Chapter Text
The fruit is gone from the windowsill when Sanji wakes, his eyes still adjusting to the light. That’s good, he thinks to himself. The snail is still hiding inside its shell, but this is definitely a start.
Then he realizes he’s extremely warm on one side, despite the futon blanket being thrown off somewhere to the side in the night. Luffy is sprawled half on top of him, leg draped over Sanji’s own, arm wormed around Sanji's body at least twice like he’s trying to keep Sanji in place, ending with his hand pressed up against Sanji’s bare chest, underneath the buttons of his wrinkled shirt. His face is pushed against Sanji’s clavicle and he’s snoring soundly. Sanji thinks he can feel where Luffy’s drool has slid down the side of his neck.
He goes rigid immediately, his mind ablur. Luffy’s arm is secure around his whole frame, though it’s not constricting him, just keeping him in place. Idly, a half-remembered dream floats to the forefront of his brain: laying flat in a giant, open palm…but it becomes hazier and hazier with each passing second.
How to get out of this? Does he even…want to? He feels…
Luffy turns his face upwards and yawns wide. He releases his hold on Sanji, unwinding his arm so he can stretch both of them above his head like a lazy cat.
Sanji takes the opportunity to immediately scramble to his feet and duck out of the hut while Luffy is busy rubbing the sleep from his eyes.
Why is his heart pounding? Why is he suddenly cold?
Magnolia is passing by when he emerges. “Oh, good, you’re up. I was just about to come by and wake you boys.”
Self-consciously, Sanji smooths down his hair. He must look like a mess. He can still feel Luffy’s dried drool starting to crust over on the side of his neck. “Good morning. I’m sorry, I…usually wake up much earlier, but…” But he’d been exhausted, and last night had been the first time in several days that he got any proper rest, except for…a half-forgotten dream…a large, looming presence overhead… He schools his features, falling back into his customer service voice. “If you give me a moment, I can get started on breakfast.”
She gives him a strange look. “You might be your ship’s cook, but you’re not here to be our cook, you know. Don’t you worry about it. You two were probably exhausted.” She hands him a woven basket, similar to the one Marquette had been carrying when she found them. Inside are two folded towels and a bar of soap. “Why don’t the two of you wash up while I make breakfast? If you follow that path,” she gestures with her hand towards a pathway behind the storage hut, “and make a left, it’ll take you to a small waterfall and pool that we use for bathing. The kids have already washed, so you won’t be disturbed.”
A bath sounds heavenly right about now, even one in cold, running water. “Thank you,” he says gratefully. Then he hesitates, not sure if it’s the right time to broach the subject yet. “We saw your mother last night…”
Magnolia’s polite smile doesn’t falter. “I know.” She looks from side to side, like she’s on the lookout for someone overhearing. “My aunt won’t want me telling you this, but my mother…she has her moments of clarity. If you wait for one of them, I’m sure you’d be able to get some more answers.”
“Thank you,” he says again, this time giving a small bow.
“Go on and wash up,” Magnolia replies warmly. “I’ll see you at breakfast.”
She goes on her way, and Sanji sets the basket down at the foot of the steps leading up to the hut. He takes a deep breath before pushing back inside.
“Oi, Luffy,” he says, all business. Luffy is sitting up in the futon now, but seems to have fallen back asleep in the position, chin pressed into his chest. Sanji raises a foot and nudges him, tipping him off balance.
“Ahh!” Luffy cries out as he’s knocked over, but he quickly rights himself, rubbing at his eyes. “Huh, it’s morning already?”
“We need to bathe,” Sanji says, slipping his shoes back on. “We’re disgusting.”
“Bathe?” Luffy looks put out. “But it’s only been…” He counts on his fingers, folding one down at a time. “…well, I don’t remember how many days, but it hasn’t been that long!”
“You’re filthy,” Sanji informs him.
Luffy grumbles under his breath, but makes no further protest as he gets to his feet. Sanji folds the futon up in a neat bundle, and sets it off to the side.
Despite the fact that it’s morning, it’s already hot by the time they reach the waterfall, which gathers in a shallow, irregular pool at the base before running off further into a stream, similar to the waterfall Sanji had come across the first morning they woke up on the island. There are laundry lines strung up between some of the trees, clearly used by the family, as well as some woven chairs around a small, put-out fire pit under the shade.
“It looks fairly shallow, but be careful,” Sanji cautions as Luffy, who had perked up significantly on the walk over, kicks off his sandals and places his hat on a large rock.
“Yahoo!” Luffy yells as he jumps right into the water, head disappearing under the gentle ripple.
For a second, Sanji’s heart stops. Then Luffy emerges, breaking free and shaking his head back and forth like a dog, sending water droplets flying everywhere. The water ends around his mid-chest, hiding the bottom half of his X scar. Sanji deflates. “Oi, be careful,” he chides. “What if it was any deeper?”
“Don’t worry, Sanji, I can stand!” Luffy says, splashing around delightedly.
“Here, give me your clothes. I’ll wash them.” He begins to strip his own clothes methodically, leaving his shoes in the shade by the woven chairs. This by far isn’t the first time they’ve had to do this, but for some reason, he can’t bring himself to look at Luffy.
Luffy’s clothes, in a sopping bundle, land with a wet squelch somewhere near his feet. Sanji tsks, though Luffy himself is busy exploring the outer edges of the pool.
There’s a washing board propped against the banks. Sanji, crouched by the edge of the pool, makes quick work scrubbing his and Luffy’s clothes with the bar of soap Magnolia had given him, watching the dirt and grime swirl away in the moving current. It feels like an eternity since he’d picked out that blue shirt from his locker in the Sunny, and seeing the dark pinstripes reveal themselves in full color under the haze of filth makes him feel infinitely better.
He hangs their clothes on the line, hoping that the heat of the direct sun will get them dry quick enough. Luffy had washed up on shore still in the bandages Chopper had wrapped around him after Whole Cake Island, though those are now long gone. Marquette had dug up one of her father’s old t-shirts to give to him before dinner last night; Sanji hangs that one up last.
Then he finally wades into the water himself, staying in the shady area off to the side as he quickly works the soap into a lather and rinses himself off. The water is a bit cooler than he would have preferred, but it’s incredibly refreshing nonetheless. He scrubs the scum off his scalp, from underneath his fingers, from behind his ears, dunking his head below the surface. It’s the cleanest he’s felt in a long while.
“Luffy!” he calls out when he’s finished washing himself. Luffy’s busy looking at something over on the other end of the pool, closer to the waterfall, his elbows propped up on the rocky ledge. He still turns around when Sanji tosses the bar of soap over to him, catching it deftly.
“I found an Atlas beetle!” he says exuberantly, wading closer to the center. “It’s building its nest now.”
Sanji makes a face. “Gross.”
“Naw, they’re the coolest! They’re one of the largest beetles in the world, they’re a subfamily of the Rhinoceros beetle! They can lift several times their own weight—that’s how they transport around food and build shelters and stuff! They’re especially found in tropical climates like this one.” As he talks, he scrubs himself carelessly with the soap, clearly too excited to concentrate on properly washing. Sanji hates bugs, but seeing Luffy so passionate about the subject makes something fond unfold in his chest.
Luffy gives a cursory scrub over his hair with soapy hands, then dunks his head underwater, and reappears a second later. “All done!”
“You can’t be serious,” Sanji deadpans.
Luffy pouts. “What? I washed!”
Sanji heaves a long-suffering sigh, then wades in the water closer to Luffy. “Come here.”
Luffy narrows his eyes and pouts, but he doesn’t protest, moving until he’s in front of Sanji, back facing Sanji’s front. Sanji takes the soap from his hands, works a good amount into a generous lather between his palms, then puts the bar back in Luffy’s hands.
“Hold that for now,” he says as he begins washing Luffy’s hair with his sudsy hands. “I might need more later, ‘cause I know your hair is filthy.”
“Heh,” Luffy snickers. “Maybe so. How come your hair looks so nice all the time?”
Sanji ignores the flush rising in his cheeks, focusing on working the dirt off of Luffy’s scalp. He scrapes his fingernails up and down, up and down, working from forehead to nape, like he would with his own hair if he had the luxury of time. “Because I wash my hair and take care of it,” he says.
“Yeah, you have a lot of products and stuff in the bathroom on the Sunny,” Luffy says, humming. “That feels really nice, Sanji.”
The flush continues to rise. Sanji continues to scrub. He doesn’t respond, and he’s glad Luffy is not facing him. He works the soap behind Luffy’s ears, rubbing in small circles. Luffy hums again.
“I didn’t know washing your hair could feel this good…” he mumbles, tilting his head back further so that Sanji can see his face from above. His eyes are closed, his mouth curved into a soft smile, droplets of water clinging to his eyelashes. Sanji stares. Then Luffy opens his eyes, and he looks away.
“It should feel good, if you do it right. Didn’t anyone ever teach you how to clean yourself?”
“Not really,” Luffy answers bluntly. Oh, right. Tossed into the jungle, raised by mountain bandits and ruffians.
“Right, sorry…”
“Hey, Sanji.”
“Yeah?”
“Remember how we said we would tell each other stuff?”
“Yeah?” He’s about done scrubbing Luffy’s head. All there’s left to do is get him rinsed off.
Luffy blinks up at him guilelessly, then reaches up with one arm to touch Sanji’s cheek, droplets of water running down his arm. “Well. You’re really pretty, Sanji. You’re all wet and you’re washing my hair. You look really pretty.”
Sanji dunks him underwater.
“All done,” he chokes out, holding Luffy’s head down while the rest of him flails around. What the fuck? What the fuck?
The swirl in his gut is back, stronger than ever. He ignores Luffy’s underwater blubbering, shaking his head back and forth. It’s…well, Luffy says essentially whatever he’s thinking. That’s nothing new. It’s not so unusual for him to compliment his friends, is it?
…Is it?
Sanji thinks back. Has Luffy ever said that about anyone on the crew before? Or about anyone, full stop?
He lets go of Luffy’s head, taking a step back in the water. Luffy bursts forth, sucking in gulps of air.
“Sanjiii!” he whines. There are still soap suds running down his face, the haphazard dunk not enough to wash it all out. “What was that for?!”
“Time to rinse off,” Sanji says. “C’mon, we have to go eat breakfast.”
“Breakfast?!” At once, Luffy dips back underwater to cleanse the remaining soap from his head.
Sanji gets out of the water, dries himself off, and leaves one towel out by the rocks for Luffy. Then he checks on their clothes—they’re still slightly damp, but they’ll have to do for now. He pulls his clothes back on, then roughly towel dries his hair.
Behind him, Luffy is drying off too, babbling about the beetle once again.
His wet hair is a mess, sticking to his forehead in the front, the sun at his back making the normally dark locks shine bright. Water droplets cling to his skin, drip down his face, hang off his eyelashes. His smile, as always, is blinding.
‘You too,’ Sanji thinks, unbidden. ‘You look pretty, too.’
*
Luffy holds court with the triplets over eggs, toast, and fruit. They beg him to tell a tale of one of his adventures, and he obliges, happily taking the shares of their food that they offer in return.
“And then it turns out that he could detach parts of himself and make them fly around,” Luffy explains, gesturing boisterously around mouthfuls of scrambled egg. Sanji listens with interest; this is an early story from before he joined the crew. “He ate, like, the Slice-Slice Fruit or…something like that!”
“The clown did?!” Bastion says, mouth hanging open.
“Yeah! Although I’m not really sure why he’s a clown. That has nothing to do with his powers…I guess he’s just weird like that.”
Next to Sanji, Marquette taps him on the shoulder. “Sanji-san, if you don’t mind,” she says timidly, the tips of her ears glowing as she pushes a pen and notepad towards him, “could you give us the recipe from last night?”
“Of course,” Sanji smiles. He takes the pen and paper from her and begins writing down a set of detailed instructions, the same as the one he’d copied down as Zeff dictated all those years ago. Idly, he listens to Luffy with half an ear as he writes.
“And then…he turned into some kind of car? I think?” Luffy makes a frustrated noise as he struggles to remember. Sanji’s not looking up, but he can picture him now: hand on his chin, face all scrunched up, nose wrinkled in the way it gets when he’s thinking too hard. “Ahh, I can’t remember! But anyways, we defeated him! And then later, we…did something else? And we defeated him again!”
Despite the glaring holes in the story, the three boys are hanging onto every word. “Wow!” one of them breathes—Sanji can’t tell who without looking. “How did you defeat him?!”
“I sent him flying with my Gum Gum Bazooka!” Luffy replies. The kids collectively make noises of wonder and awe.
Sanji smiles to himself, putting the finishing touches on his final written recipe.
After breakfast, Sanji makes sure to leave another piece of fruit for the snail that is still sitting on the windowsill. It hasn’t scurried off, which is a good sign. In fact, it pops its two eyes out of its shell when Sanji leaves a slice of banana in front of it, blinking up at him curiously.
“Eat up,” Sanji says. It blinks a few more times between him and the banana chunk, before beginning to slide over to the fruit.
That’s good. Shouldn’t be too much longer until he could set it up to make actual transmissions, hopefully.
Afterwards, they head to the beach on Sanji’s request to scope for any sign of the Sunny, or any other ships period. At this point, Sanji has improved at the art of compartmentalization; it’s easy to forget about the outside world when he’s here with Luffy, especially with the strange moments that have been happening here. They leave Sanji’s head abuzz and full of too many thoughts, none of which are related to their missing ship and crew.
Secretly, Sanji’s craving his cigarettes, too. He’s been trying to distract himself, and thus kept missing his opportunities to smoke any when they would periodically disappear and reappear in his pocket. He’s hoping to snag a smoke by actually going to the beach this time.
“Don’t you think it’s weird, though, that they haven’t shown up yet?” Sanji says as he pushes back a large palm frond, keeping his eye on the path. Luffy doesn’t have a bad sense of direction, necessarily, not like the idiot swordsman. It’s more that he doesn’t really care where he ends up, so if left to his own devices, will often wander off aimlessly at the first sign of anything that catches his interest.
“Who?”
Sanji turns to stare at Luffy. “The Sunny. Nami-san, Brook, Chopper, Carrot. Everyone!”
“Mmm.” Luffy frowns thoughtfully. “I guess so? It’s only been like a day though, right?”
“A day? Luffy, it’s been like…” Sanji counts on his fingers. Well, the first night where they slept on the beach. And technically the night before that, too. And then last night…and…was there one more in addition to that? Or one less? “…it’s been like, a few days,” he finishes lamely.
“Eh, really? I feel like it’s only been a day,” Luffy says. “Or at least, I feel like no time is passing at all! It’s cause I like spending time with you, Sanji, heh heh.”
“I…like spending time with you, too…” Sanji says weakly.
He still hasn’t internally confronted what happened this morning. Or the night before, to be honest. What Luffy had said before his hunger interrupted things. About Sanji getting married. And not liking it.
Well. Sanji’s not gay, but…well. Why is he even thinking that? What does that have to do with anything? Luffy is an affectionate guy. He’s always known that about his captain. It’s just that all the casual touching…the compliments…the pretty thing. It’s messing with his head.
Besides, it’s Luffy, who knows him and his soul better than anyone else on the planet. Who dove in head first against one of the Four Emperors, and against his father—no, against Vinsmoke Judge—to save him. Who listened to his request to save his family and took it as a given, with a smile. He can’t feel anything that resembles negativity towards Luffy, point blank.
So why is he so confused?
It’s this island, maybe. He decides that it is, because that’s an easier solution to accept than any alternative right now.
They reach the beach shortly after and, to Sanji’s relief, the five cigarettes are lying in the sun on the flat rock he’d left them in. It still gives him the creeps, but he’d rather have the nicotine hit over anything else right now.
“Hey,” Luffy says, peeking over Sanji’s shoulder. “Can I try one of those?”
“Uh, sure. I guess.”
Sanji is expecting him to reach out for the lit cigarette between his fingers. He holds it out, but Luffy circumvents it and grabs one of the dried out cigarettes still on the rock.
“Oh, let me—” Sanji reaches into his pocket to get his lighter, but Luffy pops the entire cigarette into his mouth and swallows it whole.
Sanji’s eyes bulge out of his head. “What the fuck.”
“Blegh,” Luffy sputters, sticking his tongue out and making a face. “Gross! I think that was worse than the pepper stem.”
“Why…did you do that…” Sanji feels weak.
“你……为什么这么做……”山治感到无力。
“I said I was going to eat whatever you gave me, right? And I thought it would pretty much taste the same as smoking it, right?” Luffy has already recovered from the taste, it seems, absentmindedly digging his pinky finger inside his ear. The thing is, Sanji can tell that the logic makes perfect sense inside Luffy’s mind.
“我说了你给我什么我就吃什么，对吧？我还以为味道跟抽烟差不多呢，对吧？”路飞似乎已经从那股味道中回过神来，心不在焉地用小指抠着耳朵。问题是，山治能看出路飞的脑子里逻辑很通顺。
“I…okay. Please don’t do that again.”
“我……好的。请不要再这样了。”
“Okay!” “好的！”
Distantly, he wonders if the fourth cigarette is going to disappear and reappear inside Luffy’s stomach forever now.
他恍惚地想，第四支香烟是否会永远消失，然后又出现在路飞的胃里。
Yeah, they need to get off this island.
是的，他们需要离开这个岛。
The rest of their time on the beach is spent building a large bonfire that, Sanji hopes, will catch the attention of the Sunny. Or any other ship, honestly. As long as one arrives, they’ll be able to get to its Transponder Snail, even if they have to defeat whoever is on board to get to it. They’re on the leeward side of the island, which he hopes will allow for the smoke signal to burn for a significant enough chunk of time.
他们在海滩上剩下的时间都用来堆一堆大篝火了，山治希望这能引起“阳光号”的注意。或者说，真的，任何其他船都行。只要有一艘船过来，他们就能找到它的应答器蜗牛，哪怕要打败船上的任何人才能找到它。他们现在在岛的背风面，山治希望这能让烟雾信号燃烧足够长的时间。
He makes sure to dig a deep enough trench around the fire pit that he tasks Luffy with lining with large stones; that way, the embers won’t accidentally creep out of line and set the jungle or beach ablaze. Sanji takes the liberty of lighting the large bonfire stack with Diable Jambe. It would be some work trying to get it to catch with the puny flames of his lighter, at this size.
他确保在火坑周围挖了一条足够深的沟，并让路飞用大石头垫好；这样余烬就不会意外蔓延到外面，烧毁丛林或海滩。山治擅自用恶魔之眼点燃了巨大的篝火堆。要用打火机微弱的火焰点燃这么大的篝火，可不是件容易的事。
“Nice!” Luffy says once the flames start licking up the sides of the dry wood after spreading through the kindling across the bottom. Sanji is reasonably sure that Luffy doesn’t really know what the fire signal is for, and had just gone along with it because he always enjoys a big fire. “Man, if only we had a chunk of meat to roast over this!”
“真棒！”火焰从底部的引火物蔓延到干柴的边缘，路飞说道。山治相当肯定路飞根本不知道火警信号是干什么用的，只是顺着火势走而已，因为他一直都喜欢大火。“伙计，要是能在这上面烤块肉就好了！”
“If only,” Sanji agrees. This would be good for Sea King meat, or anything else particularly large.
“要是能就好了。”山治同意道。这东西用来做海王肉，或者其他特别大的东西都很合适。
“One time, me, Ace, and Sabo caught a huuuge alligator in the river,” Luffy says, watching the flames dance. The sun is high in the sky by now, and the added heat of the fire, plus the work it had taken to haul the firewood and stones, has raised a thin sheen of sweat over his skin that glistens doubly from the fire and the sun. Sanji finds himself staring. “And we built a fire like this to roast it, only we ended up almost burning our treehouse down. But we were able to save it. Man, the alligator tasted good, too!”
“有一次，我、艾斯和萨博在河里抓了一条巨型鳄鱼，”路飞一边说着，一边看着火焰飞舞。此时太阳高高挂在空中，火堆的热量，加上搬运柴火和石头的劳作，让他的皮肤上渗出了一层薄薄的汗珠，在火和阳光的照射下闪闪发光。山治发现自己正盯着路飞。“我们生了这么一堆火来烤它，结果差点把树屋烧了。不过我们总算把它救了出来。哥们，那条鳄鱼也太好吃了吧！”
“Sounds like you haven’t changed much,” Sanji says.
“听起来你没什么变化，”山治说。
Luffy chuckles, one hand on his hip and the other perched atop his straw hat. He tilts his head up, following the column of smoke that travels up into the air, black and billowing. Then all at once, his expression changes, turning serious.
路飞轻笑一声，一手叉腰，一手扶着草帽。他仰起头，顺着滚滚黑烟升上天空。突然，他的表情一变，变得严肃起来。
“Come,” he says, grabbing hold of Sanji’s arm and pulling him into the treeline, so they’re under the canopy and no longer exposed on the beach.
“来吧，”他说道，抓住山治的胳膊，把他拉到树林里，这样他们就到了树冠下，不再暴露在海滩上。
“What is it?” “什么事？”
Then, Sanji feels it. The huge, winged creature—the one he’d convinced himself he created in his dream. It’s not directly overhead, but it’s near, moving like a great shadow somewhere high above the clouds, its sheer scale and presence making everything in Sanji’s body go tight like a coil.
然后，山治感觉到了。那巨大的、长着翅膀的生物——那个他确信自己在梦中创造出来的生物。它不在正上方，但就在附近，像一个巨大的影子一样在云层之上移动，它巨大的体型和存在感让山治浑身发紧，如同缠绕在一起。
Luffy had sensed it before him. Since when had his observation haki been so keen?
路飞比他先感受到了，他的霸气观察力什么时候这么敏锐了？
“It’s back,” Sanji whispers. He’s not even sure what it is, but anything that gets even Luffy on high alert can’t be a good sign.
“它回来了。”山治低声说道。他甚至不确定那是什么，但任何能让路飞都高度警惕的东西都不是好兆头。
Luffy doesn’t respond right away. Sanji studies him, his grip still tight around Sanji’s wrist, right above one of the golden bracelets Reiju had placed on him. He’s intently focused, a frown marring his usually cheerful features, furrow between his brow. Sanji wonders if he’s going to use conqueror’s haki to drive it off again. Surely that can’t work forever, though. Can it?
路飞没有立刻回应。山治打量着他，手仍然紧紧地握着山治的手腕，就在蕾玖给他戴的金手镯上方。他全神贯注，一丝皱眉破坏了他平时开朗的面容，眉头紧锁。山治心想，他是不是要用霸王色霸气再把它赶走。不过，这肯定不会永远奏效。真的吗？
Suddenly, Luffy relaxes, his brow smoothing out and his grip on Sanji’s arm letting up, though he doesn’t let go.
突然间，路飞放松了下来，他的眉头舒展开来，抓着山治手臂的手也松开了，但并没有放手。
“It’s okay,” he states, glancing around the jungle, towards the beach, up at the sky. “It’s not going to hurt us.”
“What? What is it, exactly?”
“I don’t really know.”
“Then how do you know it’s not going to come for us? Shouldn’t we just fight it?” The two of them together, Sanji bets, could take down just about anything, no matter how big.
“Nah,” Luffy says, regaining his usual cheerfulness. “It doesn’t want to hurt us or fight us. I think it’s looking for someone.”
“How can you know that?”
Luffy shrugs, then finally notices he still has a hold of Sanji’s wrist. He lets it go, then rubs the back of his head. “I dunno. I just do! It’s just…a gut feeling I have, sorta!”
“A gut feeling. I see,” Sanji says. “And following those usually works out for you?”
“Pretty much!” Luffy smiles wide.
Well. Sanji can’t really argue with that, he supposes. They’ve all gotten this far, after all.
He adds this—thing to the list to question Marina about the next time they speak to her. Or Aunt Martine, honestly. He knows she knows way more than she lets on.
“Let’s just hope it finds what it’s looking for and doesn’t come back, then,” Sanji declares.
As they venture back into the jungle to return to the settlement, Luffy’s hand finds Sanji’s wrist again, taking hold of it gently. Sanji doesn’t move away.
*
There is much commotion buzzing around the huts when they make it back. The triplets are zooming about joyously, and Marquette is busy hauling out several smaller charcoal grills around the large central firepit.
“What’s going on?” Sanji asks her as they approach.
“You’re back! Papa’s home! Papa’s home!” Banks cries as he latches onto the leg of Luffy’s shorts.
“Your dad came back?” Luffy says, humoring Banks and ruffling his head. “That’s awesome!”
“He returned while you two were on the beach,” Marquette explains. “He docks his ship on the windward side at the base of the mountain, so you both must have missed him when you went the opposite way.”
“So what’s all this?”
“Well, Papa comes home with a whole boatload of supplies, so we normally have a bit of a party. Of course, you two are invited.”
“A party?!” Instantly, Luffy’s eyes are glittering. “With food? Does that mean a feast? Meat?!”
“Yes,” Marquette laughs. “This time, we have meat. He brings back enough to last us a certain amount, and then we go back to living off the land until his next trip.”
Luffy leaps into the air, hooting with excitement, the three boys following suit in his exuberance. Sanji watches with fondness unfolding in his chest.
“You two are back,” Magnolia says as she emerges from the kitchen hut. “Just in time! Honey, come out here! These are the boys I was telling you about.”
From the hut comes out a portly, middle-aged man with a thick mustache and the beginnings of silver peeking through his otherwise dark hair. He resembles the three triplets greatly, Sanji observes. They have the same nose, the same set of their chins, even at the boys’ young age.
“This is my husband, Ballard,” Magnolia introduces.
“I’m Monkey D. Luffy!” Luffy says, still bouncing about, one hand keeping his straw hat in place. “I’m gonna be King of the Pirates!”
“Pirates, eh?” Ballard says, eyes crinkling upwards.
“Don’t mind him,” Sanji says. “I’m Sanji. Yes, we’re pirates, but we’re not here to cause any trouble.”
“Met plenty o’ pirates in my time, good and bad. Doesn’t bother me,” Ballard replies. He otherwise sticks close to his wife.
“Don’t mind him.” Magnolia slaps her husband lightly on the shoulder. “He’s a man of few words, but he means well. Don’t you, honey?”
“Suppose so.”
“Sanji here is a world-class cook, Papa,” Marquette adds, looking furtively at Sanji through the corners of her eyes. “He made curry last night that even the boys wanted to eat.”
“Now that, I’d like to see,” Ballard remarks, his mustache curving into a smile.
“I just shared the recipe with Marquette this morning,” Sanji replies.
Luffy gets bored of the niceties fast and runs off somewhere with the triplets. Sanji, in order to be polite, stays behind.
“So you were restocking? How far away is it to the nearest port?”
“Far away?” Ballard squints, looking into the distance. “Eh. ‘Bout a day there and back, I suppose…but gotta wait for conditions to be right, and all.”
“Conditions?”
Next to him, Magnolia shifts on her feet. “Honey…”
“You know, gotta wait for the strike of lightning.”
“Ballard,” Aunt Martine says, suddenly materializing at his elbow. “Why don’t you continue stocking up the pantry? We’ll need to take inventory before tonight.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he agrees, looking a bit glad for the excuse to take his leave. Glancing uneasily between Sanji and Aunt Martine, Magnolia follows.
“I don’t really understand,” Sanji says, fighting to keep his composure. Aunt Martine is a stern, severe woman, he’s come to realize. “Why all the cloak and dagger? What is it that you all are trying to hide?”
“Not hide,” Aunt Martine responds pointedly. “Protect.”
“Fine, then. What is it you’re trying to protect? I mean, why let us into your home at all if you’re just going to keep secrets?”
She narrows her eyes at him and falls back into her pursed-lips posture. “My family has been here for many generations. We serve a purpose. Visitors are few and far between, and the ones that do come every once in a generation do not end up on these shores by happenstance.”
Sanji opens his mouth, about to barrage her with more questions, when she tosses a small box at him. He catches it, surprised to see an opened carton of cigarettes in his hands.
“Here,” she says, somewhat sourly. “Ballard smokes too. He’s happy to share. Now we won’t have to see you lose your marbles patting your pockets down every time your shriveled up smokes disappear.”
“…Thanks?” He’s unsure if she’s insulting him or not. Regardless, he tears the plastic packaging off the carton and tips out a fresh cigarette immediately, lighting it and letting the smoke seep into his lungs. “Nice deflection, by the way,” he adds, breathing out smoke as she turns to leave.
“Hn.”
“Let me just ask you one thing,” he calls after she’s a few feet away. She stops, her hands folded behind her back. She doesn’t turn to face him, though Sanji can tell she’s listening. “On the beach today, we felt…something. Something big. A creature. And we’ve felt it before, too…is that it? Is that what you’re protecting?”
Aunt Martine turns slightly so he can see her profile; she’s cracked a smile. “So you’ve seen her. The Great One.” She turns back around. “I told you, there is no such thing as a coincidence on this island.”
And she saunters off.
*
Magnolia absolutely insists on doing the cooking for the party, despite Sanji’s offer. He’s not going to force the woman out of her own kitchen, so he graciously bows out.
At Luffy’s request (begging), however, he convinces her to at the very least let him grill the meats that Ballard has brought back, provided she does all the marinating, seasoning, and prep work. And he’s convinced her to let him cook breakfast the following morning, arguing that she’ll be tired from all the work tonight.
There’s not much to it after that; the skewers and slabs of various steaks cook up fast, especially given that there are multiple grills, plus the firepit, when he’s used to working with a haphazardly thrown together fire in the middle of some forest, or on some beach, or in the ruins of some castle.
Luffy is over the moon, and Sanji, crossing his legs, resigns himself to watching him mess with the triplets for the rest of the night. This time, Luffy’s telling them about Laboon and what it was like to be swallowed whole by the whale. Part of Sanji aches when Luffy recounts their contest of strength—those were simpler times, back then. Getting swallowed by a whale and meeting the man who lived inside of it; sleeping straight through a brawl with an underground bounty-hunting organization; fighting dinosaurs and prehistoric beasts. When he was so deep into playing pretend that he’d forgotten it was pretend at all. The only worries he had were the wind at his back and the idea of the All Blue in front of him. And of course, feeding the crew and dealing with whatever life-threatening nonsense Luffy got them into.
Ballard is diagonal from them, quietly drinking from a tankard on his own, mustache twitching in amusement as he, too, listens to Luffy’s wild retelling. He catches Sanji’s eye.
“Care for one?” He holds up his tankard.
Sanji usually only partakes in a glass or two after he’s done cooking, which he guesses he is for the night. “Go on, why not?” He pushes his empty tankard over, and Ballard fills it from the pitcher left out on the table.
It’s not too bad of an ale, though he generally prefers wine; Ballard had loaded barrels of the stuff into his ship’s storage, and it’s perfectly passable. Maybe not strong enough for a liver-killer like the marimo, but it suits Sanji just fine.
Luffy, by now, has jumped up on the table to finish his tale with a flourish. “So finally, I told him that I would be back for a rematch! After I was done sailing around the world!” He lifts his arm up, pretending to paint. “Then I painted my Jolly Roger symbol all over his face so that he’d know I was coming back, and so he wouldn’t get his nose all scratched up anymore!”
“Whoa…so when you enter the Grand Line, everyone sees a giant whale with your symbol on it?” Bastion asks, eyes alight.
“Hmm,” Luffy hums. “I never thought about what people after me would see, but…I guess so! Heh, that’s a good thing. They’ll all know he’s waiting for me.”
Bastion, Banks, and Baron proceed to engage in what can only be called hero worship, pretending to bow down at Luffy’s feet on top of the picnic table.
“Nooo, stop! I’m not a hero, I’m a pirate! Don’t think of me as a hero!” Luffy says gleefully; they’re giving up their leftovers in offering on plates above their heads, pushing them towards Luffy.
“You’re just as bad as Chopper,” Sanji remarks as Luffy unapologetically swipes their food. “Always fishing for compliments.”
Luffy is too busy demonstrating his impression of Sanji to answer, complete with a fake cigarette and a fake-curled eyebrow. The boys howl with laughter.
“Alrighty then,” Sanji says, amused. He drains his cup; he’s about to ask for a refill when he notices Marquette catching his eye from the next table, and he weighs his options before ultimately getting up and scooting onto the end of the bench next to her. He braces his elbows on his knees and gets out a cigarette. God, he’s glad Ballard brought these back. The cardboard carton feels familiar and grounding in his hands.
Marquette tucks a lock of hair behind her ear shyly, turning her round eyes to him. “Are you enjoying yourself, Sanji-san? Have you had enough to eat?”
“More than,” Sanji smiles. “Say, would you happen to have the recipe for those stuffed peppers? Luffy really liked them. Normally he tends to go for the meat options, but he cleaned house with the peppers. I don’t think he even realized.”
Truth be told, Sanji more or less knows the recipe already by the smell, taste, and texture of the dish. He has a few ideas of his own on how to improve it, but nothing wrong with asking to be polite.
Marquette brightens. “Of course!” Then she pauses. “How did you like them, Sanji-san?”
“Me? Well, I’m not too picky about food. But they were delicious.”
“I would have thought a chef would naturally be more picky,” she says curiously.
Sanji tilts his head up and blows out smoke, facing away from her. “Not this chef,” he says, “though even if I was, I’d still enjoy those peppers. So I’d love the recipe for when we leave here.” At the mention of them leaving, Marquette visibly deflates a little. Sanji looks sidelong at her. “You know we have to leave at some point, right?”
“Yes, of course…” Marquette trails off, casting around. Sanji observes, wondering how much he could get out of her if he tried to. Not that he wants to take advantage of her small crush; that would be in bad taste, but still…the only other one who is willing to give him answers is apparently bedridden and nonverbal.
“Your aunt mentioned that your family has been here for generations, and that you’re all here protecting something, or serving something. Is that something you can tell me more about?”
“Well,” Marquette begins, straightening up so her posture is rigid. Sanji can see Aunt Martine in the stance. “Technically there are no rules about what we ‘can’ and ‘can’t’ say, right? It’s just what my Aunt thinks is best. But yes, my mother was born on this island, and so was her mother, and her mother before that, and so on. We live here to serve The Great One, and—” She cuts herself off, fisting one hand in her skirts.
Sanji decides to test the waters. “Your Aunt mentioned that too…what is it, exactly? ‘The Great One’?”
Marquette looks at him with her round eyes, blinking slowly. “She’s…well…I don’t know if I could explain it if I tried. Or if you would believe me.”
“Try me,” Sanji says wryly, thinking back to the ridiculous, outlandish, and sometimes otherworldly things to which he’s borne witness ever since joining Luffy’s crew.
Marquette frowns. “She’s been drawing closer more often ever since the storm. Usually we don’t see her for a while after a storm like that, but…have you felt her near? You had the ability to see the electricity in the trees, so maybe you could...”
Sanji thinks back to the huge, looming, winged presence he’s felt a few times. “I think so.”
Marquette looks around, furtive, then lowers her voice conspiratorially. “My Aunt thinks…she is looking for you two,” Marquette says hesitantly. “But it’s not her place to say. Only my grandmother is supposed to pass on that knowledge.”
At once, Marquette looks like she’s said too much. It only confirms Sanji’s hunch, though. There are just too many coincidences, Aunt Martine’s words on those aside; the thing had been searching for them earlier today on the beach.
Whatever Sanji is planning to say next becomes a moot point, because Luffy comes careening in next to him then, pulling Sanji up off the adjacent bench by slinging a rubbery, extended arm around his neck and shoulders, then snapping it back towards him. Sanji tumbles down next to Luffy, banging the side of his knee into the wooden seat in the process.
“Shit, Luffy! What was that for?”
“I missed you!” Luffy smiles wide, his nose crinkling up.
“I’m right here,” Sanji says, helpless to resist the mirroring smile that tugs at the corners of his lips. Luffy’s energy, especially on a night like this, is infectious.
“Good. Stay here,” Luffy says resolutely, sitting himself down so that he and Sanji are pressed against each other from shoulder to hip.
The night wears on. Sanji has another drink; he knows he’s a lightweight, and two is nearing his upper limit on any night. It’s good, though—his cheeks are warm, head pleasantly abuzz, the press of Luffy against his side constant and tethering. Magnolia comes to collect the triplets to get them ready for bed, ignoring their protests. It seems like Luffy is done telling stories for the night anyhow, because he’s distracted when Magnolia brings around a platter with a variety of fruits to cap off the feast.
Sanji helps himself to a watermelon slice while Luffy begins stuffing his face with no prejudice. Marquette has moved to sit beside her father, idly pushing around a few chunks of cut up mango on her plate.
“You guys have a ton of variety here,” Sanji notes, peering at the fruit platter. There are the usual tropical fruits, plus a few uncommon ones: bright pink dragonfruit, mangosteen, starfruit.
“Papa brings back seeds or saplings, and Aunt Martine grows them,” Marquette supplies. “She’s very serious about her garden.”
Sanji wonders which varieties he could get to flourish in the garden box on the Sunny, if they even have enough room. Some of Usopp’s carnivorous plants have started maturing and encroaching on Chopper’s medicinal herbs, much to the little reindeer’s distress.
He takes it upon himself to properly peel back and slice the more unfamiliar fruits for his captain, lest Luffy chomp down with no regards to the rind or the seeds and make himself sick. Not that he would get sick. He’s eaten much worse—the pepper stem, the cigarette. And he swallows fruit whole all the time. But Sanji can’t help the part of him that goes through the motions, practiced care put into each cleave of the paring knife. Luffy takes each offered piece of fruit automatically, indiscriminately, smacking his lips with enthusiasm.
“Here, Luffy. Try this one.” Sanji hands him a peeled off section of mangosteen, the white flesh separated out in his hands from the hard, purplish rind.
“Whoa,” Luffy says, the first time he’s actually taken notice of what Sanji’s been giving him. “What is that?”
“It’s a mangosteen. They’re not so common, but they do well in these types of climates.” Then he addresses Ballard and Marquette: “I’m surprised you were able to find seeds for this one.”
“We’ve had a tree that Martine has kept up with since she was young,” Ballard answers. “She’s real fond of those fruits.”
“It kinda looks like a rhinoceros beetle larva, all fat and juicy!” Luffy muses, plucking the plump section of fruit out of Sanji’s palm. Then without further fanfare, he pops it in his mouth. “Wow! Yum!”
“Please never say that again,” Sanji says, feeling ill. Luffy simply crows and snatches up the remaining mangosteen sections.
To distract himself from further thoughts of—he shudders—larvae, he puts out a tiny piece of starfruit on the table for the small snail that has been sitting on the edge of the picnic table throughout the night. Sanji had set it there before he started grilling, thinking it would be good to get it exposed to human noise and bustle. Things are progressing there: it’s kept its head out of the shell the whole night so far, peering around, silent and curious. Sanji’s no snail expert, but he thinks it looks pleased when the fruit is laid down in front of it. It crawls on top of the starfruit slice and starts munching.
“Neat little fella you got there,” Ballard comments, nursing another ale. “Should be able to transmit soon, by the looks of it?”
“Oh, you found one!” Marquette chimes in. “I never knew you could feed them.”
“That’s sorta my thing,” Sanji says. “If someone’s hungry, I’ll feed ‘em. Even a little guy like this.”
“That’s what makes Sanji the best cook,” Luffy confirms, latching onto Sanji’s shoulder to look at the snail as if this is the first time he’s noticed it. Sanji wouldn’t be surprised if that were the case, even though the snail has been mostly in their hut this whole time. “That’s why I wanted him to join my crew!”
“It is?” Sanji asks, turning around in surprise. “I thought you tried the food at the Baratie and kinda just…latched on, the way you do. Or you saw me fighting or something.”
Luffy laughs and reaches out, slapping Sanji a few times on the back. Only, like the other night with Sanji’s thigh, he doesn’t remove his hand once he’s done, instead letting it linger, even sliding it up so his fingertips press firmly, unabashedly, into the skin at the base of Sanji’s neck. Sanji fights off a shudder.
“Nah, it was when I saw you feed that Jin guy when he was starving. That’s when I knew.”
“You mean Gin?”
“Yeah, Jin! Anyway, I knew my cook needed to have the best heart. Because sharing food is super important, ya know? And then I found you!”
Sanji stares. Something is happening to him. To his insides.
He doesn’t even realize the table’s gone silent until Ballard clears his throat. Sanji tears his gaze away from Luffy, coming back to himself. Marquette has pink dusting her cheeks again and is looking anywhere but the two of them.
“You two make for a real nice pair,” Ballard says, his voice kind. He takes another swig of his ale.
Sanji feels himself heating from tip to toe, unrelated to the drink he’s had. Involuntarily, his heart climbs up somewhere in the vicinity of his throat, racing fast. ‘No, that’s not what’s going on,’ is what he thinks to say.
Isn’t it, though? Would it be true to say that? He thinks about this morning by the waterfall. ”You’re really pretty, Sanji.” Or last night, Luffy’s hand on his leg. Or in the hut, saying that he didn’t like the idea of Sanji getting married. Because Sanji was his cook. Or now, crowding in close next to him, attached at the hip. Or—did Ballard even mean it like that? What if he hadn’t? What if he’s reading into it too much?
Then, to his utter shock, his whizzing thoughts are all silenced when Luffy, without a care in the world, leans in and plants a kiss to Sanji’s cheek, smacking loudly. “Mwah! Of course we do! Sanji’s my cook, after all!”
“Oh…” Sanji finds himself whispering. His cheek feels numb. His entire head feels numb. He blinks at Luffy, who simply offers him his signature smile once again.
Across the table, Ballard and Marquette share a look between them.
Luffy’s hand does not leave the back of Sanji’s neck, fingertips searing hot. The plausible deniability that Sanji suddenly realizes he’s been using to shield himself is getting weaker by the second, until it crumbles and scatters, dust in the wind.
It’s Luffy, after all. He’s helpless to stop the curtain of emotion that sweeps in a tidal wave through him. The same way Luffy had come crashing into his life that day at the Baratie, determined to find a cook; the same way Luffy had come crashing into his carriage on Whole Cake Island, determined to bring his cook back.
It’s Luffy.
Luffy smiles again at him, so, so bright, and Sanji sees the sun.
*
His realization brings him, as always, to the kitchen.
Sanji’d already had a menu planned out in his mind once Magnolia had agreed to let him make breakfast the following morning. Soft scrambled eggs with the butter Ballard had brought back with him, rashers of bacon, fruit. And a freshly baked loaf of bread that he plans to prepare tonight and let proof overnight.
The kitchen hut, lit only by torch and candlelight, feels smaller than it does in the daylight. He’s memorized the layout already, but did not account for Luffy, who remains close by his side with every movement.
He did not account for Luffy with regards to many things in his life.
Everyone else has retired for the night; they’re alone.
“This is a recipe I make all the time because of how easy and convenient it is. You’ll probably recognize the end result from the Sunny.” He gathers the ingredients together in respective bowls on the wooden counter in front of him, everything in its place, Luffy’s hip is near his, a constant point of contact.
He continues, “It’s a high hydration dough. So we go off the base amount of flour we have, plus one percent yeast, one point five percent salt, and seventy percent water. You mix all that together, cover it, and let it rest overnight. And it’ll be ready to bake in the morning. It’s easy, even you could do it.”
Luffy scrunches his face up. “Naw, too many numbers to remember. But I like listening to you, Sanji.”
Sanji ducks his chin towards his chest, hiding the lift of his cheek. Luffy nudges against him lightly. He looks at his captain, straw hat dangling at his nape and creating a semi-circle around his shoulders, like a halo.
“The numbers part is all done,” Sanji says after a beat. “All there’s left to do is mix everything together. Do you want to try? It’s fun.”
Luffy shifts on his feet. “What if I mess it up? Like last time I tried to cook?”
“You won’t,” Sanji assures him. “And if you do, I’ll still eat it anyway.”
“Okay, but only because you’re helping me…”
Sanji starts him off by combining the yeast and the flour together in a large bowl, instructing him to mix with his fingers until it’s combined. “Good. Now do the same with the salt.”
“This feels kinda cool,” Luffy says, the mixture dusting his fingertips.
“Okay, now form a small kind of pit in the center of the flour mixture. Like you’re digging a hole in some sand.”
Luffy carves out a well in the flour gracelessly, puffs of it dusting over the edge of the bowl, the wooden bottom showing through the center. “Like this?”
Sanji hums a soft laugh and steps closer, using his own hands to guide Luffy’s. “Gentler, okay? Like this.” With his hands cupped outside of Luffy’s, he re-forms the flour and digs out a shallow well in the center. “That’s better, right?”
Only Luffy’s not looking at the bowl. He has his head turned, wide eyes looking obliquely at Sanji’s face, studying, his mouth just slightly parted. Sanji’s breath catches in his throat.
He steps back and draws his hands away, cleaning them of residual flour on a tea towel.
“Next,” he says. His voice, in his own ears, sounds thin, wavering. He clears his throat self-consciously. “Add the water into that well you just made, and slowly mix it in with your hands until it incorporates into all the flour.”
Luffy, with some pause, takes his eyes off of Sanji and unceremoniously dumps the measuring cup of lukewarm water over top of the flour, paying no mind to the well they had formed together. Sanji huffs out a laugh. “Not like that, but…it’s okay. Honestly, it’s pretty hard to mess up. Nine times out of ten it’ll come out fine anyway.”
Luffy mixes, then makes a soft noise of wonder as, under his palms, a rough dough begins to form. “Whoa. It smells like bread already,” he notes. “How come? It’s still raw.”
“That’s the yeast. It activates once it mixes with water, and the flour acts as a carbohydrate source for it to consume. That starts the gluten-forming and fermentation process, which is what causes the scent you associate with bread, and how it rises.”
“Cooool,” Luffy breathes, using the same reverent tone as when he finds a bug he likes, or when Franky shows him and Chopper a new cyborg modification. “Cooking is actually kinda cool.”
“It is,” Sanji agrees, thinking of the first time he came to the same realization. The joy of creating something, the escape he found in the process, the transforming of a set of ingredients into a cohesive dish. The ability to produce something that would nourish someone else.
Luffy mixes. The torchlight by the doorway crackles, orange-yellow glow moving fluid shadows all around the room.
“Hey, Sanji.”
“Yeah?”
“This is fun.” He keeps mixing. Technically, he’s supposed to use larger movements that allow the flour to properly hydrate. And it’s supposed to take no more than half a minute, really. His fingers are sticky, the mixture forming into a clumpy dough in the bowl. Sanji doesn’t care to tell him to adjust; the overnight fermentation and high hydration ratio allows enough time for the dough to course correct. “I’ve never had anyone show me how to cook before. When I was a kid and grandpa threw me into the jungle, I had to figure it out all on my own.”
“Well, if you ever want to learn. I could teach you.”
“I don’t think I could make anything extra fancy like Sanji does,” Luffy says. “But maybe just the basics would be good. That way I won’t mess up again, like last time.”
“Okay,” Sanji agrees. The swell of emotion is back, only this time Sanji thinks he can recognize it a bit better. He’d been scared, he realizes, of it before. He’s still a little scared now, truth be told. But he’s also warm, the sensation spreading from his core out into his limbs, pushing into his fingertips, the crown of his head, the soles of his feet.
Luffy finally decides the ball of dough is good enough and pulls his hands away, sticky with residue. The smell of fire and fermenting yeast perfumes the kitchen, half-baked and familiar. Sanji takes the bowl with the shaggy dough, drapes a tea towel over it, and sets it inside the unlit stone oven to continue rising for the night, covered and safe.
Luffy sets the heels of his palms, globs of dough still stuck in bits and pieces to his fingers, down onto the counter. He’s turned away from Sanji, so Sanji can’t see his expression, but he seems to be holding his back a bit more rigidly than usual.
“Sanji, can I ask you something?”
“Though we already agreed on that part,” Sanji says, washing his hands in the sink to make sure any residual flour bits aren’t stuck to them.
“When you like someone, you usually tell them right away, right?”
Sanji stops washing his hands. “…What?”
“I mean,” Luffy continues, “like with Nami and Robin and stuff. You like them, right?”
“I…” Sanji trails off. He doesn’t know how to respond. A sweat breaks out on his palms. Well, yes, he likes Nami-san and Robin-chan. Loves them, even; they’re nakama, their bond runs deep. And he loves beautiful women, it’s true. But now, it all feels so…shallow…compared to the magnitude he’s beginning to recognize within him when he looks at Luffy. He doesn’t know how to put it into words. “I’m not sure if I ever actually…I don’t…”
Luffy turns around so he’s facing Sanji, and at once, Sanji knows he understands. Luffy is good at that. How is he so good at that?
They stand in the aisle between the counter on one side and the kitchen sink on the other.
“Because,” Luffy states, his stare plain, “I don’t wanna share you with anyone else.” His voice hasn’t pitched any lower, but the possession in it is easy to detect. Sanji’s breath leaves him in a tremble.
“I don’t belong to anyone else,” Sanji finds himself whispering. He fights to keep the room on a fixed axis, stop himself from spinning out.
“So then tell me,” Luffy says. Firm, sure, steady. His hands, still covered in sticky dough, are held in front of him, hovering in the air. He really hadn’t pre-planned this. “Sanji. If you want something, then take it.”
This is always who Luffy’s been, Sanji thinks to himself as he takes a small step forward, then another. Standing in front of his nakama, asking them to state plainly or take action on how they feel, on what they want. ‘Tell me what you really want,’ he had shouted back on Whole Cake Island after decking Sanji hard enough in the face to send him flying backwards, cracking the Kingbaum tree down the center.
This is almost a complete reversal of that situation, Sanji thinks wryly as he takes a final step forward, into Luffy’s space.
Where there had been rain and blood and stormy clouds above, there’s now quiet, just the glow of the fire from the torch, the shuffle of Sanji’s feet against the worn floorboards, the low sound of breath.
Where there had been hands balled into fists and teeth clenched, there’s now Sanji grasping Luffy’s wrists gently and drawing him near, avoiding getting tacky bits of dough all over himself.
Where there had been the painful crack of knuckles against jaw, there’s now Sanji and his soft press against Luffy’s patiently parted lips.
Luffy smiles, and Sanji can feel it.
Trying to avoid the dough on Luffy’s fingers proves to be a pointless exercise, because he gives little resistance when Luffy, tilting his head sweetly, breaks free of his grasp to lay his hands against Sanji’s cheeks.
The dough gets everywhere.
*
By the time they make it out of the kitchen, Luffy is beyond antsy.
It had been difficult enough to get him to wash his hands between kisses, and when they finally step inside the hut—which is exceptionally more cramped now that it’s being used to store the supplies Ballard had returned with—Luffy is all but climbing Sanji like a tree.
“Whoa,” Sanji says as Luffy latches himself onto Sanji’s hips, legs winding like ribbons around Sanji’s lower back. “Hold on.” He pushes gently on Luffy’s shoulders, directing him away for just a moment. Luffy goes easily, detaching himself from Sanji’s neck, then hopping down so he’s on his own two feet again.
“Whatsa matter, Sanji?” His cheeks are flushed, his lips parted, his breath quick. Sanji finds himself momentarily distracted. It’s staggering—the force of realization that hits him, how much he wants—
“Just—are you—sure about this?” The words come out stilted.
“Yes,” Luffy answers without hesitation. He presses in close again, pushing his face into the crook of Sanji’s neck. Sanji brings a hand up, curls it into Luffy’s wild hair, right at the crown, like he’s gotten so used to doing. “Don’t you want to?”
“I do,” Sanji says, biting off a gasp when Luffy tongues against his collarbone. That’s the thing: he does want to. It scares him how much he wants to.
Luffy pulls back minutely, nosing along Sanji’s jawline. “Have you done this before?”
“Not—not with another guy. Have you…?”
“No.” Again with no hesitation, straightforward as always. He pulls back again, looks Sanji in the eye, his own half-lidded and alive with something that makes Sanji’s blood run hot in his veins. “But I know what feels good…and I want to make you feel good, too.”
“Fuck. Okay, yes, yes.”
Good God. He’s going to have sex with his captain. He’s going to have sex with Luffy.
Luffy offers no concessions to Sanji’s processing time, leaning right back in as soon as Sanji says yes.
And then they’re kissing again, and Sanji is helpless to resist being swept into Luffy’s current, carried away by the grip on his shirt, the brush of fingers underneath his collar and across his shoulders, the wet slide of Luffy’s tongue against his.
Sanji comes back to himself, tries to call on his experience, tries to make it good. He tilts his head, uses his height to his advantage, brings one hand down to Luffy’s waist and tugs him close. And Luffy makes this noise, and all of a sudden it becomes paramount to get him as near as possible, to consume, to be consumed.
“Sanjiii,” Luffy whines when he can’t figure out the buttons on Sanji’s shirt, fingers slipping uselessly around them.
Sanji huffs a laugh and helps him, working quickly to divest the clothing from his shoulders. Then he gets his hands underneath Luffy’s t-shirt, bunching it up under his armpits, ghosting his hands along his ribs, across the criss-cross scar stretched taut across Luffy’s chest.
Luffy pulls his straw hat free from around his neck, lets it flutter off to some corner of the room, and Sanji pulls the rest of his shirt over his wild, dark head.
“Come on,” he says to Luffy, kicking his shoes off and toeing the futon out so it’s laid properly, pillow and blanket unrolling with a small puff. Luffy, somehow, is a natural at taking cues, and pulls Sanji down on top of him.
They connect again with their mouths, one of Sanji’s hands on Luffy’s hip, his shorts beginning to slide down far enough that Sanji can feel the ridge of his captain’s hipbone, rolling underneath the skin each time he squirms just so.
“Fuck,” Sanji whispers again when Luffy’s hips press up against his. He’s hard; they both are. The room spins, he’s dizzy with it, each perfect roll of them together, against each other.
“Sanji, Sanji,” Luffy chants, tearing one hand away from the back of Sanji’s neck to worm it between their bodies, into the waistband of his slacks. “Sanji, I want to touch you.”
In answer, Sanji works between them until he undoes the clasp around his waistband, letting it fall open, his hardness bulging against his underwear peeking out from his fly. Luffy wastes no time sliding his hand down into Sanji’s boxers, grasping him.
“You’re so warm,” Luffy sighs against his lips as Sanji gasps, bucks. Luffy’s fingers are hot, firm, squeezing just right. “You feel so good.”
Sanji groans, and Luffy keeps talking. “I wanna make you mine, Sanji. Will you be mine? Don’t wanna let anyone else have you. Will you, Sanji?” He strokes, thumbing along the slit at the top of Sanji’s cockhead.
“Yes,” Sanji chokes out, “yours.”
And he can feel that it’s true, from the very top of his head to the tips of his toes. Fuck, he’s had plenty of handjobs before and it’s never felt like this, something bigger than himself, bigger than life bursting out from his chest with every flick of Luffy’s wrist. It’s that same emotion that’s been building and swelling in him this whole time, brought forth by his captain, for his captain. It spreads from limb to limb, flooding everywhere in his body until it has nowhere left to go but out. He hooks an elbow around Luffy’s neck, brings him up for a searing kiss, hoping to let the excess flood out from his mouth and into Luffy’s.
Luffy, for his part, seems just as affected, meeting each kiss with fervor, drinking Sanji in, consuming him whole. He pulls back, chest heaving. Sanji looks down at him, his dark bangs scattered across his forehead, his lips shiny with spit, his cheeks pink and flushed, and thinks, ‘How could I ever belong to anyone else?’
“Let’s do it,” Luffy whispers, reaching up to stroke Sanji’s hair at his temple. “I wanna do it with you, Sanji.”
“Luffy,” Sanji breathes, letting his head hang low, taking in the scent of sweat and skin between them. He wants to, he does, but…this is all happening so fast, and he’s…unprepared, so to speak. He’s never had sex with a guy before, but he knows how the mechanics of it work. Has had it done to him before, with women. And in his heart of hearts, that’s what he wants—to be taken wholly, completely, by his captain, to be full of Luffy, under him, around him…
“We don’t have the right…things here,” he mutters, feeling a blush rise to his cheeks. “To—you know. Prepare.”
Luffy wraps a leg around Sanji’s hip and flips them so he’s straddling Sanji. Sanji lets himself follow the movement, pliant, still aching between his legs. Luffy’s hands go flat to Sanji’s abdomen as he leans close, brushing the tip of his nose sweetly against Sanji’s.
“Just tell me what we need, Sanji. I wanna do it with you.”
Oh, he’s got that look in his eye, Sanji recognizes. When Luffy says ‘I wanna do it with you,’ what he means is ‘we’re gonna do it.’ The idea has planted itself in Luffy’s mind, and it’s not likely to leave anytime soon. Luffy’s always been like that: single-minded, driven. Obsessed with getting what he wants. Obsessed with gratification.
Sanji shudders when he thinks of all the ways Luffy could be gratified.
He forces himself not to be embarrassed, to just spit it out. This is Luffy, after all. If he was going to be judged, it would have happened long ago. “Well, we need lube or some kind of body oil. To, you know…” he gestures with his hands, hoping Luffy will get the idea, but Luffy just blinks patiently. “…stretch me out,” he finishes.
Luffy sits back and smiles wide. “Oh, that’s all? Don’t worry Sanji. I can stretch there, too.”
“I—you—” Sanji sputters. “You’ve tried?”
“No, but I don’t see why it would be any different than the rest of me,” Luffy says. He’s already gone back to Sanji’s pants, digging insistent fingertips underneath the waistband, tugging his slacks and underwear down at the same time.
Sanji, helpless to resist, lifts his hips up and allows the clothing to be stripped off his legs. Luffy’s tongue pokes out of the corner of his mouth as he tosses the garment to the floor to join their shirts, and despite the heat of the situation, Sanji finds it horribly endearing. His cock, still at attention, slaps against his belly.
Luffy gets a hand around him again, working him with short, firm strokes. Sanji gasps out, and then Luffy presses himself bodily against him, skin to skin from hip to collarbone, draping himself over Sanji like a blanket. He pecks him on the lips once, twice, three times, like he just can’t stop himself.
“Next time,” Luffy says, his eyes curving into pleased little crescents, “we’ll do it the way you like. Let me take care of you this time, okay, Sanji?”
“Okay,” Sanji agrees. He can feel Luffy’s stiffness, still confined in his shorts, pressing against the juncture of his pelvis and inner thigh. He cants his hips up, grinding into it, and Luffy hums a small noise of pleasure. Then Luffy stands, pushing his shorts down until they’re finally off, and swings his legs back over Sanji’s hips, braced on his knees. He’s hard and leaking too, a bead of precome pearled on the tip of his cock.
“You have to—” Sanji starts, not sure how much guidance he needs to be giving.
Luffy simply shoots him another smile, then licks a stripe down the center of his palm, wet and filthy. Sanji feels his breath leave him as he watches, transfixed. Luffy grasps Sanji in his hand, thumbing across the tip to smear precome down and around the shaft, getting him slick and prepared.
“Feels good when I do it like this to myself,” Luffy says, eyes zeroed in on Sanji’s cock in his grip. “So I figured it probably would be good for you, too. Is it?”
“Yes,” Sanji hisses, bucking up into the sleek circle of Luffy’s fist.
Then Luffy removes his hand, sucks his fingers into his mouth again, and reaches behind himself, slicking himself. Sanji’s mouth hangs open as he watches, pulse rushing like a torrent between his ears.
True to his word, Luffy stretches there, too.
“Fuck, shit, holy shit,” Sanji hisses as Luffy sinks down on him, hands braced against Sanji’s chest. There’s give, but not as much as Sanji would have thought—not like being worked open, heated and soft and slippery. But there’s enough for Sanji to fit inside without too much resistance. Luffy pauses, his head hung against his heaving chest, after the first inch is in, then breathes deep, determined, and sits down until Sanji is fully inside.
“Ffffuck.” Sanji throws his head back. His hands move to grip Luffy’s thighs, fingers pressing deep into muscle, to stop himself from bucking his hips.
“Oh,” Luffy breathes out, his head still hanging. Sanji can’t see his face like this, just the curtain of his inky bangs, the shine of perspiration clinging to his shoulders. Then, he begins to roll his hips back and forth, grinding along Sanji inside of him. “Feels good,” he moans. “Feels so good. Do you feel good too, Sanji?”
“Yes, Luffy, fuck,” Sanji heaves. Luffy lifts his head then, and Sanji can see his face—his eyes are closed, his brows furrowed in pleasure, mouth open. Sanji drinks in the expression, punch-drunk.
Then Luffy adjusts himself, sits up a tad, and lifts off Sanji before dropping back down. Yes, he stretches down there, but he also snaps back, glove-tight and gripping around Sanji vice-like, the glide so taut and heated that it’s nearly painful. Sanji moans long and low in earnest at that, his own eyes going lidded and blurry.
Luffy opens his eyes at the noise, dark and possessive and hungry. He’s riding Sanji in earnest, letting out these quiet little gasps with each fluid shift of his hips.
“Sanji,” he pants out. “Sanji feels so good inside me, so amazing. I wanna do this forever, all the time, Sanji. Wanna feel you everywhere.”
Sanji can do nothing in response but moan and grip harder on Luffy’s thighs, the pressure on his cock so pleasurable he feels nearly delirious. Luffy’s hands are everywhere, clutching Sanji tight by the hips, then moving up, thumbs pressing on his belly, up between his ribcage, over his thundering heart, before settling on his shoulders, holding him down.
“Tell me how it feels,” Luffy says as he grinds down, and it’s not a question.
“Feels,” Sanji puffs. “Feels like you’re everywhere. It’s—so good, Luffy, fuck—” Words escape him, so he settles on just panting out his captain’s name, over and over. “Luffy, Lu—ffy, Lu…”
“Sanji,” Luffy agrees, moving faster.
Distantly, Sanji realizes he should probably help Luffy out. His cock is bobbing with the motion of his hips, swaying. He reaches up and gets a hand around it, twisting his wrist, hoping to mirror just how good he feels, if he can let Luffy have some of that pleasure, too—
“Ah—ah—” Luffy’s breath punches out of him when Sanji touches his cock, his pace stuttering before picking back up in double time. He gets this blissed out, otherworldly look on his face, his eyes falling shut. Amazingly, he swells even further in Sanji’s hand, expanding until he can barely fit into the circle of Sanji’s grip, then extending beyond it. Sanji watches, wide-eyed, wondering just how far Luffy’s rubber body is going to take things. He can’t even touch his middle finger to his thumb now, and Luffy is biting his lip to contain his moans. He’s gotten so big, and Sanji—God, he wants to know how it would feel inside him, claiming him—
Luffy comes in spurts across Sanji’s chest and abdomen, still rutting with Sanji’s cock inside him, grinding his hips down, pulsing around him so tight that Sanji hisses, his free hand balling into a fist. Luffy’s cock in his grip goes back down to a regular size, Sanji notes with distant fascination.
Then Luffy is rising up off of him, draping himself over Sanji like he did before, chest to chest, kissing him deep, taking Sanji’s cock into his grasp once more and working him fervently. Sanji opens his mouth, and Luffy drinks down his moans. He can feel it, he thinks. Luffy pouring back that same emotion that had threatened to spill over the edge earlier, bubbling up from deep within his soul. It lights them both, consumes them, as Sanji finally tumbles over the edge with one hand fisted at the crown of Luffy’s hair, the other tangled desperately with Luffy’s, resting right in the center of Sanji’s chest, over his drumbeat heart.
“Mmm,” Luffy hums as Sanji comes down from his orgasm, chest heaving, sweat cooling on his skin. He noses along Sanji’s jaw, then trails down to his neck, his collarbone. Then, to Sanji’s shock, Luffy darts a tongue out and laps at their mixed come splattered across his torso.
“What are you doing?” he asks faintly.
Luffy continues to lap at the come, tonguing in flat, broad strokes across Sanji’s midsection, his belly, down to the last traces of it across his hips. “I said I would eat whatever you gave me,” Luffy says in reply, his voice low and just this side of hoarse, having licked Sanji clean and swallowed it all down.
“You…” Sanji, this time, simply doesn’t have the worlds. “Get up here,” he grumbles instead, hauling Luffy so he’s draped on top of him again, their legs tangling. He reaches behind them and pulls the blanket over themselves so they’re cocooned inside.
Luffy shifts so he’s laying on his side instead of crushing Sanji, half their cheeks covered by the blanket. He reaches out and brushes Sanji’s hair away from his face so that both his eyes are fully exposed, and presses their foreheads together, eyes open like he’s looking into Sanji’s soul.
“Hi, Sanji.”
“Hi, Luffy.”
They smile dopily at each other, Luffy’s nose crinkling in its adorable way, before Luffy yawns, then shifts so he’s even closer, tucking his head into the crook of Sanji’s shoulder.
It’s the fastest Sanji has fallen asleep in ages.
*
When Sanji wakes up in the middle of the night this time, he rouses from a deep and dreamless slumber. Luffy is still pressed in close against him within their blanket cocoon, intimately, bare skin on skin. The stroke of his knuckles against Sanji’s cheek is what brings him out of sleep, so tender that Sanji finds himself smiling before his eyes are open.
Then Luffy’s body against his stiffens minutely, his hand paused against Sanji’s face. He’s not even sure if Luffy knows he’s awake; Luffy sits up in their roll of blankets, bracing his palms on the futon.
"‘Tis it, Luffy?” He squints an eye open. It’s still pitch black in their hut, moonlight through the window hidden by the jungle canopy outside. His vision is blurry with sleep, but Luffy, he thinks, is concentrating hard on something, lips tugged downwards at the corners, uncharacteristically serious. He also ignores Sanji, focused intently on something Sanji cannot detect.
“Who’s there?” Luffy asks no one, his voice low but commanding. His captain’s voice, Sanji recognizes. “Who’s saying that?”
“Luffy?” Sanji questions, sitting up as well, shoulder to shoulder with Luffy. “What’s going on?”
Luffy’s frown deepens, and he brings a hand up to his head like it aches. “There’s…someone…something…I don’t know. What are you saying? Say it clearly.”
Sanji casts around, wondering if they have to get out of bed and get dressed to deal with whatever this is. He can’t tell if Luffy is in pain or not, with the way he’s clutching his head. And then Sanji feels it: the large, looming presence overhead signaling the return of the winged creature that has habitually haunted their every move on the island thus far.
“It’s back again,” Sanji murmurs.
“This is just like on Zou,” Luffy says, taking his hands off his head to shake it back and forth like he’s trying to dislodge something from between his ears. “Only I can’t understand what it’s saying this time. It’s like it just goes in circles in my head.”
“What about Zou? What happened on Zou?” Sanji questions. By the time Luffy and the rest of the crew had gotten there, he’d already been off with Bege to meet his fate. He’s terribly confused. When will this trend end, him waking up in utter confusion with Luffy by his side? “Is it…the thing? The creature? The Great One?”
Sanji can feel her presence circling above. If he concentrates hard, he thinks he can even tell her flight path…she’s at a high altitude, moving in loops over and over again. He doesn’t know how close she is, and he’s not sure if he wants to step outside to check. In the far off distance, thunder rumbles. Strange—the sky had been perfectly clear and cloudless all day and night. Stormheads don’t usually gather so fast, not even in the New World.
“Luffy,” he says sharply, hoping to snap him back to reality. “Do we need to go out there?”
All at once, Luffy’s shoulders relax. He puts his hands back down and shakes his head for a final time. “No, no. It’s okay, Sanji. It’s going away.” True enough, when Sanji concentrates, he can feel the creature receding into the distance, too high to be detected. “I’m…really dizzy, though. My head is spinning.”
Sanji peers at him with concern through the dark, hoping to glean any bit of information from his expression. His bangs are messy, covering his forehead and eyes; it’s hard to tell. “Are you sick?”
“No,” Luffy says. “I don’t get sick. Or I never have before. Let’s just go back to sleep.” He yawns wide, all of his earlier alertness vanished.
“You’re sure we don’t have to go out there and fight whatever it is? I bet we could take it, me and you.”
Luffy gives him a sleepy smile. “I bet we could. But trust me, okay? Sleep now.”
Sanji doesn’t trust the situation; he doesn’t trust this island. But he does trust Luffy, enough to believe that they’re not in any immediate physical danger. He lays back down and pulls the covers back up over the two of them.
“There’s going to be another storm tonight,” Luffy whispers as he tucks back in against Sanji’s side.
“How do you know?” Sanji whispers back.
Luffy shrugs. “Call it a hunch.”