One Piece Fan Fiction ❯ The Pirate In The Doll ❯ Part Two ( Chapter 2 )
[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]
By: Manga-Chick 
Warning: slight citrus
Anime/Manga: One Piece Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Horror / Supernatural | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 11.26.2007 | Pages: 5 | Words: 8.8K | Visits: 264 | Status: Completed
Warning: slight citrus
Anime/Manga: One Piece Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Horror / Supernatural | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 11.26.2007 | Pages: 5 | Words: 8.8K | Visits: 264 | Status: Completed
Disclaimer: I do not own One Piece
Warning: Horror, slash, AU
A/N: Another citrusy scene. O.o Proceed with caution towards the end.
Pirate In The Doll:
Part Two
The day was shot–he scrambled all day to correct his mistakes, to keep up with the demanding work load. The head chef had given him a good kicking from time to time, bellowing his displeasure to Sanji’s efforts, and the other cooks had been less than subtle about rubbing his mistakes in his face. He’d mixed up two lunch orders for impossibly rich clients and had added too many spices to one dish that had the man complaining. He hadn’t cooked a particular dish long enough; he sliced his own fingers while chopping up vegetables; everything that could go wrong went.
By the time he stumbled into his apartment later that night, Sanji wanted nothing more than to go to bed. To prepare himself for a better day tomorrow. He’d just kicked off his heavy shoes and jerked off his tie when Zoro walked in, looking just as exhausted as he. Sanji didn’t feel like cooking, but at the same time, he didn’t want to send the other off because just seeing Zoro made his spirits lift a little. He needed somebody to vent on, and Zoro was a good victim because he never allowed Sanji to bitch at him without bitching right back.
“I’ve had a shitty day, marimo,” he warned, sinking onto the edge of his bed while he massaged his aching feet. Zoro looked up from the books that still lay spread throughout the kitchen floor to look at him. “Anything I make will taste like shit.”
“What was with all the noise last night?” Zoro then complained, disappointed as he realized that Sanji wasn’t about to cook. He kicked aside a stack of books. Sanji felt momentarily guilty. He knew Zoro risked everything on those damn high rises. He wanted to get up and at least make something, but with the way things went today, he was afraid in actually making the other sick. So this conflict of feeling only made Sanji even more frustrated.
A pout worked across Zoro’s features, and Sanji could tell the other had cleaned up before coming over–though there was blackened streaks in his green hair near his right temple. “Still whining about your damn shitty shelves?”
Sanji wasn’t sure whether or not to tell Zoro about the oddities that had happened. Zoro might make fun of him. He scowled at the green haired man. “None of your nosy-ass business. I’m surprised you even heard anything. That nose of yours emits some pretty shitty loud noises. Like a Goddamned...thing that makes Goddamned loud noises!”
Zoro waved his hands around. “Whooo...stop with the killer insults.”
Sanji was frustrated with his predicament. Swiping his hair from his face, he then rested his elbows atop of his knees, glaring at the books on the floor. He could feel Zoro looking at him; it was odd how different Zoro’s stare was from...whatever it was that was staring at him last night. It made his skin crawl for some reason.
“You look like shit,” Zoro finally decided, grabbing a stool and sitting down. But the moment he did, one of the legs snapped with a loud crack, spilling him to the floor. Zoro gave a flabbergasted noise as he landed on his hands and knees, Sanji sitting up with a startled expression.
Both of them looked back at the broken stool, and Sanji cursed as he strode over.
Zoro shot up from the floor, glaring at the broken leg that lay on the floor while Sanji snatched up the stool. “Your place is falling apart,” Zoro then snapped, rubbing his knee.
“Why are you breaking my shit?!”
“I’m not–! I didn’t! I just sat on the fucking thing, and it broke!”
Sanji hit him with the stool, then tossed it at his door. Zoro rubbed his arm, giving him an annoyed look while the stool slammed against the battered wood and broke on its descent to the floor.
As his eyes swiped over the stacks of books on his counter, Sanji caught sight of the necklace. He picked it up and held it at Zoro, making it dance as he demanded, “And where the hell is my art, asshole? I can’t find it!”
Zoro pushed the necklace away of his face. “I don’t know! Why are you asking me that? Maybe it got up and ran away,” he then said with a sneer, making his right index and middle fingers ‘run’.
“Fucking idiot. Who believes in that shit?” Sanji snapped, throwing the necklace at him. “I want it back, marimo. I mean it.”
“I didn’t do anything with it!”
“Then where the hell is it?!”
“I just told you what might’ve–!”
“Shut up with that bullshit! It was just a stupid story! I know you’re fucking around with me, and it isn’t funny, Zoro!”
Zoro’s eyebrows lifted. Despite his irritation at being the focus of Sanji’s odd bitchiness, he felt tickled at the sound of his name coming from the other. “Ooh. Must be extra special serious. You actually said my name.”
Sanji felt his face heat, but he reasoned that it was only because he was growing angrier with the situation. He drew up a leg and drove the heel of his right foot against Zoro’s left shoulder–an easy feat considering his flexibility, the man stumbling back before catching himself on the counter.
“Well, whatever, man. I didn’t do anything with your new toy. Hell, what would I want with it? I’m telling you, it got up and ran away an’ shit.” Zoro held up the necklace. “See? It’s been set free.”
Sanji stared at him for a couple of moments, a small part of him wanting to believe the story and wanting to relate the eerie incidents of the night before as proof, but with the smirk Zoro was giving him and the situation in that he didn’t believe in voodoo and black magic or whatever it was at hand convinced him otherwise.
He narrowed his visible eye. Zoro stopped smirking and looked ready to move.
“I...have a headache,” Sanji then announced. Daring Zoro to say or do something about it.
Zoro rolled his eyes, but he tossed the necklace away. “Look: fine. I just want to make it clear, I didn’t do anything with your stupid doll. Maybe you...dropped it somewhere. Or...accidentally tossed it when you incinerated stuff last night. Hell, I don’t know. Maybe the owner tracked you down and took it back. Whatever it was, I didn’t do anything with it.”
“I don’t care about the fucking doll. Just–go away. Your idiot blather’s making things worse,” Sanji muttered, rubbing at his temple.
Zoro opened his mouth to say something, then snapped his teeth closed. He held his hands up, moving to the door. “You’re not the only one who had a long day,” he snapped. “You want to be shitty about things over some stupid toy, then take it out on someone that actually gives a shit.”
Sanji kicked him on his way out the door, then kicked the door shut. Hearing the iron-worker mutter as he retreated back to his own apartment, Sanji glared at the door. He listened to the key working in the lock, the open and slamming of the door. He heard Zoro stomping around, muttering. It was ridiculous how thin the walls were.
Sanji turned and surveyed the mess in his apartment. Then he kicked the broken stool. Feeling frustrated and annoyed, Sanji then began to gather and stack his cookbooks back into a neat pile near his potted plants.
-
That night after his shower, Sanji returned to his apartment and realized something was off. Everything was still in place; the door had been locked. Yet, as he deposited his toiletries onto the small table, there was a feeling in the air that made him feel as if he weren’t alone. As if there were someone nearby, watching him, waiting for him to fully enter and settle. Night had fallen, and though it wasn’t late, he was feeling the effects of last night’s oddities and wanted nothing more than to collapse on his bed and sleep.
He slowly closed and locked the door behind him, sliding the chain into place. Then turned and regarded the area cautiously, scanning the cramped living space for any indication of abnormality. Seeing nothing, he reached up to scratch absently at his ear. The heavy sensation of being near somebody made his skin prickle with goosebumps. He pulled at his night clothes with that strange sense of self-consciousness, feeling as if the material barrier was being stripped aside. The obscene sensation of knowing that he was being observed in such a way made him scowl at himself. His imagination, tripped by the stupid doll, was running off with him.
Rummaging through the cupboards in the kitchen, he found the pouch of tobacco and wrappers and proceeded to make himself a cigarette. Minutes later, he sat at the edge of his bed, staring at the heavy skillet that still sat where he’d last placed it. The smoke from his cigarette colored the air, scenting the area with the pungent scent. Sanji held it loosely between his lips, sitting back with his palms supporting his weight, toes unconsciously curling and clenching together atop of the hardwood floor.
He went over the actions of last night, wondering how it was all possible. He still hadn’t found the doll. And he refused to think that Zoro was right. It was just ridiculous. Zoro was fucking around with his head for some reason, and Sanji wanted it all to stop. If this was Zoro’s idea of humor, then Sanji wasn’t getting it.
He pulled up a hand to carefully remove the smoldering cigarette from his mouth. He exhaled smoke from his nostrils and then studied the bright ember at the end. It hadn’t taken more than a second; yet when he lifted his eyes to bring the cigarette back to his mouth, he nearly inhaled the entire thing down his throat. Because every drawer, cabinet door and container in his kitchen was currently open, exposing insides of various sorts.
Sanji rose from his position, coughing on both smoke and spit. He couldn’t take his eyes away from the sight–just moments ago things had been normal. Nothing had been open. How could–? And how did–?
He stared at the open cabinets in incredulous design. He’d heard nothing. Seen nothing. He’d been looking at the kitchen just–! And he’d just looked down at his cigarette for less than a second–! There was no way–!
Utterly disturbed, Sanji hurriedly crossed the space between his bed space and the kitchen, and hastily closed everything. Then slowly backed away, not wanting to blink. He felt the mattress edge at the backs of his knees and sat. A child cried for their mother down the hall, and his skin prickled with goosebumps.
He shook his head, and then rubbed his eyes. There was an explanation. He was tired. Maybe he opened them earlier and forgotten about it. But why would he...? And what was he looking for...? And why...?
He lifted his head, but everything was still in place as they were moments before. He left his bed to carefully put his cigarette out, wanting to save it for later. Setting the tray aside, he glanced over at the wall, where, on the other side, Zoro was. Maybe.
Sanji licked his lips. He couldn’t hear anything from that side. Maybe Zoro had left while Sanji was using the bathroom, heading out for a bar and cheap food. It made him a little pissed in recognizing the sensation of wanting to have the other near, or to at least know he was over there.
He went back to bed, resolving to leave the lamp on. Just in case. Crawling underneath the blankets, Sanji exhaled heavily, folding his hands behind his head and staring up at the ceiling. His eyelids were heavy.
The clock read five to ten.
-
Sanji’s eyes shot open, a short gasp leaving him. There was a human form in black just leaving his bedside, heavy boots tromping on the floor as it strode past the paper divider and disappeared beyond the darkness of his bedspace. Despite the crazy jitter of his heart, Sanji sat up and wondered if he’d seen what he thought he did. His skin had broken out in goosebumps once more, and his ears were ringing with the sound of heavy boots upon floor–but he kept questioning himself.
Unblinking, Sanji stared at the darkness beyond the paper divider. Zoro. It had to be Zoro. The green haired iron-worker was still pissed at him for not cooking tonight.
Sanji shot off his bed and hurried over to turn on the lamp, jostling the record player and radio at the same instant. The apartment was empty. Clenching his teeth, Sanji twisted around, leapt onto his bed and kicked at the wall that separated his apartment from Zoro’s.
“Marimo motherfucker!” he screamed, giving the wall one good kick. “Knock that shit off!”
Moments after he’d dropped his foot, he heard Zoro’s answering reply. “What the fuck?!”
“Stop fucking around with me!” Sanji screamed back, uncaring that his shouting would wake the others around him.
“What the fuck?!” Zoro screamed back, but it sounded as if he were moving around.
The kitchen cabinets and drawers were open again. There was the faint trickle of water, and Sanji realized that the sink was on. He rushed over and twisted the handle, then glared at the open cabinets. He heard Zoro’s door open and slam shut; his own rang with heated pounding moments later.
Hastily, he shut all the drawers and cabinets once more, and scurried around the counter. Without really thinking, he kicked the door, nearly losing his balance as he did so.
“I know it’s you!”
“Let me in!”
“Fuck you!”
Sanji kicked his own door once more, Zoro pounding away at it. Flicking his hair from his face, Sanji looked over at the clock. It was ten after eleven. He gaped at it.
The chain rattled as Zoro tried to force his way in, snarling. Sanji jerked around, and fumbled with all the locks and the chain, letting Zoro in. But not without shoving at him once, the green haired man stumbling backward in surprise. But in reaction, Zoro shoved past him, looked around the apartment, then looked at him in incredulous frustration.
“What the hell’s the matter with you?!” he roared. There were answering noises from the other apartment next door. A child started crying for their mother.
“I know it’s you,” Sanji snarled. But then he hesitated. Within a matter of seconds, from actually waking up to see the man walking away to kicking on Zoro’s wall, he had to wonder if it really was Zoro at all.
Zoro swept his hands down his face. He looked pissed. “It’s almost twelve! Why are you throwing a fit–a hissy woman fit at that–at fucking twelve o’clock?!”
“I know what time it is!” Sanji hissed, then drew himself back. There were sleep lines on the left side of the other man’s face; drool dried at the corner of his mouth. “Er...were you...sleeping?”
“Actually, yes. I was. How did you know?”
Sanji narrowed his visible eye. “You lie. You lie with that green hair of yours!”
In exasperation, Zoro flung his arms out. “What the fuck?! C’mon!”
Sanji looked down at his feet, seeing his bare toes. The green hairs that splayed over every toe. Hairy motherfucker, he thought shrewdly. The man had been wearing heavy boots. He would have heard Zoro leaving the room with them, running down the hall, running into his room. He would have heard Zoro kicking them off. But he didn’t. He didn’t hear any of that.
Zoro eyed him undecidedly. Then he snorted. “Your stupid doll’s fucking with you,” he then muttered.
Sanji grit his teeth, eye slicing over to him. Zoro stiffened, tensing for action, then relaxed as Sanji stomped away from him. Tanned forehead furrowing, Zoro watched the other man rummage through his kitchen; drawing out packages of meat from the icebox, turning on the stove, slamming the cabinet doors for various items.
Zoro’s face scrunched up with heavy incredulity as Sanji began to whip up a meal before his eyes. The iron-worker started to think that the blond was going insane. Sanji never acted this pissy and freaky before; not before that doll came along. Feeling drained and too tired to bother figuring out why Sanji decided to wake him up in the middle of the night for something he didn’t even do–he didn’t even know what he’d done, come to think of it–Zoro stretched and headed for the door.
“Where are you going?!” Sanji snarled from the kitchen, over the frying of meat.
“To bed. Some of us have actual jobs they need to go to in the morning,” Zoro snapped back.
“Fuck you. Come back here and eat this shit so you can leave me alone!”
“I’ve done nothing to you!” Zoro exclaimed. But the smells caught him on the way out of the door. He hesitated, feeling his stomach rumble. Decision made, he gave a big show of grumbling about it before shutting the door and taking up space on the remaining stool nearby. “Fine. Since you’re doing it anyway.”
Sanji grit his teeth and sliced up potatoes with rather threatening flicks of his wrist. By the time he slapped a plate full of food in front of a yawning Zoro, it was nearly one. By the time the green haired man ate and left, it was nearly one-ten. Leaving the mess in the kitchen, Sanji stomped over to the door, locked up, then turned the lamp off. Resettling in bed, he angrily jerked the blanket around him and glared up at the darkness of the ceiling, certain he’d kill Zoro if he came back to the apartment to wake him up again.
-
The rustle of material and the tug on his clothes pulled Sanji out of a sound sleep. For a few moments he laid stiffly, blinking sleep heavy eyes as he felt his shirt collar pull tightly over his throat; as if his own hands were closing the slight gap. His mind was sluggish for a few moments; there was weight against his right side. The mattress had dipped. He could feel the heat and heaviness of a man sitting next to him, and could feel the rough fingertips on his skin, just below his collarbone.
He closed his eyes with a tired sigh, shifting to accommodate the weight on his bed, smoothing his night shirt back into place. “Zoro...lemme alone,” he muttered, pushing at the man. “No wanna...”
“Not Zoro,” came the angry hiss, something foreign and distinct and utterly chilling that Sanji was wide awake in moments, eyes opening wide as his mattress lifted upon the man shifting. Without truly assessing the situation, Sanji kicked and flailed madly, certain to at least catch the intruder that made his very bones ripple with unease.
His blanket fell to the floor, and he hit only air. He stumbled up and away from his bed, slammed past the paper divider and turned on the lamp–revealing nothing. Absolutely nothing. Struggling for calm and a clear head, Sanji stared at his empty apartment. His skin continued to ripple with fear and astonishment. His hands were shaking as he rested them atop of the table. Feeling absolutely flabbergasted with the lack of presence in his eyesight, Sanji wasn’t sure what had happened to make him react in such a manner.
He reached up to cradle his head within both hands, eyes squeezing shut. Maybe he was dreaming. Maybe he was just–dreaming. And the dream had been so real and abrupt and–it had to be a dream. Because Sanji was damn sure he’d felt Zoro at his side; he’d felt the marimo’s touches. He’d felt the weight on his bed. He’d heard the voice–
He lifted his head once more. ‘Not Zoro’, it had said. The hairs on the back of his neck rose. He’d heard the distinct words, the petulant annoyance. Without further investigation, Sanji dropped to his knees and looked under his bed. Under the very open space underneath the table he stood against. He clamored noisily to his narrow closet, jerked the door open, and wildly swept his few pieces of clothing aside. Then, just knowing that what he was doing was mad, he ran over to the kitchen and began opening and closing every drawer and cabinet door, searching for the intruder.
Panting lightly, Sanji straightened at his sink. He stared down at the drain, clutching the edges of the sink and feeling bewildered as he questioned himself. Was he going mad? Were his dreams so vivid?
The floor creaked around his bed, drawing him to jerk around to look over. There was nothing there. But a shadow passed by the table with the lamp, and not even a moment later, the light disappeared with a fizzle and snap that made Sanji jerk in reaction.
The apartment grew bone-chilling cold within a mere instant. His flesh trembled with the cold, and as he stood there in paralyzed reaction, Sanji could hear the heavy footfalls of booted feet within his own apartment. The floor under his own bare feet rumbled, and the breathing sounds had returned once more. Sanji’s eyes adjusted to the sudden darkness. He caught the form of a man pacing the small space between his front door and the large book shelf. He could see where the moonlight reflected off the dark material of his clothing. He could see the bushy head.
Mutters began–heavy, angry mutters that made Sanji’s blood run cold.
‘Not Zoro’, he was sure he heard. But he couldn’t be certain. His brain was rushing with too many things to focus. He wasn’t certain of his situation, but at the same time, it was all happening right before his eyes. He was hearing, seeing and feeling the entire thing–but yet it couldn’t be happening because there was no such things as ghosts. Or–or whatever it was...
The bookshelf suddenly tipped, and Sanji could see it jerking forward, under suddenly invisible hands. Books tumbled loudly to the floor as the bookshelf followed with an obscenely loud rumble that made him cry out in surprise.
“Not Zoro!” came the distinct hiss.
Heart in his throat and lungs tight, Sanji simply stood there in paralyzed silence. Boots tromped once more, but there were the sounds of books being mashed underfoot. There was a heavy bang as the bookshelf received punishment from a solid kick. The sensation of being stared at made Sanji absolutely frantic as his body jolted and he found himself running and stumbling toward the door. His fingers shook as he fumbled with the chain and the multiple locks on his door.
His skin prickled with sensation as the heavy sound of boots on floor came stomping toward him; awareness of being watched and approached made panic hasten his actions. He felt breathing at the back of his neck and the sensation of having hands on his shoulders before he raced out into the hall. Jerking around, he saw his door slam shut, the entire hallway ringing with the slamming. People shifted in their cramped apartments all throughout the floor. Someone protested the loud noises in a foreign tongue. A child started to cry for its mother.
Sanji was breathing too heavily and in too much of a panic hazed fog before he realized that people were peering out of their apartments to look at him. The sights of frazzled faces and curious muttering prompted him to pry himself from the wall facing his door, his movements shaky and hesitant. Embarrassment over his actions and commotion caused his entire head to flush with heat. Instantly, he jerked his own door open and then cautiously stepped inside. The light was still out, there were books all over the floor, and the shelf was still tipped over. But the sensation of another presence was missing.
Quietly, Sanji shut his door. But he didn’t lock it. Instead, he flattened himself against the surface and struggled to calm himself. He closed his eyes and strove to even out his breathing. Even as his skin broke out into a sweat, it was cold and prickled with goosebumps. Opening his eyes again, Sanji stared out at the darkness.
The clock read two-twenty.
-
‘Sanji’.
The blond’s eyes fluttered, but he was so tired that he didn’t even want to respond to the sound of his name being uttered.
‘Sanji.’
With a low growl, Sanji pulled his pillow over his head, drawing his blanket tight around him.
‘What the fuck. Sanji’.
With a start, Sanji jerked upward in bed. He’d distinctly heard the curse. Zoro, he thought instantly. Only Zoro used that tone with him.
But the moment he realized that he was lying against his front door, that his apartment was still a mess, that he wasn’t alone, Sanji realized that it wasn’t Zoro that was speaking to him. Zoro didn’t have that heavy, foreign accent. Zoro couldn’t have broken into his room, because Sanji had fallen asleep against the door. The other thing that puzzled him was that his blanket was draped around him and that his pillow was nearby. He hadn’t grabbed either before falling asleep.
The cold knowledge of knowing that someone had done that for him made his skin break out with goosebumps once more. He grit his teeth, pressing his back against the door, drawing his knees up to his chest. He couldn’t breathe normally–his eyelids were heavy and his mind was sluggish, but everything that was happening to him was having such an effect on him that he was starting to believe the curio shop owner’s tale of the doll.
The cursed doll that had imprisoned a malicious pirate’s soul within. That caused hauntings wherever it was kept.
Eyes rolling with heaviness, Sanji frantically tried to think of where the doll could be. It couldn’t be the doll itself causing the problems–no, he was seeing a full grown man. But there was no way possible a ghost–trapped inside of a child’s toy–
“I’m going mad,” Sanji whispered to himself. He wanted to believe–but at the same time, every time he thought of it, it was so ridiculous and incredulously stupid that he just couldn’t. He brought up a hand, rubbing at his eyes. He used his heel to kick at the floor, the thumping sending a slight vibration against his crouched form and no doubt waking neighbors of his.
He could see the clock straight across from him, atop of the table–at that moment, he was slightly stunned to realize that the radio was on, playing the distinct sounds of jazz. The woman’s rich voice was cheery within the heavy stillness of his apartment, but the effect sent utter chills down his back. Shakily, Sanji rose from the floor, letting the blanket drop from around him. He swallowed tightly. He was thankful for the lights of the city and the moon that illuminated his apartment, for as he carefully stepped through the piles of fallen books and maneuvered around the fallen bookshelf, he would have never been able to move. To function.
He could feel himself being watched, and he tensed. Carefully, without moving too much, Sanji scanned his apartment. The paper divider was up. Yet, even with that, he knew there was somebody behind there. Sitting on his bed. Watching him.
Sanji quickly leapt the rest of the way to the table and fumbled with the radio. He struggled to turn it off. When utmost silence hit him, he hesitated on his next action. Once more, his visible eye drew over to the divider. He could feel sinister and malevolent eyes on him; could absolutely feel the same emotions in the room. His exposed feet and hands were freezing, and as he sought to warm them, he looked over at the clock. Five minutes had passed since he’d awakened.
The baby was crying down the hall. Colic crying that made Sanji grateful for some noise.
Sanji wasn’t sure what to do, now. He had to acknowledge that freaky things were happening. He had to acknowledge that, if he hadn’t had the doll, this wouldn’t be happening. None of it.
His mind raced. He couldn’t picture where the doll could possibly be. He’d inadvertently searched everywhere, earlier. He hadn’t seen it. And Zoro kept denying that he’d done something to it–! Sanji thought of the necklace. Zoro had released it–that stupid green headed idiot had released the malicious pirate from his prison and unleashed it–!
Two fifty-five, the clock read. It felt like Sanji had been awake for hours. It felt as if he hadn’t had the chance for sleep in days. He could feel it in his mind, on his face. He swiped a hand down the length of his face, fingertips trailing off the growth of hair on his chin. Without much thought, he stepped forward and kicked the divider out of the way, revealing nothing on the other side. Just his bed. Empty...yet there were indentations at the edge, indicating the presence of weight.
The bed squeaked lightly, and the indentations disappeared. Sanji felt a chill sweep through him, and he decided that he had enough. Quickly, he stumbled through the mess in his apartment, struggled with the locks on his door and left his apartment yet again. Feeling incredibly foolish and yet fearful enough to stay on his course, Sanji made the very small trek to Zoro’s door and knocked quietly on it.
“Be awake, asshole,” he whispered, straining his ears to hear the familiar sound of Zoro’s snores. Upon hearing it, he knocked louder. “Wake up. Wake up right now, dick face.”
Minutes passed. Zoro still wasn’t answering. The colicky baby continued to cry, and some man erupted into violent fits of coughing. Sanji’s ears tingled, and his feet continued to freeze as he waited outside of Zoro’s door. He stuffed his hands under his armpits and waited, listening for Zoro to acknowledge his knocking. Sanji removed a hand to knock again, firmer and more impatiently. He glanced around to make sure that nobody was looking at him again, like they had earlier.
Sanji’s throat tightened at the sound of his door opening. Sanji tilted his head slightly, just enough to see past the flop of blond hair that obscured half of his face, watching as his door knob disappeared into the darkness of his apartment. The slight squeak of unoiled hinges and the telltale swinging weight of the chain on his door jingled musically in the hall.
Moments passed. He could hear that breathing. The baby seemed to cry harder all at once, the man’s violent coughing growing more strained, more desperate. A child began to cry out for their mother once more, and every one of these sounds, combined with the intense silence that came from Sanji’s own apartment seemed to attack Sanji’s sanity at that very moment.
He began kicking and pounding on Zoro’s door in a fitful panic, wanting nothing more than to be in there, to be near the iron-worker, to be anywhere but his own apartment. He didn’t care if people heard him, or if they looked at him–he didn’t care what the hour was. He just wanted away.
Sanji stilled. Awareness made every one of his limbs heavy, for the hairs to rise straight up on the back of his neck.
Freezing in the action of pounding at Zoro’s door, Sanji realized that it was utterly silent. As if someone had turned a switch, effectively silencing off the world. Sanji’s skin broke out into a cold sweat. For some reason, his eye focused on his open apartment door, and every instinct he had screamed out at him.
‘Sanji.’
The sensation his heart leaping into his throat made him choke. That voice, its mottled, accented growl was obvious within the silence. Dominating everything. His mind, his thoughts, his very being.
‘Sanji...’
He dreaded hearing his own name coming from that open door. He clapped his hands over his ears, wanting to run away from his position, but it was as if his legs were locked solidly, refusing to obey the frantic orders of his mind.
‘SanjiSanjiSanjiSanjiSanjiSanji!’
The blond found strength to hit Zoro’s door repeatedly, the iron-worker’s name leaving his thin lips in frantic shouts. When pounding wasn’t enough, Sanji found himself scratching at the wood, mad in his efforts to get away from that dark growl and from the evil presence that seemed to watch him from inside of his apartment. Splinters embedded underneath his fingernails–fingernails broke and chipped. When scratching and pounding wasn’t enough, Sanji began throwing himself at Zoro’s door.
‘Not there...here! Here! What the fuck. Sanji!’
In a mindless move, Sanji’s shaking fingers curled around the doorknob, and he suddenly found himself spilling into the opening door. He hit the floor of Zoro’s apartment, breathing heavily and weak everywhere, but his mind was continuously screaming at Zoro for the action.
Even as he stumbled to his feet, half aware that the sounds of the colicky baby, coughing man and crying child came back to life, Sanji was cursing Zoro for being so careless. Didn’t the green haired idiot know that there were desperate souls out there, looking for an opportunity like this? Who left their door unlocked in such a dangerous part of the city?
Zoro’s apartment was pitch black and bare. The man had only a mattress on the floor, no pillow, and a couple of blankets that had seen better days. The kitchen was heavily dusted, the counters covered in miscellaneous ware. The window was wide open, revealing the sounds of the city outside.
Still, Sanji stood just inside the doorway, feeling himself calm at the frantic escape he’d made. Everything was normal, now. He didn’t feel any menacing eyes on him, nor did he feel threatened. Zoro’s apartment was entirely different from his, both in air and environment.
After relaxing, Sanji stared at the heavily snoring man just a few feet away. He glared at Zoro, wondering how the man could not have heard a thing. Sanji lifted his hands, aware that they were shaking. Splinters jutted upward from underneath his fingernails, and blood stained the tips. His hands were sore from pounding away at the door, and he had to wince. Licking dry lips, Sanji carefully ventured forward, then caught himself.
What was he going to do? What was he looking for? What was he going to say to Zoro? ‘Oh, hey marimo. Let me sleep with you.’ ‘Yeah, there’s some evil spirit in my place, and you were right–’
Sanji’s pride immediately squelched that last bit. Admitting to Zoro that he was right was something Sanji didn’t want to do.
He scowled. Zoro continued to snore.
Heavy uncertainty and ridiculous shame in his earlier actions had Sanji impatiently stomping a heel on the floor. Zoro snorted, shifted, and resumed snoring again. Sanji winced. How could anyone sleep around the man with those noises–?
With a hard press of his lips, Sanji turned and walked out of Zoro’s apartment, closing the door behind him. With heavy and slow steps, he began the slow walk back to his. Once reaching the open door, Sanji hesitated to look inside. To be in view of the menace that had chased him from his living space left him questioning his decision in coming back.
Heavy boot falls on the hall stairway caused him to jump. Not wanting to be caught outside once more in his night clothes, Sanji entered his apartment and shut the door behind him. The apartment felt empty. Silenced. Normal.
Slowly, he drew the locks once more.
The clock read three-fifteen.
-
Exhaustion forced him to fall asleep around three forty-five. Sanji couldn’t keep his eyes open, but he was elated in that morning was coming soon. The sun would rise, bathing the city and his apartment with its welcome warmth and light, and this nightmare would end. He slept fitfully, if not heavily–his mind wanting to shut down despite the continuous churl of thoughts and reviews over everything that had happened.
At four twenty-three, he was moaning softly, feeling his body tingle with rising heat and anxiety. He felt incredibly horny, hungry for sex. His skin felt slick with sweat, and despite his exhaustion, his body was already in the throes of neediness and desperation for friction. He shifted restlessly atop of his bed, groaning at how painful his erection was. His heels pressed hard atop of his mattress, his knees shaking as he lifted them with impatient action. His hips undulated slowly, skin craving touch and his thighs opened wide, the very movement sending curls of heat up and down his belly. Being opened wide in this manner made the entire craving much more stronger than before, his body impatient and needy for attention that he couldn’t even receive. Despite himself, he couldn’t even think to guess why he woke up in such a horny mood, why he couldn’t just reach down and satisfy himself.
All he could do was mindlessly lift his hips, cock straining underneath his night clothes, and thoughtlessly search for attention. His heart was slamming hard in his chest, and every moan and pant he gave was amplified within the stillness and silence of his apartment. His back arched, nipples over sensitive as the material of his shirt teased him as it slithered over his chest with his movements.
Overwhelming heat and strength in a roughly calloused palm caused him to jerk–but overpowering lust had him moving into the touch rather than away from it. It caused him to curse, to make his body cry out for more. In his thoughtless lust, Sanji didn’t think to open his eyes, or to even consciously question the situation. His body was in need–it was mindless. It wanted only to be touched and satisfied, and it didn’t matter how or why.
A moving hand swept the shirt up to expose his belly–for hot breath to expel over the thin hairs that trailed down from his navel. Sanji heard himself whimper, could feel himself pushing upward for more contact, more heat, more friction. The slow drag of a hot tongue over his stomach made it flutter, for sensation like no other to drive his senses up the wall. He groaned loudly, protesting in wordless action, wrists bending and straining. The feel of his arms up around his head didn’t occur to Sanji at that moment, for when he felt stubble, lips and a pressing jaw against the jutting angles of his hipbones, he cried out.
The bed creaked loudly–the empty space between his legs were filled, and upon that instant, Sanji’s legs wrapped around the very welcome body that pressed against him. He was able to rub his groin upward into the body above him, satisfying that demanding need for friction against his straining dick. As his ears rang with buzzing pleasure and need, Sanji became faintly conscious of struggling to have his hands released; only vaguely aware that both wrists were entrapped within one overly strong grip.
“Please,” he heard himself whisper, hips straining upward. “Please...”
‘Sanji Sanji Sanji Sanji...’
He whimpered at the feel of his shirt pushed up around his armpits. For a nipple to be plucked between a wet and hot mouth. He arched his back once more, straining upward, feeling his insides heat and tingle with the overwhelming sensation of pleasure. His hair was in his face; he couldn’t see. But he didn’t need to. He just needed that physical pleasure of having hands where they needed to be, to have his body played with and satisfied–
He cried out again, a throaty sound as he felt the familiar coarse heat of a hand wrapping around his dick. He thought he’d cum right there, feeling his balls tighten and for his insides to sizzle with impending orgasm, but instead pain flared like a hot poker pressed against his skin. He shrieked with mindless action, body jolting with force, feeling the ramming force of a thick and punishing dick up his ass. His hips were forced upward, all his weight driving into his shoulders as his rigid legs splayed with almost comical action. And instead of pleasure, he felt the twisting sensation of being possessed, of being claimed as a searing heat split his asshole apart.
Shrieking again, Sanji was only vaguely conscious of his body being lifted high, for his hands to be released so that they could flail against the wall and the bed. Again and again his body was violated by intense force, his hips held at an uncomfortable angle.
He couldn’t seem to get away; he couldn’t seem to roll away, couldn’t seem to think to attack and defend. His bed protested loudly over violent actions, and as he flailed, hitting the wall in his maniac efforts, he heard the low chuckles of a man satisfied. Just after registering that, Sanji screamed again, feeling the hot, searing sensation of flesh being rent; of skin being pinched and twisted. With his near hyperventilating breathing, he could smell human musk, iron and rot. Sulphur.
‘Mineminemineminemine...not Zoro.’
-
At five fifty-six, Zoro had had enough of the wall banging, shouting and obvious bedroom activity from next door. Even as he tried to muffle the noises with one of his blankets, a strange flare of fury and disbelief had his insides sizzling with welling anger. To think that Sanji was with someone else made Zoro suddenly insecure and...maybe just a tiny bit sad.
Not that he thought anything more of Sanji as a free cook and a willing bed partner–no, not at all. But he felt insulted that Sanji would flaunt his new lover in Zoro’s face the way he was doing now. In a way, Zoro found himself questioning what the hell he’d done wrong; to be tossed aside as nothing. In another, he was in disbelief that someone else would actually find the skinny, flaxen-haired jerk-off attractive enough for a quick–well, make that an hour’s worth ‘quick’–lay. And in yet another, he had to wonder why Sanji didn’t want him anymore.
Zoro was quite sure they were both satisfied in bed. He knew exactly where to touch and how to drive the skinny cook into a trembling mess that he tried to hide behind curses and demands; he knew that the blond actually enjoyed his company, because why would Sanji keep up this routine nightly if he didn’t?
Zoro tightened the blankets around his head. Thoughts moved from one to another, and he found himself growing angrier and angrier as minutes passed. Finally, he decided that he was going to face whomever it was that was making Sanji scream that way. He was going to compare himself to the other man, and he was going to confront Sanji nastily for the insult.
At six twenty-seven, dressed and ready for work, Zoro marched to Sanji’s door and pounded upon it angrily. A small family hurried around him, wide eyes flitting in different directions as ears strained. Zoro kept his face forward; but his own ears were hot. His stomach was in knots. The more he thought about things, the more he felt betrayed and...hurt.
He knocked again, driving more force into it. Sanji couldn’t avoid him–the man needed to work to keep his apartment. He heard movement in the apartment, and he steadied himself. Steeling his shoulders. Tightening his abs and making his arms rigid, so that the muscles popped. Dammit, he even strained his neck to make himself look more intimidating. The sight of his muscle bound frame and scowling face often sent many a men walking the other way, and Zoro was determined to make Sanji’s new bedmate pay for taking over on his–well, his cook.
The chain shifted, and locks were disengaged; Zoro steeled himself, holding his breath as the door opened.
Sanji looked out at him blearily, and Zoro refused to be shocked at the intense shadows around his eyes, the heavy bags underneath. The blond looked as if he hadn’t slept in months. His skin coloring was sickly and gray, and his hair more limp and stringy than before. As if he’d had the life sucked right out of him by some greedy...vampire-creature.
Sanji opened the door wide, and Zoro was just slightly stunned to see the fallen bookcase and books. The disarray of the usually tidy apartment was just...as astounding as the sight of the creature that rented it.
“Whaddaya want, ‘mo?” Sanji croaked, and Zoro focused on him even as he forced his way inside. There was no one else there–and there wasn’t the scent of sex. Nothing at all. With how long Sanji and the other man was going at it, the room had to have a single trace of cum or ass scent. But there wasn’t. Just the scent of the food he’d prepared for Zoro hours earlier. The window was even shut and locked. There was no way Sanji could have made the smells go away so quickly.
Zoro looked back at him, keeping his steely expression in place. Sanji only glared at him, looking slightly demonic and possessed at that moment. Zoro promptly lost his rigidness. Maybe...maybe he was just hearing things.
“Ah...you...were pretty loud,” he said, struggling to make himself sound unconcerned and uncaring. But he noticed the slight whine at the end. He winced.
Sanji stared at him. Even the blue of his eyes were darkened and shadowed. His face shifted into an impatient scowl. “What?”
“LOUD,” Zoro repeated, unintentionally raising his voice. He winced again. “Just–the walls are thin. All right? Everybody can hear everything!”
Sanji stared at him in silence. Zoro noticed that his lips were painfully dry. “What are you talking about?” Sanji finally snapped.
Impatiently, Zoro shifted. His boots clumped against the floor. He wanted to rip Sanji’s night clothes off of him to check for telltale marks. He wanted to look for finger shaped bruises on his pale skin, and wanted to comb through his flaxen pubic hairs for signs of another man’s presence. He wanted to bend him over and check the clenching hole of his ass to see if someone had–
But he restrained himself and his more primitive urges. Because Sanji’s expression was truthfully bewildered. Zoro could tell that the other man had no idea of what he was talking about. Despite himself, Zoro grew impatient, wanting to confirm everything before he absolutely had to leave for work.
“Were you fucking with somebody else?” he asked, lowering his voice and making his tone more menacing. Threatening Sanji audibly. Telling him that if the blond tried to lie, Zoro would know.
Sanji’s visible eye widened slightly, and then his face registered impatient fury. He gave an agitated shake of his body before yelling, “NO! What the fuck?! NO! You barge in on me this early in the morning to see if I–?! Of all the stupid, idiotic–!”
“I’m serious,” Zoro huffed, not reacting too much when Sanji jerked around, angrily yanking his closet door open to withdraw clothing. While Sanji was busy with his shaking hands, Zoro looked back at the mess with the bookshelf and books. At the fallen paper divider. Then he looked at the kitchen and gaped. Sanji must have been frantically searching for something. Every door and drawer was wide open. The sink was running quietly.
Distracted, Zoro frowned at the other. He subtly searched for any telltale semen marks on Sanji’s clothes, on the way he walked. But without proper investigation, Zoro couldn’t tell. He still wanted to go through with what he wanted to earlier. But then again, maybe Sanji had topped. They’d done that a couple of times.
Still...no scent of sex...no outward signs of sex...no man...Zoro was convinced he was hearing things. He reached up and fiddled with the black material he’d tied around his head to catch the sweat and keep off the sun. Satisfied for the now, he looked at the clock. Six forty-seven.
He looked back at Sanji, who was muttering under his breath about nosy marimos. He then cast a look around. Ever since Sanji brought that doll back to his place...seeing no sign of it, he gave a limp wave and walked out the door.
Warning: Horror, slash, AU
A/N: Another citrusy scene. O.o Proceed with caution towards the end.
Pirate In The Doll:
Part Two
The day was shot–he scrambled all day to correct his mistakes, to keep up with the demanding work load. The head chef had given him a good kicking from time to time, bellowing his displeasure to Sanji’s efforts, and the other cooks had been less than subtle about rubbing his mistakes in his face. He’d mixed up two lunch orders for impossibly rich clients and had added too many spices to one dish that had the man complaining. He hadn’t cooked a particular dish long enough; he sliced his own fingers while chopping up vegetables; everything that could go wrong went.
By the time he stumbled into his apartment later that night, Sanji wanted nothing more than to go to bed. To prepare himself for a better day tomorrow. He’d just kicked off his heavy shoes and jerked off his tie when Zoro walked in, looking just as exhausted as he. Sanji didn’t feel like cooking, but at the same time, he didn’t want to send the other off because just seeing Zoro made his spirits lift a little. He needed somebody to vent on, and Zoro was a good victim because he never allowed Sanji to bitch at him without bitching right back.
“I’ve had a shitty day, marimo,” he warned, sinking onto the edge of his bed while he massaged his aching feet. Zoro looked up from the books that still lay spread throughout the kitchen floor to look at him. “Anything I make will taste like shit.”
“What was with all the noise last night?” Zoro then complained, disappointed as he realized that Sanji wasn’t about to cook. He kicked aside a stack of books. Sanji felt momentarily guilty. He knew Zoro risked everything on those damn high rises. He wanted to get up and at least make something, but with the way things went today, he was afraid in actually making the other sick. So this conflict of feeling only made Sanji even more frustrated.
A pout worked across Zoro’s features, and Sanji could tell the other had cleaned up before coming over–though there was blackened streaks in his green hair near his right temple. “Still whining about your damn shitty shelves?”
Sanji wasn’t sure whether or not to tell Zoro about the oddities that had happened. Zoro might make fun of him. He scowled at the green haired man. “None of your nosy-ass business. I’m surprised you even heard anything. That nose of yours emits some pretty shitty loud noises. Like a Goddamned...thing that makes Goddamned loud noises!”
Zoro waved his hands around. “Whooo...stop with the killer insults.”
Sanji was frustrated with his predicament. Swiping his hair from his face, he then rested his elbows atop of his knees, glaring at the books on the floor. He could feel Zoro looking at him; it was odd how different Zoro’s stare was from...whatever it was that was staring at him last night. It made his skin crawl for some reason.
“You look like shit,” Zoro finally decided, grabbing a stool and sitting down. But the moment he did, one of the legs snapped with a loud crack, spilling him to the floor. Zoro gave a flabbergasted noise as he landed on his hands and knees, Sanji sitting up with a startled expression.
Both of them looked back at the broken stool, and Sanji cursed as he strode over.
Zoro shot up from the floor, glaring at the broken leg that lay on the floor while Sanji snatched up the stool. “Your place is falling apart,” Zoro then snapped, rubbing his knee.
“Why are you breaking my shit?!”
“I’m not–! I didn’t! I just sat on the fucking thing, and it broke!”
Sanji hit him with the stool, then tossed it at his door. Zoro rubbed his arm, giving him an annoyed look while the stool slammed against the battered wood and broke on its descent to the floor.
As his eyes swiped over the stacks of books on his counter, Sanji caught sight of the necklace. He picked it up and held it at Zoro, making it dance as he demanded, “And where the hell is my art, asshole? I can’t find it!”
Zoro pushed the necklace away of his face. “I don’t know! Why are you asking me that? Maybe it got up and ran away,” he then said with a sneer, making his right index and middle fingers ‘run’.
“Fucking idiot. Who believes in that shit?” Sanji snapped, throwing the necklace at him. “I want it back, marimo. I mean it.”
“I didn’t do anything with it!”
“Then where the hell is it?!”
“I just told you what might’ve–!”
“Shut up with that bullshit! It was just a stupid story! I know you’re fucking around with me, and it isn’t funny, Zoro!”
Zoro’s eyebrows lifted. Despite his irritation at being the focus of Sanji’s odd bitchiness, he felt tickled at the sound of his name coming from the other. “Ooh. Must be extra special serious. You actually said my name.”
Sanji felt his face heat, but he reasoned that it was only because he was growing angrier with the situation. He drew up a leg and drove the heel of his right foot against Zoro’s left shoulder–an easy feat considering his flexibility, the man stumbling back before catching himself on the counter.
“Well, whatever, man. I didn’t do anything with your new toy. Hell, what would I want with it? I’m telling you, it got up and ran away an’ shit.” Zoro held up the necklace. “See? It’s been set free.”
Sanji stared at him for a couple of moments, a small part of him wanting to believe the story and wanting to relate the eerie incidents of the night before as proof, but with the smirk Zoro was giving him and the situation in that he didn’t believe in voodoo and black magic or whatever it was at hand convinced him otherwise.
He narrowed his visible eye. Zoro stopped smirking and looked ready to move.
“I...have a headache,” Sanji then announced. Daring Zoro to say or do something about it.
Zoro rolled his eyes, but he tossed the necklace away. “Look: fine. I just want to make it clear, I didn’t do anything with your stupid doll. Maybe you...dropped it somewhere. Or...accidentally tossed it when you incinerated stuff last night. Hell, I don’t know. Maybe the owner tracked you down and took it back. Whatever it was, I didn’t do anything with it.”
“I don’t care about the fucking doll. Just–go away. Your idiot blather’s making things worse,” Sanji muttered, rubbing at his temple.
Zoro opened his mouth to say something, then snapped his teeth closed. He held his hands up, moving to the door. “You’re not the only one who had a long day,” he snapped. “You want to be shitty about things over some stupid toy, then take it out on someone that actually gives a shit.”
Sanji kicked him on his way out the door, then kicked the door shut. Hearing the iron-worker mutter as he retreated back to his own apartment, Sanji glared at the door. He listened to the key working in the lock, the open and slamming of the door. He heard Zoro stomping around, muttering. It was ridiculous how thin the walls were.
Sanji turned and surveyed the mess in his apartment. Then he kicked the broken stool. Feeling frustrated and annoyed, Sanji then began to gather and stack his cookbooks back into a neat pile near his potted plants.
-
That night after his shower, Sanji returned to his apartment and realized something was off. Everything was still in place; the door had been locked. Yet, as he deposited his toiletries onto the small table, there was a feeling in the air that made him feel as if he weren’t alone. As if there were someone nearby, watching him, waiting for him to fully enter and settle. Night had fallen, and though it wasn’t late, he was feeling the effects of last night’s oddities and wanted nothing more than to collapse on his bed and sleep.
He slowly closed and locked the door behind him, sliding the chain into place. Then turned and regarded the area cautiously, scanning the cramped living space for any indication of abnormality. Seeing nothing, he reached up to scratch absently at his ear. The heavy sensation of being near somebody made his skin prickle with goosebumps. He pulled at his night clothes with that strange sense of self-consciousness, feeling as if the material barrier was being stripped aside. The obscene sensation of knowing that he was being observed in such a way made him scowl at himself. His imagination, tripped by the stupid doll, was running off with him.
Rummaging through the cupboards in the kitchen, he found the pouch of tobacco and wrappers and proceeded to make himself a cigarette. Minutes later, he sat at the edge of his bed, staring at the heavy skillet that still sat where he’d last placed it. The smoke from his cigarette colored the air, scenting the area with the pungent scent. Sanji held it loosely between his lips, sitting back with his palms supporting his weight, toes unconsciously curling and clenching together atop of the hardwood floor.
He went over the actions of last night, wondering how it was all possible. He still hadn’t found the doll. And he refused to think that Zoro was right. It was just ridiculous. Zoro was fucking around with his head for some reason, and Sanji wanted it all to stop. If this was Zoro’s idea of humor, then Sanji wasn’t getting it.
He pulled up a hand to carefully remove the smoldering cigarette from his mouth. He exhaled smoke from his nostrils and then studied the bright ember at the end. It hadn’t taken more than a second; yet when he lifted his eyes to bring the cigarette back to his mouth, he nearly inhaled the entire thing down his throat. Because every drawer, cabinet door and container in his kitchen was currently open, exposing insides of various sorts.
Sanji rose from his position, coughing on both smoke and spit. He couldn’t take his eyes away from the sight–just moments ago things had been normal. Nothing had been open. How could–? And how did–?
He stared at the open cabinets in incredulous design. He’d heard nothing. Seen nothing. He’d been looking at the kitchen just–! And he’d just looked down at his cigarette for less than a second–! There was no way–!
Utterly disturbed, Sanji hurriedly crossed the space between his bed space and the kitchen, and hastily closed everything. Then slowly backed away, not wanting to blink. He felt the mattress edge at the backs of his knees and sat. A child cried for their mother down the hall, and his skin prickled with goosebumps.
He shook his head, and then rubbed his eyes. There was an explanation. He was tired. Maybe he opened them earlier and forgotten about it. But why would he...? And what was he looking for...? And why...?
He lifted his head, but everything was still in place as they were moments before. He left his bed to carefully put his cigarette out, wanting to save it for later. Setting the tray aside, he glanced over at the wall, where, on the other side, Zoro was. Maybe.
Sanji licked his lips. He couldn’t hear anything from that side. Maybe Zoro had left while Sanji was using the bathroom, heading out for a bar and cheap food. It made him a little pissed in recognizing the sensation of wanting to have the other near, or to at least know he was over there.
He went back to bed, resolving to leave the lamp on. Just in case. Crawling underneath the blankets, Sanji exhaled heavily, folding his hands behind his head and staring up at the ceiling. His eyelids were heavy.
The clock read five to ten.
-
Sanji’s eyes shot open, a short gasp leaving him. There was a human form in black just leaving his bedside, heavy boots tromping on the floor as it strode past the paper divider and disappeared beyond the darkness of his bedspace. Despite the crazy jitter of his heart, Sanji sat up and wondered if he’d seen what he thought he did. His skin had broken out in goosebumps once more, and his ears were ringing with the sound of heavy boots upon floor–but he kept questioning himself.
Unblinking, Sanji stared at the darkness beyond the paper divider. Zoro. It had to be Zoro. The green haired iron-worker was still pissed at him for not cooking tonight.
Sanji shot off his bed and hurried over to turn on the lamp, jostling the record player and radio at the same instant. The apartment was empty. Clenching his teeth, Sanji twisted around, leapt onto his bed and kicked at the wall that separated his apartment from Zoro’s.
“Marimo motherfucker!” he screamed, giving the wall one good kick. “Knock that shit off!”
Moments after he’d dropped his foot, he heard Zoro’s answering reply. “What the fuck?!”
“Stop fucking around with me!” Sanji screamed back, uncaring that his shouting would wake the others around him.
“What the fuck?!” Zoro screamed back, but it sounded as if he were moving around.
The kitchen cabinets and drawers were open again. There was the faint trickle of water, and Sanji realized that the sink was on. He rushed over and twisted the handle, then glared at the open cabinets. He heard Zoro’s door open and slam shut; his own rang with heated pounding moments later.
Hastily, he shut all the drawers and cabinets once more, and scurried around the counter. Without really thinking, he kicked the door, nearly losing his balance as he did so.
“I know it’s you!”
“Let me in!”
“Fuck you!”
Sanji kicked his own door once more, Zoro pounding away at it. Flicking his hair from his face, Sanji looked over at the clock. It was ten after eleven. He gaped at it.
The chain rattled as Zoro tried to force his way in, snarling. Sanji jerked around, and fumbled with all the locks and the chain, letting Zoro in. But not without shoving at him once, the green haired man stumbling backward in surprise. But in reaction, Zoro shoved past him, looked around the apartment, then looked at him in incredulous frustration.
“What the hell’s the matter with you?!” he roared. There were answering noises from the other apartment next door. A child started crying for their mother.
“I know it’s you,” Sanji snarled. But then he hesitated. Within a matter of seconds, from actually waking up to see the man walking away to kicking on Zoro’s wall, he had to wonder if it really was Zoro at all.
Zoro swept his hands down his face. He looked pissed. “It’s almost twelve! Why are you throwing a fit–a hissy woman fit at that–at fucking twelve o’clock?!”
“I know what time it is!” Sanji hissed, then drew himself back. There were sleep lines on the left side of the other man’s face; drool dried at the corner of his mouth. “Er...were you...sleeping?”
“Actually, yes. I was. How did you know?”
Sanji narrowed his visible eye. “You lie. You lie with that green hair of yours!”
In exasperation, Zoro flung his arms out. “What the fuck?! C’mon!”
Sanji looked down at his feet, seeing his bare toes. The green hairs that splayed over every toe. Hairy motherfucker, he thought shrewdly. The man had been wearing heavy boots. He would have heard Zoro leaving the room with them, running down the hall, running into his room. He would have heard Zoro kicking them off. But he didn’t. He didn’t hear any of that.
Zoro eyed him undecidedly. Then he snorted. “Your stupid doll’s fucking with you,” he then muttered.
Sanji grit his teeth, eye slicing over to him. Zoro stiffened, tensing for action, then relaxed as Sanji stomped away from him. Tanned forehead furrowing, Zoro watched the other man rummage through his kitchen; drawing out packages of meat from the icebox, turning on the stove, slamming the cabinet doors for various items.
Zoro’s face scrunched up with heavy incredulity as Sanji began to whip up a meal before his eyes. The iron-worker started to think that the blond was going insane. Sanji never acted this pissy and freaky before; not before that doll came along. Feeling drained and too tired to bother figuring out why Sanji decided to wake him up in the middle of the night for something he didn’t even do–he didn’t even know what he’d done, come to think of it–Zoro stretched and headed for the door.
“Where are you going?!” Sanji snarled from the kitchen, over the frying of meat.
“To bed. Some of us have actual jobs they need to go to in the morning,” Zoro snapped back.
“Fuck you. Come back here and eat this shit so you can leave me alone!”
“I’ve done nothing to you!” Zoro exclaimed. But the smells caught him on the way out of the door. He hesitated, feeling his stomach rumble. Decision made, he gave a big show of grumbling about it before shutting the door and taking up space on the remaining stool nearby. “Fine. Since you’re doing it anyway.”
Sanji grit his teeth and sliced up potatoes with rather threatening flicks of his wrist. By the time he slapped a plate full of food in front of a yawning Zoro, it was nearly one. By the time the green haired man ate and left, it was nearly one-ten. Leaving the mess in the kitchen, Sanji stomped over to the door, locked up, then turned the lamp off. Resettling in bed, he angrily jerked the blanket around him and glared up at the darkness of the ceiling, certain he’d kill Zoro if he came back to the apartment to wake him up again.
-
The rustle of material and the tug on his clothes pulled Sanji out of a sound sleep. For a few moments he laid stiffly, blinking sleep heavy eyes as he felt his shirt collar pull tightly over his throat; as if his own hands were closing the slight gap. His mind was sluggish for a few moments; there was weight against his right side. The mattress had dipped. He could feel the heat and heaviness of a man sitting next to him, and could feel the rough fingertips on his skin, just below his collarbone.
He closed his eyes with a tired sigh, shifting to accommodate the weight on his bed, smoothing his night shirt back into place. “Zoro...lemme alone,” he muttered, pushing at the man. “No wanna...”
“Not Zoro,” came the angry hiss, something foreign and distinct and utterly chilling that Sanji was wide awake in moments, eyes opening wide as his mattress lifted upon the man shifting. Without truly assessing the situation, Sanji kicked and flailed madly, certain to at least catch the intruder that made his very bones ripple with unease.
His blanket fell to the floor, and he hit only air. He stumbled up and away from his bed, slammed past the paper divider and turned on the lamp–revealing nothing. Absolutely nothing. Struggling for calm and a clear head, Sanji stared at his empty apartment. His skin continued to ripple with fear and astonishment. His hands were shaking as he rested them atop of the table. Feeling absolutely flabbergasted with the lack of presence in his eyesight, Sanji wasn’t sure what had happened to make him react in such a manner.
He reached up to cradle his head within both hands, eyes squeezing shut. Maybe he was dreaming. Maybe he was just–dreaming. And the dream had been so real and abrupt and–it had to be a dream. Because Sanji was damn sure he’d felt Zoro at his side; he’d felt the marimo’s touches. He’d felt the weight on his bed. He’d heard the voice–
He lifted his head once more. ‘Not Zoro’, it had said. The hairs on the back of his neck rose. He’d heard the distinct words, the petulant annoyance. Without further investigation, Sanji dropped to his knees and looked under his bed. Under the very open space underneath the table he stood against. He clamored noisily to his narrow closet, jerked the door open, and wildly swept his few pieces of clothing aside. Then, just knowing that what he was doing was mad, he ran over to the kitchen and began opening and closing every drawer and cabinet door, searching for the intruder.
Panting lightly, Sanji straightened at his sink. He stared down at the drain, clutching the edges of the sink and feeling bewildered as he questioned himself. Was he going mad? Were his dreams so vivid?
The floor creaked around his bed, drawing him to jerk around to look over. There was nothing there. But a shadow passed by the table with the lamp, and not even a moment later, the light disappeared with a fizzle and snap that made Sanji jerk in reaction.
The apartment grew bone-chilling cold within a mere instant. His flesh trembled with the cold, and as he stood there in paralyzed reaction, Sanji could hear the heavy footfalls of booted feet within his own apartment. The floor under his own bare feet rumbled, and the breathing sounds had returned once more. Sanji’s eyes adjusted to the sudden darkness. He caught the form of a man pacing the small space between his front door and the large book shelf. He could see where the moonlight reflected off the dark material of his clothing. He could see the bushy head.
Mutters began–heavy, angry mutters that made Sanji’s blood run cold.
‘Not Zoro’, he was sure he heard. But he couldn’t be certain. His brain was rushing with too many things to focus. He wasn’t certain of his situation, but at the same time, it was all happening right before his eyes. He was hearing, seeing and feeling the entire thing–but yet it couldn’t be happening because there was no such things as ghosts. Or–or whatever it was...
The bookshelf suddenly tipped, and Sanji could see it jerking forward, under suddenly invisible hands. Books tumbled loudly to the floor as the bookshelf followed with an obscenely loud rumble that made him cry out in surprise.
“Not Zoro!” came the distinct hiss.
Heart in his throat and lungs tight, Sanji simply stood there in paralyzed silence. Boots tromped once more, but there were the sounds of books being mashed underfoot. There was a heavy bang as the bookshelf received punishment from a solid kick. The sensation of being stared at made Sanji absolutely frantic as his body jolted and he found himself running and stumbling toward the door. His fingers shook as he fumbled with the chain and the multiple locks on his door.
His skin prickled with sensation as the heavy sound of boots on floor came stomping toward him; awareness of being watched and approached made panic hasten his actions. He felt breathing at the back of his neck and the sensation of having hands on his shoulders before he raced out into the hall. Jerking around, he saw his door slam shut, the entire hallway ringing with the slamming. People shifted in their cramped apartments all throughout the floor. Someone protested the loud noises in a foreign tongue. A child started to cry for its mother.
Sanji was breathing too heavily and in too much of a panic hazed fog before he realized that people were peering out of their apartments to look at him. The sights of frazzled faces and curious muttering prompted him to pry himself from the wall facing his door, his movements shaky and hesitant. Embarrassment over his actions and commotion caused his entire head to flush with heat. Instantly, he jerked his own door open and then cautiously stepped inside. The light was still out, there were books all over the floor, and the shelf was still tipped over. But the sensation of another presence was missing.
Quietly, Sanji shut his door. But he didn’t lock it. Instead, he flattened himself against the surface and struggled to calm himself. He closed his eyes and strove to even out his breathing. Even as his skin broke out into a sweat, it was cold and prickled with goosebumps. Opening his eyes again, Sanji stared out at the darkness.
The clock read two-twenty.
-
‘Sanji’.
The blond’s eyes fluttered, but he was so tired that he didn’t even want to respond to the sound of his name being uttered.
‘Sanji.’
With a low growl, Sanji pulled his pillow over his head, drawing his blanket tight around him.
‘What the fuck. Sanji’.
With a start, Sanji jerked upward in bed. He’d distinctly heard the curse. Zoro, he thought instantly. Only Zoro used that tone with him.
But the moment he realized that he was lying against his front door, that his apartment was still a mess, that he wasn’t alone, Sanji realized that it wasn’t Zoro that was speaking to him. Zoro didn’t have that heavy, foreign accent. Zoro couldn’t have broken into his room, because Sanji had fallen asleep against the door. The other thing that puzzled him was that his blanket was draped around him and that his pillow was nearby. He hadn’t grabbed either before falling asleep.
The cold knowledge of knowing that someone had done that for him made his skin break out with goosebumps once more. He grit his teeth, pressing his back against the door, drawing his knees up to his chest. He couldn’t breathe normally–his eyelids were heavy and his mind was sluggish, but everything that was happening to him was having such an effect on him that he was starting to believe the curio shop owner’s tale of the doll.
The cursed doll that had imprisoned a malicious pirate’s soul within. That caused hauntings wherever it was kept.
Eyes rolling with heaviness, Sanji frantically tried to think of where the doll could be. It couldn’t be the doll itself causing the problems–no, he was seeing a full grown man. But there was no way possible a ghost–trapped inside of a child’s toy–
“I’m going mad,” Sanji whispered to himself. He wanted to believe–but at the same time, every time he thought of it, it was so ridiculous and incredulously stupid that he just couldn’t. He brought up a hand, rubbing at his eyes. He used his heel to kick at the floor, the thumping sending a slight vibration against his crouched form and no doubt waking neighbors of his.
He could see the clock straight across from him, atop of the table–at that moment, he was slightly stunned to realize that the radio was on, playing the distinct sounds of jazz. The woman’s rich voice was cheery within the heavy stillness of his apartment, but the effect sent utter chills down his back. Shakily, Sanji rose from the floor, letting the blanket drop from around him. He swallowed tightly. He was thankful for the lights of the city and the moon that illuminated his apartment, for as he carefully stepped through the piles of fallen books and maneuvered around the fallen bookshelf, he would have never been able to move. To function.
He could feel himself being watched, and he tensed. Carefully, without moving too much, Sanji scanned his apartment. The paper divider was up. Yet, even with that, he knew there was somebody behind there. Sitting on his bed. Watching him.
Sanji quickly leapt the rest of the way to the table and fumbled with the radio. He struggled to turn it off. When utmost silence hit him, he hesitated on his next action. Once more, his visible eye drew over to the divider. He could feel sinister and malevolent eyes on him; could absolutely feel the same emotions in the room. His exposed feet and hands were freezing, and as he sought to warm them, he looked over at the clock. Five minutes had passed since he’d awakened.
The baby was crying down the hall. Colic crying that made Sanji grateful for some noise.
Sanji wasn’t sure what to do, now. He had to acknowledge that freaky things were happening. He had to acknowledge that, if he hadn’t had the doll, this wouldn’t be happening. None of it.
His mind raced. He couldn’t picture where the doll could possibly be. He’d inadvertently searched everywhere, earlier. He hadn’t seen it. And Zoro kept denying that he’d done something to it–! Sanji thought of the necklace. Zoro had released it–that stupid green headed idiot had released the malicious pirate from his prison and unleashed it–!
Two fifty-five, the clock read. It felt like Sanji had been awake for hours. It felt as if he hadn’t had the chance for sleep in days. He could feel it in his mind, on his face. He swiped a hand down the length of his face, fingertips trailing off the growth of hair on his chin. Without much thought, he stepped forward and kicked the divider out of the way, revealing nothing on the other side. Just his bed. Empty...yet there were indentations at the edge, indicating the presence of weight.
The bed squeaked lightly, and the indentations disappeared. Sanji felt a chill sweep through him, and he decided that he had enough. Quickly, he stumbled through the mess in his apartment, struggled with the locks on his door and left his apartment yet again. Feeling incredibly foolish and yet fearful enough to stay on his course, Sanji made the very small trek to Zoro’s door and knocked quietly on it.
“Be awake, asshole,” he whispered, straining his ears to hear the familiar sound of Zoro’s snores. Upon hearing it, he knocked louder. “Wake up. Wake up right now, dick face.”
Minutes passed. Zoro still wasn’t answering. The colicky baby continued to cry, and some man erupted into violent fits of coughing. Sanji’s ears tingled, and his feet continued to freeze as he waited outside of Zoro’s door. He stuffed his hands under his armpits and waited, listening for Zoro to acknowledge his knocking. Sanji removed a hand to knock again, firmer and more impatiently. He glanced around to make sure that nobody was looking at him again, like they had earlier.
Sanji’s throat tightened at the sound of his door opening. Sanji tilted his head slightly, just enough to see past the flop of blond hair that obscured half of his face, watching as his door knob disappeared into the darkness of his apartment. The slight squeak of unoiled hinges and the telltale swinging weight of the chain on his door jingled musically in the hall.
Moments passed. He could hear that breathing. The baby seemed to cry harder all at once, the man’s violent coughing growing more strained, more desperate. A child began to cry out for their mother once more, and every one of these sounds, combined with the intense silence that came from Sanji’s own apartment seemed to attack Sanji’s sanity at that very moment.
He began kicking and pounding on Zoro’s door in a fitful panic, wanting nothing more than to be in there, to be near the iron-worker, to be anywhere but his own apartment. He didn’t care if people heard him, or if they looked at him–he didn’t care what the hour was. He just wanted away.
Sanji stilled. Awareness made every one of his limbs heavy, for the hairs to rise straight up on the back of his neck.
Freezing in the action of pounding at Zoro’s door, Sanji realized that it was utterly silent. As if someone had turned a switch, effectively silencing off the world. Sanji’s skin broke out into a cold sweat. For some reason, his eye focused on his open apartment door, and every instinct he had screamed out at him.
‘Sanji.’
The sensation his heart leaping into his throat made him choke. That voice, its mottled, accented growl was obvious within the silence. Dominating everything. His mind, his thoughts, his very being.
‘Sanji...’
He dreaded hearing his own name coming from that open door. He clapped his hands over his ears, wanting to run away from his position, but it was as if his legs were locked solidly, refusing to obey the frantic orders of his mind.
‘SanjiSanjiSanjiSanjiSanjiSanji!’
The blond found strength to hit Zoro’s door repeatedly, the iron-worker’s name leaving his thin lips in frantic shouts. When pounding wasn’t enough, Sanji found himself scratching at the wood, mad in his efforts to get away from that dark growl and from the evil presence that seemed to watch him from inside of his apartment. Splinters embedded underneath his fingernails–fingernails broke and chipped. When scratching and pounding wasn’t enough, Sanji began throwing himself at Zoro’s door.
‘Not there...here! Here! What the fuck. Sanji!’
In a mindless move, Sanji’s shaking fingers curled around the doorknob, and he suddenly found himself spilling into the opening door. He hit the floor of Zoro’s apartment, breathing heavily and weak everywhere, but his mind was continuously screaming at Zoro for the action.
Even as he stumbled to his feet, half aware that the sounds of the colicky baby, coughing man and crying child came back to life, Sanji was cursing Zoro for being so careless. Didn’t the green haired idiot know that there were desperate souls out there, looking for an opportunity like this? Who left their door unlocked in such a dangerous part of the city?
Zoro’s apartment was pitch black and bare. The man had only a mattress on the floor, no pillow, and a couple of blankets that had seen better days. The kitchen was heavily dusted, the counters covered in miscellaneous ware. The window was wide open, revealing the sounds of the city outside.
Still, Sanji stood just inside the doorway, feeling himself calm at the frantic escape he’d made. Everything was normal, now. He didn’t feel any menacing eyes on him, nor did he feel threatened. Zoro’s apartment was entirely different from his, both in air and environment.
After relaxing, Sanji stared at the heavily snoring man just a few feet away. He glared at Zoro, wondering how the man could not have heard a thing. Sanji lifted his hands, aware that they were shaking. Splinters jutted upward from underneath his fingernails, and blood stained the tips. His hands were sore from pounding away at the door, and he had to wince. Licking dry lips, Sanji carefully ventured forward, then caught himself.
What was he going to do? What was he looking for? What was he going to say to Zoro? ‘Oh, hey marimo. Let me sleep with you.’ ‘Yeah, there’s some evil spirit in my place, and you were right–’
Sanji’s pride immediately squelched that last bit. Admitting to Zoro that he was right was something Sanji didn’t want to do.
He scowled. Zoro continued to snore.
Heavy uncertainty and ridiculous shame in his earlier actions had Sanji impatiently stomping a heel on the floor. Zoro snorted, shifted, and resumed snoring again. Sanji winced. How could anyone sleep around the man with those noises–?
With a hard press of his lips, Sanji turned and walked out of Zoro’s apartment, closing the door behind him. With heavy and slow steps, he began the slow walk back to his. Once reaching the open door, Sanji hesitated to look inside. To be in view of the menace that had chased him from his living space left him questioning his decision in coming back.
Heavy boot falls on the hall stairway caused him to jump. Not wanting to be caught outside once more in his night clothes, Sanji entered his apartment and shut the door behind him. The apartment felt empty. Silenced. Normal.
Slowly, he drew the locks once more.
The clock read three-fifteen.
-
Exhaustion forced him to fall asleep around three forty-five. Sanji couldn’t keep his eyes open, but he was elated in that morning was coming soon. The sun would rise, bathing the city and his apartment with its welcome warmth and light, and this nightmare would end. He slept fitfully, if not heavily–his mind wanting to shut down despite the continuous churl of thoughts and reviews over everything that had happened.
At four twenty-three, he was moaning softly, feeling his body tingle with rising heat and anxiety. He felt incredibly horny, hungry for sex. His skin felt slick with sweat, and despite his exhaustion, his body was already in the throes of neediness and desperation for friction. He shifted restlessly atop of his bed, groaning at how painful his erection was. His heels pressed hard atop of his mattress, his knees shaking as he lifted them with impatient action. His hips undulated slowly, skin craving touch and his thighs opened wide, the very movement sending curls of heat up and down his belly. Being opened wide in this manner made the entire craving much more stronger than before, his body impatient and needy for attention that he couldn’t even receive. Despite himself, he couldn’t even think to guess why he woke up in such a horny mood, why he couldn’t just reach down and satisfy himself.
All he could do was mindlessly lift his hips, cock straining underneath his night clothes, and thoughtlessly search for attention. His heart was slamming hard in his chest, and every moan and pant he gave was amplified within the stillness and silence of his apartment. His back arched, nipples over sensitive as the material of his shirt teased him as it slithered over his chest with his movements.
Overwhelming heat and strength in a roughly calloused palm caused him to jerk–but overpowering lust had him moving into the touch rather than away from it. It caused him to curse, to make his body cry out for more. In his thoughtless lust, Sanji didn’t think to open his eyes, or to even consciously question the situation. His body was in need–it was mindless. It wanted only to be touched and satisfied, and it didn’t matter how or why.
A moving hand swept the shirt up to expose his belly–for hot breath to expel over the thin hairs that trailed down from his navel. Sanji heard himself whimper, could feel himself pushing upward for more contact, more heat, more friction. The slow drag of a hot tongue over his stomach made it flutter, for sensation like no other to drive his senses up the wall. He groaned loudly, protesting in wordless action, wrists bending and straining. The feel of his arms up around his head didn’t occur to Sanji at that moment, for when he felt stubble, lips and a pressing jaw against the jutting angles of his hipbones, he cried out.
The bed creaked loudly–the empty space between his legs were filled, and upon that instant, Sanji’s legs wrapped around the very welcome body that pressed against him. He was able to rub his groin upward into the body above him, satisfying that demanding need for friction against his straining dick. As his ears rang with buzzing pleasure and need, Sanji became faintly conscious of struggling to have his hands released; only vaguely aware that both wrists were entrapped within one overly strong grip.
“Please,” he heard himself whisper, hips straining upward. “Please...”
‘Sanji Sanji Sanji Sanji...’
He whimpered at the feel of his shirt pushed up around his armpits. For a nipple to be plucked between a wet and hot mouth. He arched his back once more, straining upward, feeling his insides heat and tingle with the overwhelming sensation of pleasure. His hair was in his face; he couldn’t see. But he didn’t need to. He just needed that physical pleasure of having hands where they needed to be, to have his body played with and satisfied–
He cried out again, a throaty sound as he felt the familiar coarse heat of a hand wrapping around his dick. He thought he’d cum right there, feeling his balls tighten and for his insides to sizzle with impending orgasm, but instead pain flared like a hot poker pressed against his skin. He shrieked with mindless action, body jolting with force, feeling the ramming force of a thick and punishing dick up his ass. His hips were forced upward, all his weight driving into his shoulders as his rigid legs splayed with almost comical action. And instead of pleasure, he felt the twisting sensation of being possessed, of being claimed as a searing heat split his asshole apart.
Shrieking again, Sanji was only vaguely conscious of his body being lifted high, for his hands to be released so that they could flail against the wall and the bed. Again and again his body was violated by intense force, his hips held at an uncomfortable angle.
He couldn’t seem to get away; he couldn’t seem to roll away, couldn’t seem to think to attack and defend. His bed protested loudly over violent actions, and as he flailed, hitting the wall in his maniac efforts, he heard the low chuckles of a man satisfied. Just after registering that, Sanji screamed again, feeling the hot, searing sensation of flesh being rent; of skin being pinched and twisted. With his near hyperventilating breathing, he could smell human musk, iron and rot. Sulphur.
‘Mineminemineminemine...not Zoro.’
-
At five fifty-six, Zoro had had enough of the wall banging, shouting and obvious bedroom activity from next door. Even as he tried to muffle the noises with one of his blankets, a strange flare of fury and disbelief had his insides sizzling with welling anger. To think that Sanji was with someone else made Zoro suddenly insecure and...maybe just a tiny bit sad.
Not that he thought anything more of Sanji as a free cook and a willing bed partner–no, not at all. But he felt insulted that Sanji would flaunt his new lover in Zoro’s face the way he was doing now. In a way, Zoro found himself questioning what the hell he’d done wrong; to be tossed aside as nothing. In another, he was in disbelief that someone else would actually find the skinny, flaxen-haired jerk-off attractive enough for a quick–well, make that an hour’s worth ‘quick’–lay. And in yet another, he had to wonder why Sanji didn’t want him anymore.
Zoro was quite sure they were both satisfied in bed. He knew exactly where to touch and how to drive the skinny cook into a trembling mess that he tried to hide behind curses and demands; he knew that the blond actually enjoyed his company, because why would Sanji keep up this routine nightly if he didn’t?
Zoro tightened the blankets around his head. Thoughts moved from one to another, and he found himself growing angrier and angrier as minutes passed. Finally, he decided that he was going to face whomever it was that was making Sanji scream that way. He was going to compare himself to the other man, and he was going to confront Sanji nastily for the insult.
At six twenty-seven, dressed and ready for work, Zoro marched to Sanji’s door and pounded upon it angrily. A small family hurried around him, wide eyes flitting in different directions as ears strained. Zoro kept his face forward; but his own ears were hot. His stomach was in knots. The more he thought about things, the more he felt betrayed and...hurt.
He knocked again, driving more force into it. Sanji couldn’t avoid him–the man needed to work to keep his apartment. He heard movement in the apartment, and he steadied himself. Steeling his shoulders. Tightening his abs and making his arms rigid, so that the muscles popped. Dammit, he even strained his neck to make himself look more intimidating. The sight of his muscle bound frame and scowling face often sent many a men walking the other way, and Zoro was determined to make Sanji’s new bedmate pay for taking over on his–well, his cook.
The chain shifted, and locks were disengaged; Zoro steeled himself, holding his breath as the door opened.
Sanji looked out at him blearily, and Zoro refused to be shocked at the intense shadows around his eyes, the heavy bags underneath. The blond looked as if he hadn’t slept in months. His skin coloring was sickly and gray, and his hair more limp and stringy than before. As if he’d had the life sucked right out of him by some greedy...vampire-creature.
Sanji opened the door wide, and Zoro was just slightly stunned to see the fallen bookcase and books. The disarray of the usually tidy apartment was just...as astounding as the sight of the creature that rented it.
“Whaddaya want, ‘mo?” Sanji croaked, and Zoro focused on him even as he forced his way inside. There was no one else there–and there wasn’t the scent of sex. Nothing at all. With how long Sanji and the other man was going at it, the room had to have a single trace of cum or ass scent. But there wasn’t. Just the scent of the food he’d prepared for Zoro hours earlier. The window was even shut and locked. There was no way Sanji could have made the smells go away so quickly.
Zoro looked back at him, keeping his steely expression in place. Sanji only glared at him, looking slightly demonic and possessed at that moment. Zoro promptly lost his rigidness. Maybe...maybe he was just hearing things.
“Ah...you...were pretty loud,” he said, struggling to make himself sound unconcerned and uncaring. But he noticed the slight whine at the end. He winced.
Sanji stared at him. Even the blue of his eyes were darkened and shadowed. His face shifted into an impatient scowl. “What?”
“LOUD,” Zoro repeated, unintentionally raising his voice. He winced again. “Just–the walls are thin. All right? Everybody can hear everything!”
Sanji stared at him in silence. Zoro noticed that his lips were painfully dry. “What are you talking about?” Sanji finally snapped.
Impatiently, Zoro shifted. His boots clumped against the floor. He wanted to rip Sanji’s night clothes off of him to check for telltale marks. He wanted to look for finger shaped bruises on his pale skin, and wanted to comb through his flaxen pubic hairs for signs of another man’s presence. He wanted to bend him over and check the clenching hole of his ass to see if someone had–
But he restrained himself and his more primitive urges. Because Sanji’s expression was truthfully bewildered. Zoro could tell that the other man had no idea of what he was talking about. Despite himself, Zoro grew impatient, wanting to confirm everything before he absolutely had to leave for work.
“Were you fucking with somebody else?” he asked, lowering his voice and making his tone more menacing. Threatening Sanji audibly. Telling him that if the blond tried to lie, Zoro would know.
Sanji’s visible eye widened slightly, and then his face registered impatient fury. He gave an agitated shake of his body before yelling, “NO! What the fuck?! NO! You barge in on me this early in the morning to see if I–?! Of all the stupid, idiotic–!”
“I’m serious,” Zoro huffed, not reacting too much when Sanji jerked around, angrily yanking his closet door open to withdraw clothing. While Sanji was busy with his shaking hands, Zoro looked back at the mess with the bookshelf and books. At the fallen paper divider. Then he looked at the kitchen and gaped. Sanji must have been frantically searching for something. Every door and drawer was wide open. The sink was running quietly.
Distracted, Zoro frowned at the other. He subtly searched for any telltale semen marks on Sanji’s clothes, on the way he walked. But without proper investigation, Zoro couldn’t tell. He still wanted to go through with what he wanted to earlier. But then again, maybe Sanji had topped. They’d done that a couple of times.
Still...no scent of sex...no outward signs of sex...no man...Zoro was convinced he was hearing things. He reached up and fiddled with the black material he’d tied around his head to catch the sweat and keep off the sun. Satisfied for the now, he looked at the clock. Six forty-seven.
He looked back at Sanji, who was muttering under his breath about nosy marimos. He then cast a look around. Ever since Sanji brought that doll back to his place...seeing no sign of it, he gave a limp wave and walked out the door.