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“Oh, darling, you’re beautiful,” Sanji murmurs, and smiles when he feels Zoro shiver under his palm, “Are you ready for me?” He lays his knives out alongside the swordsman, the soft chime of steel on wood loud over the quiet sound of Zoro’s breathing.
“Do it.” Zoro looks up at him with nothing short of adoration, tilting his head back to bare his throat. Sanji doesn’t intend to start there, but he leans down to press a kiss to the hollow, resisting the urge to close his teeth around it, tearing until he tastes blood. “Please, Sanji- I need it.”
Sanji just smiles, that soft, wistful little smile he saves just for his crew, before he lifts the first knife, a fine-bladed, short little thing. “I normally would start with the larger pieces first, but, well, we don’t want you passing out before we get to the good part, do we?”
Zoro glares at him for a moment, but it doesn’t hide the shiver of anticipation. “I won’t pass out.”
That earns a chuckle, and Sanji wraps a hand around his half-hard cock, giving it a stroke, just a little too hard to be fully pleasurable - for anyone but Zoro, that is. “I know, darling. You’ll be so good for me, won’t you?” Zoro just nods, not trusting his voice.
Sanji’s smile doesn’t falter as he slips the blade through Zoro’s skin, carving a line down his chest. Zoro whines , low and sweet, but he doesn’t move an inch as blood rolls down his bare chest. The knife doesn’t falter in Sanji’s hand, removing skin to expose what lies beneath. “Look at you, you’re beautiful inside, I knew you would be.” He doesn’t stop working, switching to a long, thin blade to fillet away red flesh from gleaming bone. Zoro is hyperventilating, so he rests a hand on the untouched side of his belly. “You’re alright. I promised I’d take care of you, didn’t I? You’re being so good.”
Zoro’s breathing hitches, and then slows. His eyes are glassy when they meet Sanji’s, wide and dark and shining in the lamplight, endless as the sky. “‘m being good?” And there’s the praise kink he always tries to act like he doesn’t have. Sanji knows him too well to go along with it; blades and a simple good boy are the ways to find his way into Zoro’s heart - literally and figuratively.
“Yeah, sweetheart, you’re perfect for me. You’re going to be so beautiful once I carve you up, I can’t wait to see.”
The knife sinks in deep, parting muscle and flesh, carving and carving away at the man beneath him while Zoro gasps and moans, hips jerking helplessly at odd moments when the pleasure and pain get to be too much for even his self-control. Sanji pays no attention to it, focusing on his work. He knows Zoro loves watching him work - has known it, before Zoro ever said anything, because he knows the weight of those dark eyes on him the way he knows the weight of his knives in his hands.
He lays aside each cut of Zoro, wraps each piece up in wax paper to preserve it for later, just for them. He would share, of course he would, but if there’s no need to, this is just for the two of them, just like this little game of theirs.
Each piece of meat is so beautiful, and Sanji says so. “So pretty for me, sweetheart, look at you. All mine.” He smiles, blood in his teeth, and Zoro gives him back a matching grin, feral and hungry and wanting more, more, more. Sanji wants more too, so he gets back to work, cleaver flashing in the lamplight to crack through ribs to see the very innermost parts of his beloved.
Zoro’s beating heart is the most beautiful thing Sanji has ever seen. It glistens in the lamplight, pulsing just a little too quick, pumping blood through arteries that are no longer attached. Blood runs out in tandem with the pulse, rivulets streaming down the table to pool on the floor, sinking into the wood, feeding the Sunny the way Zoro feeds Sanji. He desperately wants to take a bite, but not yet. Not yet. Not while Zoro is still gasping for breath and begging with his eyes for more.
Sanji sinks a hand into his organs, and Zoro keens . Not out of pain, he knows there aren’t really nerves there, but the twitch of his hard cock gives him away. “I thought you’d like that.”
Zoro pants, his pretty lips painted whore-red, and his voice shakes as he begs, “More.”
“More? You really are a good slut, aren’t you?” There’s not an ounce of meanness in it, only complete adoration. Only Sanji gets to see how good, how perfect , Zoro really is like this. Luffy could, if he only asked, but Luffy doesn’t have it in him to see Zoro like this, he’s too gentle. Only Sanji knows how to love Zoro like this, only Sanji knows how to see the darkness in him that’s mirrored in his own soul. There’s something wrong with you , he’d told Zoro once, both of them laying together, covered in their own blood, sharing one cigarette and one bottle of sake, and Zoro had only smiled and said, there’s something wrong with you too. And so it was.
Sanji moans while he buries his cock in Zoro’s viscera, and Zoro moans with him. It’s not the tight velvet squeeze of his hole, but it feels almost as heavenly as Sanji ruts into him, the table shaking slightly despite the bolts holding it to the floor. He pants hot praise against Zoro’s neck, feels bloody, sticky fingers curling in his hair to pull him closer as he bares teeth against skin. “Need you,” Zoro manages, blood bubbling up in his throat, “Want to feel you before-”
Zoro won’t die, can’t die, but they play like he could anyway.
There’s something wrong with you.
There’s something wrong with you too.
Sanji won’t last long, and neither will Zoro, both of them aching from the sweet torture of taking him apart, and Sanji wraps a hand around his cock, jerking him off just shy of too hard - lovingly, like everything else tonight - almost too rough but exactly what Zoro needs to push him over the edge. Sanji bites down on his throat, tasting branding-iron hot blood as he comes, both of them painting Zoro’s insides with creamy white.
“Fuck,” Sanji murmurs, tacky blood sticking their lips together as he leans down to kiss Zoro, cradling his head in both hands, “Fuck, you’re perfect, so fucking perfect for me, sweetheart.” He keeps praising him, murmuring his adoration like a prayer, while Zoro clings to his wrists and holds on with a weakening grip as he bleeds out.
Zoro slumps back on the table, his dark eyes still watching, and Sanji can only smile at him with an aching fondness before he reaches into his chest, cutting the arteries and veins to pull out his heart. It feels so strangely small to be so large, big enough to hold all of them together just as much as Luffy does. He almost hesitates before Zoro makes a pleading sound despite the way his lashes flutter. He wants to watch, and who is Sanji to deny him? He buries his teeth in Zoro’s heart, possessing him in the only way he knows how.
You don’t let go of anything that doesn’t have teeth marks in it, do you, son? Zeff had once asked, and Sanji didn’t know what he meant until he met Zoro. He wants to hold Zoro, consume him till Zoro can never leave him.
Zoro watches, looking just as hungry as Sanji feels, until Sanji leans down, sharing the taste of his heart with him, sharing this perfect meal. It’s the most intimate gesture he knows, to share what food he has, and he’ll always share with Zoro.
It’ll take time for Zoro to heal - they don’t get to play that often because the what ifs are too strong, the chance that something will happen and they need him, because Zoro will always be needed - but he will. Muscle and bone and skin will regrow in the night, and he’ll wake up, and everything will be just the way it was, with no one the wiser for their little games.
There’s something wrong with us . Something no one else will understand, but for them, this is beautiful.