside of his lip, then stalked away to the kitchen.  Zoro slowly got up, brushing himself off and picking up the swords he had dropped to be able to catch Sanji.

Hair rising on the back of his neck, Zoro turned to see Nami watching him.

“What?” he barked out, embarrassed that she had seen the exchange.

“You’re being awfully nice,” she said.

“I’m not,” he replied, unconvincingly.

“Everything going okay with the heat partner thing?” she asked, “I put in ear plugs now whenever that time of the month comes around.”

Zoro flushed.  “It’s fine,” he said curtly.

“Not falling in love, are you?” she asked.

“Not a chance in hell,” he replied.

“Uh huh,” she said, sipping her drink slowly as she gave Zoro her most despairing look.

Zoro escaped to the crow’s nest, not sure what else to say.

Not falling in love, are you?

He punched the air in front of him, then went to grab his weights, intent on exercising Nami’s random comment out of his brain.  It was a mutually beneficial arrangement.  Zoro had more bearable heats.  Sanji… Sanji got…

“Practice, or something,” Zoro muttered into the stillness around him.  Practice for when he found a real mate, someone he could always be loving toward, always could dote on.  That person could never be Zoro.

Pushing past the sudden pain in his chest, Zoro doubled the weight of his barbells, deciding to push himself past his limit for the day’s workout.

---

Around dinner time, Zoro wandered into the kitchen.  Sanji was cooking a feast, which he usually only did when he was troubled.  Unsure what was the issue, Zoro hovered in the corner of the kitchen, trying to figure out what was wrong.

“What are you doing, Zoro?” Sanji asked.

“Waiting for dinner.”

“You can wait for dinner outside.”

He technically could, he knew.  Searching around for another excuse, Zoro landed on, “Do you need any help?”

“No,” Sanji said coldly.

Zoro frowned.  In the past when he had offered to help, Sanji was usually so surprised that he gave Zoro something to do.  He decided to change tactics, walking close to Sanji and peering over his shoulder.

“What are you making?” he asked, knowing Sanji liked talking about food as much as making it.

“Food,” Sanji said, taking a large step away to distance himself from Zoro.  His jaw was clenched, his face a mask of annoyance.

“Why are you being more moody than usual?” Zoro asked.

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

“Get out of my kitchen,” Sanji hissed.

“Not until you tell me what’s wrong.”

“Zoro, I’m fucking serious, get out,” Sanji said, and Zoro stepped back when he heard the waver in Sanji’s voice.

“Cook—” he said, watching as Sanji shook his head in rage, tears in the corners of his eyes.  Sanji didn’t answer, staring viciously at the stir fry in front of him.

“Cook,” he repeated, putting a tentative hand on Sanji’s shoulder.  He felt Sanji shudder under his grip.

“What’s going on, cook?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” Sanji replied finally, “Just… give me some space, please, Zoro.”

“Okay,” Zoro said, pulling back immediately.  He gave Sanji one more look and left the kitchen.  He didn’t return for dinner, taking a nap in the crow’s nest.  When he woke, a meal was waiting for him at the bottom of the ladder.  A light was on in the kitchen, but Zoro walked past and went to sleep in the bunkroom, laying as still as he could when Sanji slipped in a few hours later.

---

One week later

There was a strange tension from then on whenever he crossed paths with Sanji.  The cook was cordial enough, but he never initiated fights.  And after a few lackluster ones, Zoro stopped as well.  When Zoro entered a room, Sanji immediately left, reaching a point where Zoro was too annoyed to step foot into the kitchen and delay every meal.  He started sleeping in the crow’s nest after he found Sanji napping fitfully in the kitchen for the third night in a row.

The rest of the crew quickly noticed that something was going on, but after Nami shushed Luffy the first time he asked, none of them inquired further.

“Usopp, come with me to the market,” Sanji said quietly when they landed on a friendly island.  Zoro didn’t say anything when Usopp shot him a look—Zoro the one usually coerced into being Sanji’s pack mule.

Zoro watched them go, a bitter feeling in his chest.  It wasn’t worth it, in the end.  Having Sanji as a heat partner.  Zoro was just making everything awkward for everybody.

“Zoro,” Chopper said, “Will you help me in the infirmary?”  He nodded, following the reindeer into his office.  He sat down with Chopper in front of the grindstone and began turning the wheel as Chopper dropped a few plants into the basin.

“How are you feeling, Zoro?” Chopper asked.

“Great, doc,” Zoro said.  They continued working in silence.

“I’m going to tell Sanji that I don’t need him as a heat partner,” he said finally, “I’ll deal with them on my own, or if we’re on island, I’ll find someone else.”

Chopper shot him a look.  “You have been much healthier after your heats with Sanji,” he said, “I think they’re good for you both.”

“It’s not working, Chopper,” Zoro said, “Everyone is uncomfortable.  Particularly the cook.  I don’t know what the fuck happened, but he’s acting like I’m scum of the earth.  Even more so than usual.  Maybe he wants to stop too.  Then he wouldn’t have to take those stronger suppressants.”

“Zoro,” Chopper said, “It takes some time to adjust when it comes to new suppressants.  Not all of them work right away, or the dosage needs to be fixed.  It’s not something that doctors understand that well, since so much of alpha-omega relationships are specific to the pairing.  There’s a lot of guesswork on the right suppressant.”

Zoro pondered this.  He had assumed that the stronger suppressants were working for Sanji, and he just suddenly hated Zoro’s guts.

“Do you think Sanji is still able to smell me?” he asked finally, “And that’s why he’s avoiding me?”

Chopper looked forlornly at the grindstone turning his herbs into a paste.

“Chopper,” Zoro said, “I know… I know you can’t tell me everything.  But this is important for both of us.  Are the suppressants not working?”

“He’s asked for more,” Chopper said simply, eyes turning away as soon as he said it, “I told him I can’t give him more of the same type for his safety.”

“Why aren’t they working?” Zoro asked, shocked at the little doctor’s admission.

“I don’t know, Zoro,” Chopper said, his eyes watering.  He wiped them away quickly.  “I’m worried about Sanji,” Chopper moaned, “I’m trying to find replacement suppressants, but it’s really hard for him.”

Zoro stood up, “Sorry, Chopper, I’ll finish this later.”  He strode out of the infirmary and stepped on to the side of the ship.

“Where are you going?” Nami asked.

“Gonna find the cook,” he said, turning to her and daring her to challenge him on this.

“I’ll take you,” Nami said, “You’ll never find him by yourself.”

Begrudgingly, Zoro let her lead the way, and soon enough, he saw the cook’s tall figure walking through the market.  Something flared in his chest, and he walked faster, then began sprinting, leaving Nami behind.

Before Zoro reached him, Sanji whirled around, eyes frantic, nostrils flaring.

“Zoro, what are you—”

“Borrowing you for a moment,” Zoro said, grabbing his arm and dragging him away.  He saw Nami catch up to Usopp, and the two of them conversing, then he turned forward, looking for somewhere to bring the protesting cook behind him.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Sanji asked when they cleared the market, sending a heavy kick into the middle of his back.

“They’re not working,” Zoro said.

“What?” Sanji asked, blinking in surprise, “What do you—”

“The suppressants aren’t working, are they?” Zoro asked, “That’s why you’re avoiding me and can’t look me in the eye.  You can smell me.  Or you can smell the omega in me.”

Sanji squeezed his eyes closed, and Zoro could see the way he was breathing shallowly, as if afraid to take in too much of the air around Zoro.

“I just need more,” Sanji said, “I’ll figure it out, Zoro.  Just… just don’t get too close to me, please.”

“Or what?” Zoro asked, stepping toward him.  Sanji took a giant step back.  “What are you going to do?  What are you afraid of?”

“You’re being a fucking asshole, Zoro,” Sanji glared, “We agreed that we would only do… things together when you’re in heat.  And otherwise, we’re just crewmates.  I’m trying to uphold my end of the deal.”

“Cook,” Zoro said softly, “Stop doing this by yourself, you idiot.  We’re heat partners.  If something is fucking you up, you better fucking talk to me about it.”

Sanji gaped at him.

“What do you want to do when I’m this close?” Zoro asked, walking into Sanji’s space.  He could smell it now too, the scent from Sanji, spices and tobacco and cedarwood.  He closed his eyes, breathing the soothing smell in deep.

“Zoro,” Sanji choked out, and Zoro felt a hand on his cheek.  Sanji’s forehead knocked against his as he gasped for air, mouth open, gulping for breath like a drowning man.

“I don’t mind this,” Zoro said quietly, as Sanji gripped his hair and the back of his neck.  He let out an undignified “oomph” when Sanji brought him into a hug, clutching desperately at him.  Zoro brought his arms around Sanji’s waist, remembering starkly the feeling of having Sanji slotted against him during his heat.

He felt Sanji’s shaky breath on his neck.

A few months ago, Zoro would have reacted by sending the handle of his sword into Sanji’s side.  But being hugged by Sanji now felt like the most natural feeling in the world.

“So you’re just going to be a bit more huggy,” Zoro said, “I hug Chopper during my naps.  He’s like a little fuzzy pillow.”

“Don’t bring Chopper into this conversation,” Sanji said, a dangerous edge to his voice.

“Yeah, I know, very different,” Zoro sighed.

“I can’t keep my head straight around you,” Sanji said.  His voice was muffled against Zoro’s shoulder.  “I want to touch you and hold you and give you everything—”

“You know sometimes I think being an alpha means losing the lottery,” Zoro said, “That sounds very tiring.”

“Shithead,” Sanji muttered.

“Cook,” Zoro said, “I don’t know what’s going on with this suppressant business.  But you can’t just go around gulping pills.  And I hate all this tiptoeing around each other we’ve been doing.  Until we figure out how to fix the suppressant stuff, then… talk to me, tell me what you want to do, how you feel.  I’m a big boy, I can take a bit of clingy cook.  Hell, Nami has to deal with worse.  And this whole situation is my fault, mostly.”

“It’s not your fault,” Sanji said thickly.

“I smell too good,” Zoro said, “It is my fault.”

Sanji chuckled weakly at this, still holding onto Zoro tightly.

“This is just until I can get my suppressants figured out,” Sanji said quietly, “Just deal with this until then.”

“Yeah, I can do that,” Zoro replied, ignoring the sudden flare of disappointment at the time limit Sanji offered, “For the crew’s sake.”

“I’m sorry they have to put up with us.”

“Put up with you.”

“I thought you said this was all your fault,” Sanji said.

“I take it back,” Zoro replied, maneuvering Sanji so his chin wasn’t digging a hole in his shoulder.

“Just a little while longer,” Sanji begged, misinterpreting Zoro’s movement as an attempt at separation.

“Sure,” Zoro said, silencing the voice in his head trying to make him confess that he wanted this too.

---

When they returned to the ship, Zoro followed Sanji into the kitchen.  Usopp and Nami had dropped off Sanji’s purchases on the table, and Sanji began organizing them.

“Is there anything I can do?”

“No,” Sanji said, cheerfully this time.

“This isn’t some ‘omegas should sit around and can’t work’ bullshit you’re pulling, right?” Zoro asked, narrowing his eyes.

“No, this is ‘you’re an idiot and don’t have any idea where anything goes and would just be in the way’ common sense.”

Both offended and satisfied by the answer, Zoro sat down at the table and watched Sanji work.  There was still some tenseness around his shoulders, but otherwise Sanji looked far more at peace than he was any time that past week.  Every time he passed Zoro, he would find some way to touch him, brushing his hip against Zoro’s back, a lingering touch to the back of his neck.  Zoro wasn’t certain that Sanji was even doing it purposefully.

“Here,” Sanji said, placing a cup on the table next to Zoro when he finished stocking his kitchen and pantry, “I just bought this from the market.  It’s an aloe drink.”

Zoro looked at it suspiciously, bits of something floating in the otherwise clear liquid.

“It’s good for you,” Sanji said.  Zoro shrugged and took a sip.

“Too sweet,” he grumbled, expecting Sanji to lecture him that he should drink it anyways.

“Hm,” Sanji said, picking up the cup and taking a sip himself.  “It is too sweet for you, one moment.”  He took the cup to the counter and began working on the drink.  When he brought it back, Zoro took another tentative sip.

“It’s good,” he said.  Sanji’s face lit up, and Zoro’s stomach did a somersault at the sight.

“I watered it down a bit and added lemongrass,” Sanji said, still beaming.

“Thanks, cook,” Zoro muttered.  Unable to look at Sanji anymore, he turned back to the drink before he did something stupid like pull the alpha into a kiss.

Humming happily now, Sanji began making dinner, continuing to sneak random touches as Zoro sat frozen in place at the table.  Zoro knew he had absolutely no reason to be there.  He could be training or sleeping.  But he couldn’t bear to leave the spot, so close to where Sanji was cooking.  His body waited in anticipation for the moments Sanji would need some spice and turn around to place a hand briefly on Zoro’s back, as if making sure he was still there.

You’re acting needy and weak.

No, Zoro told himself, I’m being strong for Sanji’s sake.

“Mosshead, help me set the table,” Sanji said, and Zoro’s body moved immediately, taking the plates from Sanji and shuddering at the brush of their fingers.

---

One week later

Zoro stared at the ceiling, eyes tired but unable to sleep.  Sanji had snuck into the bunkroom half an hour ago, waking Zoro up with his scent drifting toward him when he changed out of his suit.  Zoro had kept his eyes squeezed shut when he heard Sanji stop by his bed.  His fingers grazed Zoro’s temple and then were gone, followed by the sound of the cook climbing into his own bunk.

As it turned out, what Sanji mostly wanted to do with Zoro was have him close by and give him snacks and drinks and random knickknacks that made him think of Zoro.  A few weeks ago, Zoro had assumed being doted on by Sanji would have been annoying, but Zoro quickly realized that having the cook’s smile directed his way wasn’t such a bad thing.  Sanji seemed happier, singing as he moved around the ship.  Zoro spent more time in the kitchen than usual, napping or cleaning his swords.  When he trained, Sanji would visit him, bringing him specialty drinks and resting nearby.

Sanji’s touches were constant, but chaste.  Zoro wasn’t sure if he was relieved or disappointed by this.  He would drape himself over Zoro’s shoulders when Nami outlined plans for treasure hunting and sit close when they ate meals, giving Zoro an apologetic look when he did so.  Zoro had half expected Sanji to proposition him frequently, but the alpha seemed content with just having someone to care for.

Zoro turned his head to look at Sanji’s bunk.  The moon was just bright enough through the window that he could see the cook’s sleeping face.

They were approaching a summer island.  A particularly hot one.  Sanji had shed his clothes down to a tank top and his briefs.  Currently, one leg and one arm were hanging over the side of his bed, his pale skin practically glowing.

Zoro swallowed hard, wishing that he had Usopp’s bunk above Sanji’s so he could see better.  He closed his eyes, imagining the cook’s lithe body, sheets barely covering him, breathing slowly through soft lips.  He pictured himself climbing into the cook’s bunk, slotting himself into Sanji’s arms as the cook adjusted to hold him.  Skin against skin, warm in the stifling heat of the cabin.  He envisioned feeling Sanji move against him, a slow grind of his hips, reaching down to shed his briefs, placing his erection between Zoro’s thighs, already wet with slick.  Zoro would squeeze his thighs tighter, Sanji would feel it and moan softly in his ear.  He would reach down and stroke Zoro in time with the movement of his hips until they both came as silently as they could.

“Zoro, are you okay?”

Zoro’s eyes opened quickly at the whisper, mortified at what he was imagining.  He saw Sanji watching him, concern in his eyes.

“Yeah, fine, what’s wrong?” Zoro managed to say.

“I smelled—” Sanji said, and Zoro was certain Sanji would say he could smell when Zoro was horny.  “You just smelled stronger suddenly,” Sanji said, “Bad dream?”

“Something like that,” Zoro said, “’m fine.”

“Do you want to…” Sanji said hesitantly, raising his blanket in invitation.

“No,” Zoro said quickly, stifling every cell in his body trying to make him go to Sanji, “It’s… too hot.  I’m fine, cook.”

“Okay,” Sanji whispered, putting his head back down on his pillow.

Expletives filled Zoro’s mind as he turned away from Sanji, his cock still hard and twitching.  If he reached down and touched himself, he wouldn’t be able to stop.  And while Sanji wasn’t getting telepathic signals that Zoro was creating his own pornography in his head, he would certainly hear and smell Zoro’s orgasm.  The whole cabin would.  So he willed himself to stay deathly still until he managed to somehow fall asleep.

---

The next morning, Sanji found him standing at the railing looking at the wreckage of a ship Zoro had split in half.

“Chopper’s working on another suppressant,” Sanji said, “He’s confident this one will work.”  The line of heat from Sanji’s arm against his was all Zoro could focus on as he grunted.

“You’ll get rid of me soon,” Sanji said, nudging Zoro with his arm.

“Good,” Zoro replied.

Sanji tilted his head to rest on Zoro’s shoulder.

“Is this okay?” he asked tentatively.

“Fine,” Zoro said.

“This alpha omega shit is really something,” Sanji sighed.  “If it wasn’t for…”

If it wasn’t for the fucking chemicals, you would want me as far away as possible? 

“It’ll work, Chopper’s new suppressants.  It’ll work,” Zoro said.

“Yeah,” Sanji said quietly, “Thanks for dealing with me all this time.  I know you hate this shit.”

“I’ve gotten so much juice and snacks over the past few weeks, I really shouldn’t be complaining,” Zoro said.

Sanji chuckled, and his hair tickled Zoro’s chin.  “I can still make you food, mosshead.  It just won’t feel like I’m going to explode if I’m not in the same room as you.”

Knowing the feeling intimately, Zoro nodded.

“I’ll still help you during your heats,” Sanji said.  A seagull flew by, riding a wave Zoro could not see but knew was there.  One day a month with Sanji, this version of Sanji.  As they had agreed in the very beginning.  Everything back to normal soon.

“Zoro,” Sanji said, “Can I ask you kind of a personal question?”

Zoro grunted his assent.

“How did you feel when you found out you were an omega?”

Frowning, Zoro tried to remember.  It had been soon after Kuina’s death when he was told by the doctor that he was an omega.  Koushirou had explained to him very patiently what that meant.

“Annoyed, I guess,” Zoro said, “My sensei said that for at least one day a month, I wouldn’t be able to do anything but rest.  So I did the math of how many days that would be in my lifetime, and was annoyed that meant non-omegas would have basically a few extra years of training over me.  I told my sensei I would have to just train harder.  No days of rest.”

Sanji broke into laughter at this, clutching at his stomach.  “That’s such a fucking Zoro reaction,” he wheezed. “‘How will this impact my training?’” he asked in a mocking voice.

“What did you expect?” Zoro glared, “Some bullshit about how I cried and moaned about my weakness and that I would have to rely on an alpha?  That shit is stupid.  Kui— I had a training partner who thought she couldn’t be the world’s greatest swordsman as a girl.  When she so obviously would have.  We are who we want to become, not what we are born as.  Like hell does being an omega mean I’m weak.  I’ll fuck up anybody who says that.”  Doesn’t being dependent on Sanji mean you’re weak?  He glowered at the ocean, forcing the thought back underwater.

“You’re amazing, Zoro,” Sanji said, a smile still lingering on his face, “You’re an idiot, but you’re amazing.”

“I bet you were happy when you found out you were an alpha, you overbearing curlybrow.  An extra excuse to take care of everybody,” Zoro muttered.

Sanji didn’t respond, and Zoro turned to look at him.

“I was, sort of,” Sanji said.  He rested his arms on the balcony.  “My dad was an alpha.”

“Mustache cook?” Zoro frowned.

“That geezer isn’t my biological dad,” Sanji said, “Long story.  But my dad was an alpha and wanted his children to be alphas, or a certain kind of alpha.”

“Then he must have been happy when you were one?”

“I didn’t find out I was an alpha until I left home,” Sanji said, “And when I found out, all I could think was that he would have been proud of me.  But I hated that feeling, Zoro.  I hated my dad and I hated alphas and I hated myself and I hated that I might become like him.”

Surprised at the venom in Sanji’s voice, Zoro put an arm around Sanji’s shoulders.  The cook never spoke about his past.  Zoro had always assumed he had grown up on that ship shaped like a fish, learning how to curse and how to cook from a man Sanji clearly loved and admired.

“Of all the alphas I’ve met, you’re the least annoying,” he said quietly.

Sanji snorted, throwing him a baleful look.

“If we have to have alphas and omegas and shit,” Zoro said, “I’m glad you’re an alpha.”  He paused, having narrowly said “my alpha.”  After counseling his tongue, he continued, “I dunno who the fuck your dad is, but he can eat shit if he thinks alphas should act like assholes.  You’re irritating, cook, but with you… this alpha omega business feels more like a partnership.  Better together and shit.  Though, hell, I still don’t know what you get from being with me, but I’m not complaining on my end.”

Embarrassed at his monologue, Zoro fell silent.

Sanji didn’t say anything for a while, and Zoro shifted uncomfortably, his arm over Sanji’s shoulder feeling awkward and out of place.

“I get a lot out of this,” Sanji said finally.  He turned to look at him, a morass of complicated emotions on Sanji’s face.

Then, achingly slowly, Sanji moved toward him, giving him a chance to back away, before his lips touched on Zoro’s cheek.

This was something more than slight touches on the shoulder when they passed each other.  This was intimate.  And fond in a way Zoro could not yet parse.  Friends did not—

It lasted a few milliseconds, and then Sanji was gone, striding toward the kitchen.  He didn’t look back, and Zoro wondered if he had imagined it.

---

One week later

“Chopper said the suppressant will be ready soon,” Sanji said, handing Zoro a cup of coffee.  The cook looked tired today, as if he hadn’t slept well for a while.

“It’ll work, curly,” Zoro said, trying to be reassuring.

“Yeah,” Sanji said.

Sanji sat down next to him.  The now familiar feeling of Sanji pressed up against him was comforting.  Zoro closed his eyes, breathing in deep.  Since their conversation looking out at the ocean, Sanji hadn’t kissed him again.  Zoro was now certain that it wasn’t real, or a mistake, an action taken during a vulnerable moment. 

They continued existing in the same space.  When Sanji cooked, he would reach around behind him, groping around until he found Zoro.  Then the hand would retract, reassured.

Once the suppressants worked, what should Zoro do?  He would feel awkward hanging out in the kitchen.  Would they return to their baseline level of antagonism, touching only when they sparred?

“Have you been sleeping okay?” Sanji asked, a finger carefully poking at the bags under Zoro’s eye.

“Could ask you the same,” Zoro muttered.

“Eh, we’ve had a busy few days,” Sanji said, looking away.  He rotated the empty coffee cup in his hand, stifling a yawn.

“Come with me, cook,” Zoro said, before he could second guess himself.  He took Sanji’s hand, pulling him toward the bunkroom.  He kicked off his boots, shed his shirt, and climbed into Sanji’s bed.  The smell of Sanji on the pillow and sheets nearly overwhelmed him.  The bed felt warm, despite not being occupied for hours.

“Have you bathed…” Sanji said.  Zoro wriggled under the sheets, then lifted them up.  “I’m going to pass out in a few seconds,” he said, “You look like you’re about to.  So nap with me.”

“Zoro, I’m not sure this is—”

Zoro closed his eyes and turned his back to Sanji, trying to calm down his breathing, nowhere close to sleepy.  He didn’t hear Sanji moving at all and wondered if Sanji would soon stomp out of the bunkroom, still complaining about an unwashed Zoro in his bed.

Then, he heard a long sigh, the sound of a jacket and shoes being removed, and the bed behind him dipped as Sanji climbed in.

“I need to cook lunch soon,” Sanji muttered, wrapping his arms around Zoro, his chest warm against Zoro’s back.

“Mmhmm,” Zoro said, drowsiness descending over him as soon as Sanji was situated.  Sanji placed a hand on Zoro’s waist and began tracing slow circles with his thumb on his hip bone.

“Is this okay?” he whispered.

“Yes, cook,” Zoro replied.  Enveloped by Sanji, feeling the slow rise and fall of his chest, Zoro allowed his imagination to run rampant.  Sanji not taking the suppressants.  Forming a bond with Sanji during his next heat.  Becoming mates, having Sanji only to himself.  Translating this delicate peace they had found to the rest of their lives.  No longer feeling unmoored without Sanji nearby because their connection would span continents.  He drifted to sleep with these thoughts in his head.

I’ll tell him when I wake up, Zoro decided.  It would be awkward.  And maybe Sanji wouldn’t want this to last.  But Zoro would convince him to give it a try.  Give falling in love a try.

---

When Zoro woke up, Sanji wasn’t there.  He stumbled to the kitchen, rubbing his eyes.  Nami was there, munching on carrot sticks.

“Where’s the cook?” he asked.

“Chopper was looking for him earlier,” Nami said, “Maybe he’s with him.”

Stomach dropping, Zoro hurried to the infirmary, pushing the door open to see Sanji rolling down his sleeves.

“Zoro,” Chopper squeaked, “Zoro you can’t barge in like that.”

“It’s okay, Chopper,” Sanji said, “It’s over anyways.  You sure it has to be a shot each month?  Not a pill?”  Zoro looked at the needle and syringe on the table, and quickly closed off his heart as much as he could.

“The new suppressant?” he asked, looking steadily at Sanji.

“Yup,” Sanji said, putting his jacket on, “You should be free of me now.”

“Okay,” Zoro said, “I’ll be in the crow’s nest.”  Without another word, he fled to the safety of his training space.  He slumped down onto the bench, only able to manage short gasping breaths.  Squeezing his eyes shut, he tried to find something to hold onto.  All of the new confusion in him was because of some chemicals in his body he had no control over, he told himself.  For his entire life, he had not allowed being an omega to dictate what he did.  Like blinders being lifted, he would realize soon that everything he had imagined with Sanji wasn’t real, wasn’t possible.

“Fuck, fuck,” he cursed, pulling out his swords to begin a series of katas that would clear his mind.  With each swing, with each movement, his brain would only show him images of Sanji.  Every synapse firing in his body wanted him to go to his cook.

“He’s not yours, you are not his,” he gritted out, sheathing the swords and turning to his weights for a bigger distraction.

---

By the time he left the crow’s nest, his body was aching, having trained harder than he had in weeks.

“Dinner, Zoro,” Luffy laughed, running past him.  After hesitating for a moment, Zoro followed him into the kitchen, where Sanji was laying out a table of food.

“Cook,” Zoro grunted when Sanji looked up at him.

“Mosshead, you look like shit,” Sanji frowned, and Zoro steeled himself for more insults.  Instead, Sanji handed him a drink.

“Will replenish all the electrolytes you lost and help with muscle soreness,” Sanji said, then moved quickly to Nami, wriggling happily as he explained all the dishes he had made for their dinner.

Zoro sipped the drink slowly.  He sat down, and Sanji took the seat across from him.

“You’re on new suppressants now?” Nami asked, eyes flicking between Sanji and Zoro.

“Yes, my dear,” Sanji said, reaching for one of the serving dishes and placing a steaming scoop of some colorful pasta dish on her plate.

“Did you ever figure out why the previous ones weren’t working?” she asked Chopper.

Chopper shook his head sadly, “There was no biological reason I could come up with for why Sanji’s previous suppressants suddenly stop working.  But alpha omega hormones aren’t my specialty…”

“You did a great job, Chopper,” Sanji said, patting Chopper’s arm, “Thank you for all the work you put into finding me new ones.”

“The new ones are working?” Nami asked.

“Yup,” Sanji said cheerfully.

Zoro turned to his food, shoveled it down quickly, then stood.  “Thanks for dinner,” he grunted, and left the kitchen.

He went to sit on the Merry’s figurehead, looking out at the horizon in front of him.  The suppressants were working.  This was a good thing.  The complications of being an alpha omega pair on the same ship would have been too much to deal with.  Sanji would still look out for him as his crewmate, and Zoro would do the same.

A school of fish jumped out of the water in the distance, and Zoro contemplated going fishing.  Sanji would be happy if he brought back some new strange sea life. 

“Mosshead.”

He jumped when Sanji appeared behind him, too busy imagining Sanji’s reaction at the gift of fresh fish to notice him sneaking up.

“Cook.”

Sanji didn’t say anything more, just leaned over the railing to watch the ocean with Zoro.  The wind was too strong and blowing behind them to catch any scent from Sanji, for which Zoro was grateful.

“Those fish look tasty,” Zoro grunted when the same school of fish popped up again.

“A saltwater alligator gar,” Sanji said absentmindedly, “Good steamed.”

“Do you want me to go get some?” Zoro asked, straightening up eagerly.

Sanji laughed, and an ache filled Zoro’s chest.

“Nah, they’re a pain to descale, and those look pretty small.  Let ‘em get bigger and tastier for the next ship.  But thank you, mosshead.”

Zoro settled down again.  The wind changed directions, bringing Sanji’s scent to him.  It smelled just as potent and intoxicating as Zoro remembered, and he surreptitiously rested chin on a hand to try to block his nose.  Maybe the suppressants needed more time to fully kick in.

Sanji took out his cigarettes and lit one.  Zoro relaxed when Sanji’s scent was somewhat masked by the smell of smoke.  He turned away, blowing a stream of smoke away from Zoro.

“Sorry, I know this smells,” Sanji said, looking apologetically at the way Zoro was covering his nose.

“Used to it by now, cook,” Zoro said, “We were attached at the hip for a while.”

They fell into silence again.

“Did you need something?” Zoro asked finally, uncertain why Sanji was standing with him.

Sanji shrugged, “Not really.  Just felt like being here.”

“Should get some rest while you can,” Zoro said quietly, “Nami said we’re getting to the next island tomorrow.”

“Yup,” Sanji said, not moving.

As Sanji stood next to him, smoking cigarette after cigarette until his pack was nearly empty, a slow realization crested like a wave over Zoro, one that made him want to laugh aloud in joy.  The realization came with a crystallization of his own feelings that hit him not like a thunderbolt but like the easy lifting of a veil.  He loved the man at his side.  Sanji, with all of his quiet kindness and the strength hidden in his legs and in his eyes.

“It’s still not working,” Zoro said, trying to keep his face solemn, “The suppressant.”

“Chopper said it might take some time,” Sanji said, disgruntled.

“You’re smoking cigarettes to hide my smell.”

Sanji stubbed out his last one and sighed.  “Look marimo, I know this sucks, but I’ll figure it out—”

“Don’t take suppressants anymore.”

“What?” Sanji blinked.

“I didn’t want you to take them today,” Zoro said.

“What are you talking about?”

Zoro stood on the figurehead, balancing precariously as he began grinning.  He looked down at a shocked Sanji.

“I’m in love with you, curly cook.  I love you,” he said, the words lifting a weight off his chest, “I don’t know what the fuck is going on with the suppressants, but I’m glad they’re not working.  I’m glad that you’re stuck with me, and I’m glad to be stuck with you.”  He raised his arms in the air, laughter bubbling up his throat.  “I want you to be your stupid self with me all the time, not just one day a month.  I want it all.  I’m greedy, cook.  You make me greedy.”

He hopped down and stepped into Sanji’s space, leaning toward him and breathing him in.

“Choose me, cook,” he said, “I want you to have all of me, if you want it.”  He waited, half expecting Sanji to push him away and say that he wasn’t wanted.

Instead, Sanji kissed him, dragging him close, kissing him fierce.  His hands scrabbled up and down Zoro’s body, as if trying to touch every part of him at once.  Zoro held him, both arms wrapped around his waist, then broke their kiss to lift Sanji in the air, spinning them both around.

Sanji laughed, bright and cheerful.  And even as he did that, he asked, “Are you sure, Zoro, are you sure?”

“Yes, you idiot,” Zoro replied, putting him down and bringing their foreheads together, “I don’t care if it’s the fucking chemicals making me feel this way.  If it’s you, it’s okay.”

“Bold words from the unfazeable pirate hunter,” Sanji breathed out, “I thought Roronoa Zoro doesn’t need anyone to take care of him.”

“I don’t,” Zoro grinned, “I just want you.  That’s different.”

After considerable rolling of eyes, Sanji tucked his head into Zoro’s shoulder, scenting him.  He groaned, kissing the line of muscle on Zoro’s neck.  Zoro shuddered and felt Sanji trembling as well.

“What do you want, cook?” Zoro asked.

“Right now, I just want to sleep,” Sanji said, “That suppressant has made me drowsy all day.”

“Let’s go then,” Zoro said, dragging Sanji toward the bunkroom.  Thankfully, none of the others were ready for bed yet.  Standing with Sanji alone in the room, Zoro began the slow and careful task of shedding Sanji’s clothes.  He pushed Sanji’s hands away from Sanji tried to unbutton his shirt, insisting on doing it himself, as slow as it was.  When Sanji was down to his undershirt and briefs, Zoro pushed him toward the bed, then undressed down to his own underwear as quickly as he could before curling up next to Sanji.

“You’re okay just sleeping?” Sanji asked doubtfully.

“Just sleeping,” Zoro smiled, pulling the sheets over them and tangling his arms and legs with Sanji’s.  His nose against Sanji’s chest, Zoro breathed his fill.  How he would be able to fall asleep without Sanji again was unfathomable to him.  He felt Sanji’s head resting on top of his own, and fell asleep to murmured whispers that sounded like “I love you too.”

---

One week later

“Cook,” Zoro glared, watching Sanji put the finishing touches to a cake for the crew’s dinner.

“One second, mosshead, be patient,” Sanji said, giving him a look.  The beginnings of Zoro’s heat curled uncomfortably in his gut, and his fingers itched to grab Sanji by the tie and drag him to the storeroom.  Sanji had diligently prepared everything, but seemed to enjoy seeing Zoro grow more and more desperate as the minutes passed.

“Sanji,” Zoro hissed when Sanji opened a drawer and began organizing it, clearly doing this now to annoy Zoro.

With a huge grin on his face, Sanji turned to him, striding toward him and pushing him back against the kitchen door.  Their lips met, and Zoro growled into Sanji’s mouth, his cock hardening at Sanji pinning him so suddenly.

“I guess I can finish organizing the kitchen later,” Sanji said, voice low.  Zoro’s hand fumbled for the handle, opening it with them both still leaning on the door, and they spilled out onto the deck.

Nami was looking at them, unimpressed.

“Dinner is ready then, Sanji?” she asked.

“Yes, my dear,” Sanji answered, as Zoro pulled him to his feet and dragged him away.  “Lunchboxes are in the fridge, they’re color-coded.  Yours is orange, and—”

“She knows,” Zoro gritted out.  He opened the door to the storeroom, pushed Sanji down onto the cot, and began fumbling with his belt.

“Close the door, mosshead,” Sanji hissed.  Zoro stuck out a foot and kicked the door shut, then shed his own pants before turning back to Sanji.

Sanji moaned when Zoro freed his cock and immediately placed his mouth on the tip, kissing and sucking.

“Zoro, let me take care—” he tried to say.

“No thanks,” Zoro replied, before taking Sanji’s cock all the way to the hilt, easing open the back of his throat.  As he bobbed up and down, enjoying the taste as much as the smell of Sanji’s pleasure surrounding him, he reached for his own cock, the intensifying pressure becoming too much.

“Zoro, come here,” Sanji said softly, and Zoro released Sanji, sitting up and wiping his mouth.

“I told you, cook,” Zoro glared, “I want to do this.  It’s not always about me during my heats.”

“I know, I know,” Sanji said.  He sat up as well, fondness written openly on his face.  “Come here,” he repeated, and Zoro felt himself being turned around to face away from Sanji.  Confused, he looked over his shoulder, and then Sanji was dragging him to him by the hips until he was kneeling above Sanji’s head.

“Go ahead,” he heard Sanji say, then gasped when he felt Sanji’s mouth on his cock.  He bucked his hips automatically, and Sanji made a noise of approval as Zoro slid in and out of his mouth, tightening his lips to create just the right amount of pressure on Zoro’s aching dick.  Not to be outdone, Zoro leaned down and took Sanji’s into his own, licking strips up and down the shaft and mouthing at the base.

His head grew hazy as he continued moving his hips erratically, feeling Sanji’s cock swell under his ministrations.  He tried to keep up with the mounting pleasure in his own body while still focusing on Sanji, gasping around Sanji’s hard length as Sanji’s tongue swirled around his own.  The push and pull of this position was driving Zoro insane, seesawing between chasing his own release and wanting to make Sanji see stars.

Sanji eventually put his hands on Zoro’s hips, stopping him, and Zoro lifted away quickly, watching through blurry eyes as Sanji sat up, panting, mouth practically dripping with Zoro’s slick.

“Are you trying to drown and suffocate me at the same time?” he asked, voice hoarse.

Zoro flushed, “You should have—”

“It’s not a bad way to go,” Sanji said, tackling him back onto the bed and kissing him, letting Zoro taste himself on his lips.

“Want you,” Zoro said, wrapping his arms and legs around Sanji, trying to bring him closer.

“You have me,” Sanji replied.  He reached between his legs and fumbled awkwardly to line himself up with Zoro still clutching at him.

“Cook,” Zoro said, swallowing hard, “I want you to… Can you…”  Sanji looked up at him, confused, just the tip of his cock at Zoro’s entrance.  Too embarrassed to say the words, Zoro tapped the side of Sanji’s neck, lifting his own head to press his teeth against him.  He felt Sanji gasp when Zoro applied the faintest pressure.

“Okay, yes, okay, if you want that, Zoro,” Sanji said.

“I do,” Zoro said, “Want this to be official so my body stops telling me I need to chase you around the ship trying to seduce you into biting me like a fucking vampire.”

“Is that why you’ve been chasing me around the ship?”

“Why my body tells me to chase you around the ship.  It’s not like I want to.”

Sanji grinned down at him.  Zoro kicked him with his heel a few times.

“I’ll mark you, Zoro,” Sanji said quietly, “I want this bond to be made complete too.”

“Somewhere not too fucking obvious, cook,” Zoro warned.

“I know,” Sanji said, kissing him sweetly before suddenly slamming into him, filling Zoro completely and eliciting an embarrassingly loud moan from Zoro.  Sanji repeated the motion, leveraging the power of his hips fully into pounding hard and fast into Zoro, just the way he liked.

Zoro’s muffled cries and Sanji’s grunts filled the storeroom, as each of Sanji’s thrusts seemed to reach deeper into Zoro.

“Cook,” Zoro gasped, “I’m going to come.  Fuck, fuck, I’m going to—”

“Yes,” Sanji crooned in his ear, “Let me see you, Zoro.”

Zoro came at the sight of Sanji looking down at him, eyes so full of love it was almost painful.  He gritted his teeth as his head slammed backwards, fingers digging into Sanji’s back so hard he was certain he would draw blood.

“You look so good, Zoro, you’re amazing,” Sanji whispered as Zoro rode his high, wave after wave of his orgasm cresting over him.  When he finally calmed down, he glared at Sanji, taking shuddering breaths.

“You were supposed to—”  He pointed at his neck again.

“Later,” Sanji chuckled, “I want to make you feel good a little longer.”  He slowly extracted himself from Zoro, retrieving a bottle of juice and a handful of grapes.  He popped a grape in his own mouth, chewing slowly as he helped Zoro sit up and take a few sips.

He massaged Zoro’s thighs as Zoro ate, toweling him off as best he could.  Sanji was still hard, his cock erect and bobbing with each movement.  Zoro put the bottle aside and reached for Sanji, giving him a few tentative strokes.

“Ready for more?” Sanji asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Something slow this time,” Zoro said, “I want to have some control of my mind when you…. You know.”

“You will never be able to say it, will you?” Sanji laughed, “When I mark you?”  Zoro laid back on the blankets, looking up at the ceiling.  Sanji’s face appeared in his vision, dipping down to kiss Zoro’s forehead, before gathering him in his arms, his chest against Zoro’s back, both of them lying on their sides.

He entered Zoro agonizingly slow.  When he was fully seated, they both took in a deep breath and let it out together.  Sanji began pumping his hips, interlacing his fingers with Zoro’s across Zoro’s chest.

“This okay?” Sanji asked.

“Yeah,” Zoro said, reaching back and patting Sanji on the head.  At the pace Sanji was going, Zoro could feel Sanji’s entire length sliding in and out of him.  He closed his eyes, trying to commit the feeling to memory.  This was different from when Sanji pounded into him, hard and heavy.  It felt more… intimate, Zoro able to concentrate on the feeling of being filled over and over again.

“Can you come with just this?” Sanji asked.

“Touch me,” Zoro said, and Sanji immediately reached down and began stroking Zoro’s cock, nimble hand moving up and down at a faster pace than his thrusts.

“You’re going to do it, right?” Zoro asked, taking more shallow breaths as Sanji brought him closer and closer to his limit.

“I will, Zoro,” Sanji said, leaving tiny kisses on Zoro’s shoulder.  “Scared?” he asked, “This is a forever bond.”

“I want this,” Zoro said, “Have wanted this.”

Sanji began speeding up his movements.  Zoro met each of his thrusts, pushing back to allow Sanji to fuck deep into him, then pulling away to fuck up into Sanji’s hand.

“Zoro,” Sanji moaned, “I’m going to come, my knot, are you ready?”

“Come, Sanji,” Zoro ordered, and he heard Sanji’s cry, quickly muffled by clamping his teeth down on Zoro’s neck.

Pleasure-pain radiated from the spot Sanji bit, a wave of intimacy, desire, love washed over Zoro, and he was coming, babbling “I love you” over and over until he had no breath left, mouth open in a soundless cry.  Nothing could have prepared him for the feeling of Sanji marking him, mating with him, every part of him suddenly connected to, vividly interlocked with the man he loved.  Sanji’s knot inside him swelled, a pressure rather than pain, and Zoro gripped Sanji’s hand just as tight.  This was something Zoro never knew he wanted and wasn’t sure he could ever live without.

Sanji finally released his grip on Zoro’s neck, licking apologetically over the marks.

“Mosshead?” he said quietly, “Do you feel that?”

“Feel what?” Zoro muttered, knowing exactly what Sanji was referring to, the feeling that he couldn’t tell whose heart was beating in his own chest, his or Sanji’s.

“I love you,” Sanji said, “I love you, Zoro.”

“That’s the chemicals talking,” Zoro said dryly, wincing when Sanji poked him hard in the side.

“I love you,” Sanji repeated.

“I know, curly.”

He closed his eyes, feeling dangerously close to drifting to sleep.  His neck where Sanji had marked him throbbed, and he wondered what it looked like.  Sanji shifted behind him and then he felt a cool towel on his neck.

“Does it hurt?” Sanji asked.

“No, it doesn’t,” Zoro said.

“Can you sleep like this?”

“Of course,” Zoro smiled, letting Sanji’s fingers running through his hair lull him to sleep.

---

Two weeks later

“Mosshead,” Sanji called as Zoro jumped off the ship, “Hellooooo, mosshead, don’t go running off, you’re going to get lost.”

“I’m not,” Zoro said, giving his partner a baleful look, “And anyways, you’ll find me.”

“I will,” Sanji grinned.  He blew him a kiss, which Zoro pretended to dodge.  Sauntering away, he couldn’t keep a matching smile off his face.

Since forming their bond, it was easier to be away from Sanji for longer periods of his time.  His dumbass body, as if knowing that its alpha partner was secured, no longer curved inexorably toward wherever Sanji was.  Whether or not he liked being away from Sanji was another thing.  But he had set his mind on finding a gift for Sanji on this island, and he couldn’t very well do it with Sanji in tow.

Zoro peered at various offerings in the market he found, trying to figure out which one of them would make a good present.  Sanji was the Gifts guy, always finding something that would make Zoro happy.

He frowned at a collection of cufflinks.  Sanji had educated him about the importance of cufflinks, and Zoro had promptly let all of that information leave his brain as soon as possible.  His eyes stopped on a set of rings, hanging off thin silver chains.

“What’s this?” he asked.

“For bonded pairs,” the merchant said.

“What do you mean bonded pairs?”

“Alpha omega pairs,” the man said, giving Zoro a look like he was an idiot, “To symbolize their bond.”  Zoro sighed.  The cook would be over the moon about his kind of shit.

“How much?” he asked.  He balked at first at the price, but thought about the silly, happy look that would come across Sanji’s face and bought the necklaces.  He took a closer look at them as he walked away, and grimaced at how the ring labeled “Omega” was smaller and meant to fit in the other, labeled “Alpha.”  He tore off the labels, put the larger ring necklace around his neck, and put the other back in the box.

When he eventually found Sanji again (Zoro refused to admit that it was Sanji who found him and brought him back to the ship), he handed the smaller ring necklace to Sanji without any commentary.

“What’s this?” Sanji asked.

“Present,” Zoro said.  He fished his ring out of his shirt collar and showed Sanji quickly before tucking it away again.  “It’s for bonded pairs,” he said.

“Oh,” Sanji said, flushing a pretty pink, “Zoro, that’s really— thank you.”  Zoro watched as Sanji happily slipped the necklace around his neck, admiring the ring before tucking it into his shirt.  He took Zoro’s hand, humming happily as they walked back home.

Zoro squeezed Sanji’s hand, enjoying the faint ripple of their bond flaring in his chest at being in contact with Sanji again.  Sanji squeezed back, giving him a smile as he pat his chest where his new ring sat under his shirt.

When they made it home, he cornered Usopp in his workshop and shoved his ring toward him.

“Can you make it a little smaller?” Zoro asked quietly.

“Um, yeah, I can,” Usopp said, taking it from him.  He began working, looking up curiously as Zoro took a seat nearby.  “Who’s it for?” he asked.

“None of your business,” Zoro said.

“Cool,” Usopp replied, immediately focusing on his work.

“It’s a symbol,” Zoro said finally.

“For what?”

“Partnership,” Zoro said.

“It’s nice,” Usopp nodded, cutting a small section off from the band and looking around for pliers to bend it back in shape.

When he finished, Zoro thanked their sniper, slipped the ring back around his neck, and went to find Sanji.

“Drink,” Sanji said, pointing at a cup on the table, “You’ve been looking a little tired in the mornings, need more B12.”

“You’re the reason I’m tired in the morning,” Zoro muttered, enjoying the creep of red on the back of Sanji’s neck.  Sanji straightened up from his task of peeling potatoes, washed his hands, and sat next to Zoro, hip to hip, shoulder to shoulder.

“Has anyone ever told you you’re very clingy?” Zoro asked.

“You have.”

“True,” Zoro said.

“Should I give you some more space?” Sanji asked innocently.

“No,” Zoro said, grabbing onto Sanji when he tried to scooch away, his alpha laughing merrily as Zoro wrapped his arms around his waist possessively.

Greedy.  Sanji made Zoro greedy.