Zoro's UST is too much fun.

[dethorats]

Okay, so I slept for like 3 hours yesterday and have been subsisting on Coca Cola and pizza pretzel Combos. And I'm about ready to pass out so I had to cut myself short even though I REALLY wanted to finish this particular installment. Even so, 2600+ words of smut, from 3 POVs (which must mean it sucks) for your consumption because I couldn't just leave Sanji hanging like that.



Living on a small ship didn't make for a lot of privacy. This was something Zoro knew only too well. Even before he'd ever met the future pirate king, he'd put in his time on tiny, cramped, little-more-than-barely-floating rat traps. He knew how the days turned into weeks which could sometimes turn into months in which there was never a real moment of solitude or privacy. And boy did he know how that got to people, made them discard certain measures of courtesy and self-respect. Zoro had heard, and seen, far more men get themselves off than he had ever wanted to. Hell, with Johnny and Yosaku he'd seen even more. Those two weren't shy at all, going so far as to invite him to join in. He'd refused of course. It wasn't so much that he was repulsed by two men having sex. It was the sex itself. Roronoa Zoro was above the needs of his body. Well, he tried his best to be. It was a matter of training. To be the world's best meant having absolute control over his weapons. That meant more than his swords. They were extensions of his body, making his body a weapon too, making it another element to be controlled. Besides, as he often told himself, gritting his teeth during pre-dawn work outs and completely ignoring the aches and throbs coming from his pants, it was simply a problem of mind over matter. With enough mental toughness, he could ignore any signal sent by his body and keep going. After all, he handled pain well enough. The insignificant demands of the flesh between his legs could also be overcome. Still, even he broke sometimes. But never, ever where anyone would be able to tell.

The Going Merry was different from the other ships. It wasn't so much the size, for he'd been on smaller vessels. Nor was it the presence of a woman. He'd sailed with several ladies who made their living on the sea. Tough as nails, all of them. Nami didn't bother him that way in the least. It was, he'd decided, a combination of their ages and the strange element of nakamaship. Being very nearly the oldest person on the Going Merry, that blasted cook only had him beat by nine months, was a unique experience. Most often he had been the youngest or nearly youngest aboard. He was used to sailing with men, not with, well, boys. Not that he'd call himself a boy or that stupid chef, much as he might want to. And Luffy and Usopp weren't exactly boys, either. They behaved like idiots, acted like children sometimes, but by now he knew better than to believe they always thought and felt as young as they sometimes seemed to be. Hell, he'd known Luffy wasn't a boy when they first stared each other in the eye. But he wasn't sure he'd call them men. He didn't really want to; it took away that element of fun and play and lightness of spirit that he himself felt like he'd been missing for so many years. It was only now, on this ship, that he could really relax. How long had it been since he'd last done something as innocent and carefree as playing Go Fish for the innocuous prize of extra dessert? How long had it been since he'd drawn a mustache on a sleeping face or awoken to one on his own? How long since something besides training, winning, and liquor had entered into his thoughts? How long since he'd been this happy?

It was basically all Luffy's fault. The damn...guy...sucked everybody into the vortex of his personality. Even now, months after the fact, it hit him occasionally. He, Roronoa Zoro, famed pirate hunter of East Blue, was currently a pirate. Was practically second in command of a whole freaking ship of pirates for that matter. It was hard to say quite how it had all happened. Oh, he knew it had involved a bargain and the desire to defeat an injustice and to keep his own honor. But really, while he had a strong sense of pride, he wasn't above compromising it in order to reach the goal of world's greatest. Something about Luffy, the way he had declared that he would be the pirate king, had clicked with what he kept locked away deep inside himself. There wasn't doubt and there wasn't faith. It was will, pure and simple. A will that was just as strong, maybe even a teensy bit stronger, as his own. When Luffy had agreed to not interfere with his chosen path and had placed his goal next to his own, that had been it. Even seeing that ridiculous rowboat, which had truly been the smallest ship in which he'd ever set out to sea, hadn't been enough to shake the sudden trust he'd placed in the seemingly idiotic optimist.

Damn if Luffy hadn't kept his trust, too. And damn if he hadn't bound Zoro more tightly to him. Bound all of the companions he was slowly, surely gathering. They were flawed, all of them, even Luffy, and young. Only Nami had the same lack of naiveté as Zoro, and he had seen even her hard, well-earned suspicions replaced with a growing credulity. Even he realized, after the two narrow escapes Luffy had just had, how much he'd come to depend on the other. The encounter with Mihawk had only strengthened his resolve to the best, but it was Luffy's unwavering belief that salved over the small spot of doubt that had briefly stained his thoughts. To have made that vow and then come so close, so soon, to losing the idiot…well, it really wasn’t that strange that Luffy was on his mind a lot recently. But he had no explanation for the thoughts that had been popping, completely unwanted, into his head about the pirate.

Like so many other things on the ship, it was all the shitty cook’s fault. Sanji, he had decided, was just ignorant when it came to this particular incident, rather than purposely trying to piss him off. After all, the chef continued to underestimate him. No surprise he failed to realize that he was always alert. Nothing important escaped him. So what if Nami kicking him or Usopp randomly blowing things up on the deck didn’t disturb him. Those were normal events. It would have woken him up if such things didn’t happen. So the sudden cessation of the cook’s breathing, at least on an audible level, certainly woke him up. Sanji had a tendency to wheeze just a bit when he was asleep. Damn fool really needed to give up smoking.

Who knew what the hell kind of stupid thoughts went through the idiot’s mind when he lay there in his hammock. Dark and so very still then in the deepest part of the night, that hour before dawn when even whoever had watch would drowse in the crow’s nest. The loss of Sanji’s wheeze in the mix of soft breathing and quiet snores had jolted him awake. One eye had cracked open; just to check and make sure the chef hadn’t died. Luffy would have a fit if breakfast wasn’t on time. At first he couldn’t see anything. Sanji was still, silent. Then his chest had fallen, air hissing slowly from his nostrils. Far too many heartbeats later, it had risen again and fallen. Slow, slower than the even rhythm of sleep. And very, very quiet. But not so quiet Zoro missed the sudden hitch or the gentle susurration of fabric skimming over flesh.

So the cook was doing that. Perhaps the biggest shock was that he hadn’t done it earlier. He drooled all over Nami every minute of the day. Horny bastard, trying to cover it up with saccharine words and even sweeter foods. He wasn’t fooling any of them. Whacking off in the middle of the night seemed to fit with his whole persona. At least - Zoro had to give him this much credit - he was being extremely quiet about it. But he was doing it so damn slowly! If he’d just get it over with, then they could both go back to sleep.

It had taken nearly twenty-five minutes for the stupid love-cook to finally finish. Even at the end he managed to stifle most of the noise, Zoro catching on only because his hand had finally stopped moving. He'd cracked his eye open again, just to double check. The jerk was making some noise now, digging around for a cigarette. The smell slowly filled the small room, and Zoro wrinkled his nose in irritation. First he got off, now he was smoking. Damn bastard had no consideration for others. Finally, finally he'd settled, slipping easily back into sleep, leaving Zoro to decide whether he just wanted to get up now or try and snooze for the half hour or so he had left before dawn.

He would deny it to himself, but Sanji's actions bothered him. Not in the usual way, either. He wasn't pissed off because the jerk hadn't bothered to go find some privacy. Okay, he was, but the same kind of stuff had happened enough in the past that he knew how to deal with it - just harrass the stupid chef more than normal. It would make him feel better at least. No, it was the quietness of the whole thing that was unsettling. Sanji was anything but quiet. Hell, he was almost as loud as Usopp and Luffy. Always yelling at the guys and simpering over Nami and raising a general ruckus in the kitchen. Thunking knives and clattering pots and pans and stupid, girly sighing over concocting a new delicacy for the woman. He even smoked loud, if such a thing were possible, long, sucking drags and pleasure-tinged exhalations and, on land at least, the unmistakable noise of his shoe grinding out the butt. Damn cook never let anyone forget he was there, almost as bad about that as Usopp.

But he'd been as silent as possible, so quiet that it had managed to wake him up. Not that the idiot would ever know. Zoro wondered if it was some kind of holdover from the restaurant. There were a lot of cooks on the Baratie. He himself hadn't spent much time on the strange ship, certainly not enough to know what the crew's sleeping arrangements were, and it wasn't the kind of thing that came up in conversation. It was probably that, he decided, and then had to physically smack himself. Because he should have been comfortably asleep, not contemplating the reasons for the asshole chef's masturbatory habits. A few, very few, past experiences had taught him that this kind of thinking only led to trouble. Definitely a sign that he should just forget about trying to go back to sleep. And perhaps that a few extra hundred sit-ups and drill repetitions would be necessary that morning.

The sun had been over the horizon's edge for a bit more than two hours when Sanji had made his bleary way from the men's quarters to the galley. This early, still sucking hard on the 'first' cigarette of the day, he was mostly oblivious to the glares sent in his direction from a sweating swordsman. Zoro was on his 3,429th sit-up when he first spotted the chef. Up until that moment, strenuous exertion had driven the events of a few hours past from his mind. But the sight of blonde hair, and even more of curling smoke, had sent it all rushing back. The memory hit him, an honest-to-goodness physical blow. It was like a sucker punch in his gut, the way his annoyance and anger rushed back in. And instead of channeling into his limbs, the way it was supposed to, the damn intensity of feeling decided to take a little detour. Hence the intensity of his glaring and the strengthening of his resolve to make the asshole cook's life miserable that day.

Usopp and Nami had wisely made themselves scarce once his intentions became apparent. Luffy just watched for a while, grinning and taking full advantage of the opportunity to snatch food from under Sanji's nose. The day had finally drawn to a close; the chef smoking like a chimney up in the crow's nest, sullenly nursing bruised ribs and wondering just what had crawled up the damn swordsman's ass and died. Settled into his hammock, blissfully ignorant of the cook's plans for revenge, Zoro had smirked through the pain in his abused head and gone to sleep.

Their newest little feud had dragged on for several days until the noise and the heat and the harsh impact of Nami's staff on their heads had found them in an uneasy truce. Sanji never did bother to ask what Zoro's problem was. After all, he was just a shitty, green-haired, directionless idiot of a swordsman. As for Zoro, he'd buried the memory of one late night deeper and deeper with every exchanged blow and insult. No unwanted urges popped up to greet him in the morning nor did his thoughts stray from their normal paths. All was well once more with Zoro until Usopp had to go and, quite literally, make a mess of things.

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Roronoa Zoro let the massive weights fall onto the deck with a mighty thud. He had been in the mood to push himself that morning, adding an extra two thousand reps to his usual training regimen. His arms and back were aching quite nicely, tired but not strained. Definitely a good sign that he could stand to increase the overall amount he lifted with again. The only downside to the added training was that it was now mid-morning and the sun had been getting increasingly higher, brighter, most certainly warmer.

Sweat beaded on the bare flesh of his upper body, ran from his hairline down his jaw. Wiping absently at the back of his neck with his shirt, Zoro eyed his normal napping spot. Under their current heading, shade from Nami's trees stretched across the deck, shrinking slowly as the sun traveled higher in the sky. He was usually able to settle down for a post-training snooze in the cooler area marked by the trees' shadows. Today, though, it was later and his spot was exposed to the sun's rays. There was another consideration as well. Typically he had the aft portion the ship to himself until afternoon. But Usopp was busy with some new kind of bullet or something and Nami had banished him from the main part of the ship, not in the mood to deal with the explosions and awful smells that often accompanied his experiments. The sharpshooter had crouched over his equipment in one corner, giving Zoro plenty of room for his exercises.

Zoro eyed him for a minute, still trying to dry off with his makeshift towel. Powders and mysterious liquids were lined up in an assortment of phials and beakers. A small bazier heated an unknown substance, a plume of pinkish smoke rising and mercifully wafting away from the ship on the slight breeze. So far nothing had gone awry. Usopp was busy reading from a little book he'd picked up in Logue Town, muttering to himself as he studied the text. To stay or to seek out cooler, safer ground, that was the choice Zoro faced. It was the brief snatch of words that made his decision. Usopp seemed to be listing ingredients for whatever crazy potion he was brewing. And Zoro knew better to remain nearby when those ingredients apparently contained essence of rose oil, moose spit, and dried oyster. No way did he want to smell like any of those things, let alone all three together, should the wind happen to shift.

So. There weren't many options on a ship this small. Usopp and his concoctions had the back deck. Nami was sunbathing, reading her newspaper on the main deck. Odds were, soon as he got settled, she'd come up with some stupid chore or other for him to do. And, he ground his teeth in annoyance, he apparently owed her. Not there then. Luffy was fishing up at the prow, but he was looking decidedly bored, having already eaten most of his bait. Zoro didn't exactly feel like providing entertainment at the moment so he couldn't go there either. The bastard cook was still in the galley. That left the crow's nest, which was really too cramped, or the storage hold, which was musty and made him sneeze, or the men's cabin, where he still ran a good risk of harassment from Nami and Luffy. Still, at least the cabin would be out of the hot sun.

Usopp didn't even move when he stalked by, weights clunking with the impact of dense metal on metal as he heaved them up. Nor did Luffy stir from gazing out across the sea when he threw open the hatch. Nami raised an eyebrow over her paper but was blessedly silent. Then he was home free, ducking into the quiet space and putting his gear away. And there was the couch, his second most favorite place to sleep. Almost new when they'd taken the ship, in a matter of a few months the green upholstry was spotted with grease and a few cigarette burns and smelled kind of like blood and kind of like tabasco and saltpeter, and the stuffing had been practically beaten out of one of the cushions. Zoro loved it. And now he was going to take a nice long snooze, stretched out, sweat on his back soaked up, sweat on his front drying in the air, and sweaty shirt thrown across his face. It blocked the light and also was deemed totally disgusting by both Nami and the stupid chef, guaranteeing a few extra moments of privacy. Yes, life was certainly good.

He didn't stir as a beam of light cut across his covered face nor at the sound of feet on the ladder. Usopp scrambled into the room, falling on his rear as he missed a rung in his haste. Frantic eyes darted around the room, almost missing the slumbering Zoro. But then they caught on the shallow movement of his chest as it rose and fell.

"Crap!"

The curse was loud, louder than he'd intended, and one hand flew to cover his mouth. But he shouldn't have worried. Zoro didn't move an inch.

"Crap."

The time he muttered, still eyeing the swordsman as he inched away from the ladder, never bothering to regain his feet. If Zoro had managed to open his eyes, he would have been met with a somewhat peculiar sight. Usopp often had a rather singed air to him, clothes that smoldered from gun powder or strange chemicals, occasionally sprouting small bits of flame. And if he wasn't charred, he was covered in paint or chalk or various kinds of oil. At the moment, the sharpshooter was his typically messy self. The front of his overalls was soaked; a strange pink stain covered most of his chest and thighs and more liquid dots of the same hue marred his bandanna and dripped off of his nose. There didn't seem to be anything else immediately wrong with Usopp other than the discomfort of wet clothing and perhaps a sore butt from falling down.

Living in a small room with several other boys meant that privacy was hard to come by. It had taken Usopp a little while to get used to that fact. He was used to living alone. The fact that Luffy tended to run around naked in the morning, somehow always distracted right when the pajamas came off but before the usual shorts and shirt went on, had been a tad unsettling. Even more disturbing had been the fact that Zoro would change matter of factly, stripping out of sweaty clothes, often neglecting to find a shirt, irregardless of any activity in the room. Hell, he'd even stripped bare once with Nami in the room. Usopp had been a witness to this event, safely cowering behind the couch as Nami paused in her conversation/lecture of Luffy to ogle while the swordsman's back was turned. She had charged him, called it an exhibitionist's fee or something, which had led inevitably to Zoro yelling that it was his damn room and he'd change when he wanted, whether she was there, whether a bunch of marines were there, or if no one was there at all.

Zoro was, well, in excellent shape and Luffy wasn't too far behind, considering his different build and, of course, the rubber factor. Usopp had felt rather scrawny in comparison. But the two of them were so casual about the whole thing, which, honestly, why shouldn't they be, that he had quickly overcome one of the few vestiges of shyness he had. Sanji's arrival hadn't changed anything. After all, the cook lived with a bunch of other men. There wasn't anything new about his new living situation. Sanji actually made Usopp feel a little more secure. Sure his legs were well-developed, but his torso was skinny. One could practically count his ribs. Usopp didn't look so bad standing next to him. The fact that he was so well aware of his crewmates' various physiques couldn't be helped, therefore, since they insisted on acting like being naked was no big deal.

To the outside observer then, this sudden hesitation to strip out of wet clothing would have been very odd. It almost could have been taken as a sign of consideration for the sleeping swordsman. Almost. After all, Zoro could be a real bear if he was rousted from a post-exercise nap too early. However, as everyone knew, he had an uncanny ability to sleep through almost anything. Luffy had never attempted to be quiet, Nami didn't care, and Sanji was extra noisy sometimes just for spite. Usopp had fallen into the same habits. Life did have to go on - they couldn't just change their activities because Zoro slept all the time. As for the swordsman, normal noises, which on the Going Merry meant abnormally loud noises, didn't bother his rest in the slightest. Usopp should have been free to get changed without any fear of waking Zoro.

The reason behind this sudden reluctance to get naked only manifested once Usopp had managed to scoot his way over into a corner. There wasn't any real cover, but at least the mast and ladder blocked his view of Zoro's shirt-covered face. It made him feel a little better, the faint hope that the swordsman couldn't suddenly roll over, the shirt falling away, his eyes opening and then opening still wider in horror...Usopp had to smack himself to cut off that particular train of thought. Panic wouldn't get him out of this latest jam.

Trembling fingers undid the catches of his straps. Hands that shook reached up to untie the stained bandanna from his hair, blotting at what little pink moisture still clung to his face. His whole body was vibrating as he worked the wet clothing off, the task complicated by the drawn-up sitting posture he refused to leave. Usopp often found himself quaking with fear. His knees knocked together, teeth rattled in his skull, entire being quivering. The tension which affected him now did hold an element of nervousness, but otherwise it was of an entirely different quality than normal. With a small sigh of relief, still taut with that strange energy which moved him, he pushed his overalls off, offering a murmured thanks to whatever gods had prevented him from putting on shoes that morning. Then he collapsed back against the wall, knees parting slightly and one hand reaching down to deal with the problem that had been hidden by wet fabric and hunched posture.

There were hands touching him. Hands that probably didn't belong to a woman, for they were big and calloused and touching him none too gently. Rough hands that didn't hesitate to stroke hard down his arms, over his back, across his scar. He was hot and hard and when square fingers prodded at his lips he took them eagerly into his mouth. And his own hands weren't still. They were just as busy as the ones on his body. Firm, muscled flesh beneath his fingertips, skin pockmarked by small scars and toughened by exposure to sun, wind, and wave. There was a strong smell of sweat in his nostrils. Sweat and cigarette smoke and the sea. And something else, something cloyingly sweet. It wove its way through the other scents, overcoming them, drowning everything.

Roronoa Zoro woke with a start. His dick was throbbing and his head swam with the same thick, syrupy smell that had invaded a dream he certainly shouldn't have been having. The darkness surrounding him confused him for a second until he remembered the shirt he'd draped over his face. The smell was overpowering in the small room and, comfortable as he was (minus the problem in his crotch), he almost mustered up enough energy to move. It would suck having to try and find another sleeping spot, but really, the girly, nasty smell wasn't something he wanted to cling to him for the rest of the day. Then a low moan caught his ears and kept him pinned in place.

He stiffened, frozen for a moment, and hoped that whoever it was making those kinds of noises hadn't noticed the tent he had happening in his pants. But another small sound, this one more of a whimper, reassured him. It was coming from the far corner of the room. Given the way the men's quarters were in shadow unless someone happened to light a lantern, he doubted his problem was visible unless someone happened to be standing very close. Judging from the faint noises, whoever it was seemed to be far too involved with their own equipment to be thinking about his. It could have been Sanji, that bastard, for all that this wasn't in keeping with the silent actions he'd been an unwilling witness to that one time. Perhaps he'd broken one of his precious Nami's perfume bottles and she'd beaten him. It would be just like the stupid chef to get off on something like that.

Slowly, with the quiet that people always doubted he was capable of, he eased the shirt off of his face. If it was the damn cook, he'd be more than happy to interrupt. The jerk really should have some respect for his privacy. Besides, it would piss him off. He could use a good fight at the moment. It was hard to see, what with the dim lighting and the frigging mast in his way, but what little he could make out told him that the current wanking culprit wasn't the chef. It was Usopp.

Stupid Longnose. What the hell was that guy thinking? Zoro actually liked the sharpshooter, well, at least in comparison to how he felt about Nami and the stupid cook. Usopp generally kept out of his way, didn't say stupid or ignorant things to him about money or helping women. The stories he did tell were moderately amusing. Certainly they kept Luffy occupied long enough for the rest of the crew to get some work done. And Longnose was the only one who could beat Nami at cards, which raised him a notch in Zoro's estimation. Usopp, for all his talking, had a habit of keeping his most personal thoughts and feelings to himself. They came out, Zoro had noticed during his many "naps" spent observing his crewmates, in his paintings. When Usopp, who seemed to be the busiest guy on the ship what with the way he was always talking or building or fixing or playing with Luffy or doing whatever stupid task Nami or the cook set for him, was finally still and quiet, then he painted.

They were mostly pictures of his home, of Kaya and of the three boys who had been his closest friends. Syrup village and scenes from the surrounding area were often the subject of his paintings as well. More rarely, he painted a beautiful dark haired, dark eyed woman, who Zoro took to be his mother since her nose was very similar. Lately, ever since their experiences with Arlong and at Logue Town, he'd taken to depicting them, the crew of the Going Merry. It was Luffy who he saw most often, followed by the cook. But he'd seen several paintings of Nami, sad but smiling as she waved goodbye to her home or fierce and windblown as she steered the ship through a terrible storm. Once it had been him that Usopp had painted. He wasn't sure how he felt about that one. It had been just his arm and her sword, pointed to the sky, with a bloody sea around him. He knew when that image had been captured, and he couldn't understand just what exactly Longnose had been trying to say with that painting. The pictures Usopp painted represented his homesickness and his love for Kaya and for his crewmates. But there had never been any sign that he also had some sort of hormonal lust for any of them, not even Kaya whom he adored. He was definitely having trouble understanding where Usopp's sudden need to jerk off with another person in the room came from.

Zoro closed his eyes, readjusting the shirt covering his face. From the sound of things the sharpshooter was almost finished. Hopefully he'd leave and take the horrible smell with him. There was no need for him to disrupt the proceedings. As for the erection that still hadn't gone away, well, he would just pretend it wasn't there. It certainly wasn't staying around because he liked listening to the breathy sounds of his crewmate as he wacked off. He was going to write it all off as some kind of strange side effect from the additional training and exposure to the sun. And, if that long groan was any indication, he could get back to sleeping and perhaps forget that any of this had ever happened.

Usopp couldn't hold back the long groan as hot liquid splattered on his stomach and his hand stilled. Thank the gods Zoro still seemed to be asleep. He felt a lot better now. Hopefully Sanji was finished in the bathroom and he could go and get a shower. It would suck to have to put clothes on over his damp, sticky, and still strong smelling body, but he couldn't exactly risk Nami catching him. He didn't have Luffy's freedom of spirit nor Zoro's uncaring nature. Besides, Sanji would kick his ass if he found out.

His face scrunched up in disgust as he swiped at the mess he'd made with a dry patch of his overalls. This particular pair was probably done for. Between the stain and the strong smell, even if he managed to get them clean, the memories associated with them would just be too embarrassing. It was hard to tell where he had gone wrong. The book he'd bought off the old woman at the store where he had picked up the necessary powders for his bullets had been quite clear in its instructions. True he had had his doubts when the auntie had explained what it was for, but she swore by its success. And she'd made him such a bargain, too...

Besides, it just seemed like a smart idea. Shooting enemies in the face with tabasco and chili powder and rotten eggs and small levels of gunpowder didn't exactly engender feelings of mercy or kindness. Sure his bullets did slow his opponents down, blinded them or made it difficult for them to concentrate. But the effect was quick to wear off. And then he had little choice but to run. So the idea of a love potion seemed perfect. If the result was as strong as the shop lady had claimed, his enemies would be falling all over themselves to fight each other for him, rather than wanting to kill him. It would be a win-win situation!

He had measured each of the necessary ingredients exactly, making sure to keep the temperature of his new concoction even. He'd set up so that the smoke would blow away from the ship and not affect anyone. Having Zoro or Sanji fall in love with him might have been funny for a few minutes, but they were dangerous. Luffy and Nami too. Who knows what would happen if he had to brush off their affection? He was on the second to last step, having added all the components but one. The book the old woman had sold him, which had all kinds of dubious folk remedies and he'd been against picking it up until the auntie swore that only this recipe and one other, for curing warts, actually worked and offered to reduce the price to a mere 100 belli, was quite thorough in its description of the process. Three drops of rare purple carnivorous sloth pheromone, added after all the other ingredients had been boiling together at 120 degrees C for ten minutes and then allowed to cool to room temperature. He was lucky the shop had also had all the supplies he needed to make the potion. Otherwise who knew how long it could have been before he got to try it out.

Three drops of the precious substance, oddly colored a dull orange, had been carefully measured and added. Exactly five seconds later the smoke had flashed to purple, then red. The liquid, when he leaned over to check it, was still a deep pink. And it had come spouting up out of the flask, completely drenching him and quenching the flame under the brazier. The smell almost knocked him out. It was sweet, very floral, with deeper notes that he attributed to the sloth pheromones and the rather pungent moose musk. And it made his head spin, dizzy and slightly nauseous. Was that what love felt like? Other than being damp, slightly sick, and smelling like a brand of very cheap perfume he didn't feel any different. Then the problem started.

His stomach was still churning but there was also a curious warmth growing in it, a warmth that rapidly spread lower to his groin. He was hard faster than he'd ever been in his life, so hard it was painful. His hands were rubbing over the front of his overalls almost before he realized it and only a phenomenal effort of will enabled him to pull them away. The loud whimper that came from his throat was desperate and caught Nami's attention. Or perhaps it was the scent. He wasn't sure.

But she had jumped up from her lounge chair, taken a few steps towards him and thought better of it. Get rid of that stuff and take a shower had been her orders as he'd managed to understand them in the midst of the cursing and complaining about the smell. Throwing the flask overboard was no problem but it was harder to get rid of the burner. It was covered in the sticky pink liqiud though, so over the side it went. And then he'd tried to stand up, barely able to with the (for once he felt the word rampant that he'd read so many times in his mother's romance novels actually fit) desire raging between his legs. Nami had already vacated the deck, retreating from the smell, and Luffy still seemed to be blissfully ignorant of the situation from his perch on the figurehead. He moved as fast as he was able, book held awkwardly in front of his crotch. It wasn't much of a shield but it was better than nothing. Twice he had to stop and breathe, fighting the need to just thrust his hands down his overalls and touch. The clinging condition of his soaked clothing didn't help matters any.

Finally, finally!, he'd managed to make it to the bathroom only to find the door locked. Sanji's voice had yelled out from the other side.

"Oi. I'm busy in here bastards. Come back later. Unless it's Nami-swaaaan, in which case I'd be happy to wash your back!"

Tears actually threatened at this point as he edged away from his only sanctuary. He couldn't take much more. Already his hips were moving of their own accord and his traitorous hands kept creeping around to stroke his over-excited flesh. With a low sob he'd made a kind of shuffled dash for the cabin, losing the book on the way. Perhaps he'd be lucky and Zoro wouldn't be there. Climbing down a ladder with a raging hard on was extremely difficult. He'd fallen, although only a few feet. And Zoro had been there, and he'd really wanted to cry, but the swordsman was snoring and had something over his face and he was desperate at that point. Thus he had ended up sitting naked in the corner, covered in pink liquid and a sickly sweet smell and his own semen.

He felt so dirty. It wasn't like he didn't jack off, but usually he did it in the shower or when no one else was in the cabin. Bless Zoro for being such an immovable lump when he was sleeping. Sanji just had to be out of the shower now. Usopp started to get up, gathering his ruined clothing, when it hit him again. The same reeling sensation in his head and nausea and then spreading warmth. He didn't want to look down, one hand already busy touching his reawakened cock. This was simply too much! What the hell had gone wrong with the stupid love potion? He collapsed back into the corner, not bothering to stop the tears that trickled down his cheeks.

The sharp metallic taste of blood in his mouth helped a little, renewed his focus on remaining absolutely still and silent. His tongue throbbed between his teeth, a potent reminder that Roronoa Zoro did not moan or groan or sigh or make any similar types of noises no matter what his condition. What the hell was wrong with Usopp? The guy was crying and he could hear the sound of flesh stroking flesh through the occasional choked sob. Long-nose was jerking off again, right after he'd gotten off. Zoro was positive that the sharpshooter had come. That long groan couldn't have indicated anything else. Something had to be wrong.

The small room stank of that nasty flowery smell. It was cloying and thick, the half-open hatch doing nothing to suck the odor out. Perhaps the narrow band of sunlight actually made it worse, letting in heat. It could actually be serving as an intensifier. Certainly it seemed to the swordsman that the smell was getting stronger. He could no longer smell his own sweat in the shirt that was draped over his face, nor the usual mix of cigarettes, sweat, and food that was the perpetual scent of the cabin.

It was getting to be far too much; the smell, the stabs of pain in his tongue which matched his pulse which beat in time to the throbbing of his cock, the thick slide of mucus in the back of his mouth, the sounds coming from the far corner of the room, the heat, EVERYTHING. Zoro knew he wasn't the smartest guy in the world, not even the smartest person on the ship. But he wasn't stupid. There had to be an answer as to why Usopp had suddenly decided to masturbate in his (luckily supposed to be asleep) presence and why he had a raging hard-on and why he wanted to vomit from the wretched smell. There were many things out of place in this situation, but perhaps the most glaring problem was the odor. He'd never smelled anything like it before, the way it seemed to ooze into his nostrils and down his throat even as he tried to only take shallow breaths through his mouth. Given Usopp's penchant for experimenting, odds were the smell was coming from him. He'd even bet the money he certainly didn't have (Damn Nami!) that the flowery scent was the cause of all the other problems. Well then, clearly the solution lay in getting rid of the smell.

Zoro swallowed, blood and phlegm thick in his throat, and got ready to move. Usopp would undoubtedly freak out and would perhaps also notice his own rather prominent erection but that couldn't be helped. They had to get out of there. Usopp needed a shower or, if the bathroom was occupied, he'd simply throw him overboard. That smell had to go. A few quick adjustments to his pants and haramaki made sure that, even if he was hard, he wouldn't stick out like a ship's prow when he stood up. He had one foot on the floor, a hand in the process of pulling the shirt off his face when heavy footsteps sounded on the deck above. The beam of sunlight was cut off as a body began to descend the ladder. Zoro blinked in the newly shadowed gloom. Bare feet came first, followed by muscular calves and a pair of black shorts. Sanji was shirtless, hair dripping wet and a cigarette dangling from his mouth as he climbed down into the cabin.

"Oi, Longnose, you down here?"

Zoro shifted at the call, moving with just the right amount of lassisitude for a sleeping body. His lower half was now squarely pressed into the cushions, hiding any trace of his arousal, and his torso and neck were twisted so that he could keep one eye on the procedings. The shirt was stuffed under his face, and he buried his nose deeper into the sweaty clothing in a futile attempt to block out the smell. The damn love cook was clearly there to deal with the sharpshooter. No need for him to have to face humiliation or Usopp's obvious distress. Still, he was damned curious as to how the shitty chef would react to Usopp's...problem.

Sanji's feet settled on the floor, still managing to make a sound despite his lack of shoes. The blonde glanced around, eyes skimming over Zoro's unmoving form on the couch before settling on the corner.

"Hey bastard. Why didn't you answer when I called?"

Faint snifflings and rustlings emerged from where Usopp sat as the sharpshooter struggled to stop crying. He swiped at his eyes and drew the nasty mess of his overalls into his lap. Sanji was going to find out about his problem, but Usopp didn't want the cook to have any more ammunition for laughing at him than he could help.

The cook quietly took a drag on his cigarette, exhaling the smoke in two neat rings as he took in the tear-stained face. The smell, flowery and yet with a musky undertone that he'd first scented up on deck, was nearly overwhelming. He could feel his own eyes start to water as allergies that rarely affected him since he lived on the ocean rather than the land kicked in. A faint touch of nausea made itself known even as his groin began to tighten. Usopp was definitely naked in front of him, cowering back in the corner with his clearly ruined overalls. Just what had Longnose done to himself this time?

"Oi." It was softer this time. Sanji wasn't the kind of man who liked to see anyone cry, even the damn swordsman would have gotten this gentler tone - at least until he'd gotten himself together. Then, of course, Sanji would have been free to mock him or any of his other male crewmates. But while the tears were still trickling down flushed cheeks, he could be compassionate. "Usopp, you okay?"

"S,Sanji." Usopp took a deep breath and fought the need to palm himself through the fabric in his lap. "What do you want?"

The sharpshooter's voice was shaky, and Sanji could see that Usopp's attempt at bravado wasn't anywhere near his usual level. That air of confidence, so obviously faked but meant well, was noticeably absent from his voice.

"Nami-san sent me to check on you."

Normally he didn't care what the hell his male crewmates got up to during the day so long as it didn't disturb his cooking or his precious Nami-san. But when he'd gone to deliver his goddess her pre-lunch special drink, jumping out of his shower still soaking wet in order to bring it to her at just the perfect temperature, the door to her cabin had been locked. And then she hadn't let him in, not even when he announced he had made a special smoothy just for her with one of her favorite flavors. Instead she'd asked, ever so sweetly, to go check on Usopp and, to quote her literally, "make sure every trace of that damn pink potion or whatever is off of this ship and that he knows I'll want to be compensated for the inconvenience later." Sanji wasn't quite sure how Nami-san had been 'inconvenienced' as she put it, but he was beginning to get a pretty good idea. The mere thought made hearts want to form in his eyes and a small bit of blood was diverted from its southward rush to trail out of his nose.

"N-Nami sent you?"

Usopp sniffled and tried to draw his ruined clothes even closer to his body. Oh god, Nami was totally going to kill him. She hadn't gotten splashed with the stuff but she had taken in several large lung-fulls of air after his potion had exploded. And if he was reacting like this...No wonder Sanji had gone all heart-eyed. His nose was bleeding too, Usopp noticed, as he peeked out from beneath the damp ringlets of his hair to see just what had made the cook start staring off into space and muttering happily to himself. And...his shorts were strained in the front in a fashion in which Usopp himself had only all too recently been familiar with. Shit. He'd brought the smell down here with him on his overalls and on his own body and now Sanji was breathing it in and being affected as well. Of course, it could have been his perverted thoughts about the navigator, but the sharpshooter was pretty sure that Sanji had those all the time anyway and knew how to control his more blatant physical reactions.

This was nearly the worst situation of his entire life. It most definitely the most humiliating. Here he was, cowering on the floor naked, crying like a girl, with the biggest hard-on ever, stuck with two other guys at least one of whom he'd also given an erection albeit unintentionally, and the number one thought on his mind was how much he really needed to get off...again. What the hell was he supposed to do? He couldn't stop the bitter, choking laugh the tore from his throat, a harsh sound that tangled up with a sob and tore Sanji out of his daydreams about a certain mikan goddess.

"Oi oi! What the hell is wrong with you?"

Usopp let out another one of the awful, grating laughs, nothing at all like his normal self. "I'm what's wrong with me. I'm what's wrong with you, too. And probably what's wrong with Nami. It was supposed to be a love potion. I don't understand what went wrong! I followed all the directions exactly."

"Love potion? The heck are you talking about?"

One hand had let go of its clenched grip on his overalls, drifting underneath the ruined fabric to lightly touch the hard, heated flesh between his thighs. Usopp didn't ever really notice he was doing it, his body so far gone under the control of the strange pink liquid. He didn't look at Sanji right away, another teardrop rolling unaware down his face as he gathered his thoughts. Sanji noticed it though, moving closer, close enough that he when he sat down he could have easily touched the other boy without having to strecth. The sudden silence also had the attention of the swordsman as he lay in fake repose, waiting to see what Usopp's explanation would be and just what it had to do with the throbbing need he currently had pressed into the couch cushions.

"I-it was this book that I picked up in Logue Town. I bought it from this old auntie who swore that it would work."

"That what would work, idiot?"

Sanji's exasperation was clear and Usopp shrunk back. "The...the love potion."

"The love potion? You were making a love potion? What the hell for?"

That's exactly what Zoro wanted to know. And why the hell would a love potion make him horny? Although, thinking about it, if he had to be horny or in love with Usopp, he was glad it was just a case of hormonal overload. He listened attentively, digging his short, blunt fingernails hard into his palm when he realized he had begun shifting his traitorous hips in search of friction.

"I just wanted to have another weapon in my arsenal. Something that would work for more than just a couple of minutes. I...I figured that if I could make my enemies fall in love with me, then they'd be too busy fighting each other to come after me."

If either one of them could have known that the other was having the exact same thoughts, they'd both vehemently deny it. But both Sanji and Zoro were internally thinking that Usopp had actually had a pretty good idea for a change. It made sense and it was a very economical way of fighting. But that didn't fully explain what was going on.

"So...what happened? Obviously it didn't work or..." and here Sanji grimaced at the mental image he'd just gotten, "...or I'd be fawning all over you and, and Nami-swaaan would be in love with you too!" At that horrible thougtht, he reached out and whacked the sharpshooter on one knee. It caused Usopp's hand to suddenly tighten as it slipped down slick, hot skin and the boy let out an involuntary moan as he shuddered and unexpectedly, abruptly, came again.

Sanji's jaw dropped, cigarette falling out of his mouth to land on one thigh, as he stared at the stricken boy before him.

"What the hell was that?"

"I'm sorry. Please don't kill me. I-I can't help it. It's the stupid love potion. I got it all over me and now...now..." Usopp hiccuped around another sob as the now familiar wave of nausea and heat washed over him and his cock began to harden once more. "Now I can't stop and it won't go away and it hurts and I'm so sorry. I don't know what's wrong with me. I don't know what went wrong."

There was an answering sympathetic throb from Sanji's groin at Usopp's words and the cook sighed. Obviously the love potion HAD worked. It just wasn't the kind of love Long-nose had expected. "What did you put in it anyway?"

The sharpshooter rattled off a list of ingredients, hand already moving once more beneath his overalls, and the chef sighed. He wasn't so sure about some of the things Usopp had mentioned, but he recognized at least five different elements that were notorious aphrodesiacs. The stuff was obviously both scent and touch sensitive so what he really needed to do was get rid of Usopp's clothes, get both of them to a bath, and air out the cabin. The sleeping idiot behind him didn't have to be moved though. In fact, he was almost tempted to dump Usopp's overalls on the marimo's head, just to see what would happen, except that the idea of Zoro with a hard-on was aterribly scary one. This wasn't so bad, just awkward, at least for Usopp. There had been that time on the Baratie when they'd gotten in the wrong kind of oysters. It was fortunate that they'd never made it as far as the public tables, but that week had certainly been an eye-opener for him. What a way to get a sexual education at age fourteen.

Sanji shook his head at the memory and tried to give Usopp a smile. His Nami-swan would undoubtedly kill the sharpshooter at some future point, so there was no reason to be mad at him. In a way, it was almost funny.

"So, I'm guessing you've got something behind those clothes of yours that you don't want me to see, eh?"

Usopp goggled at him, eyes wide, and Sanji chuckled. "Hey, don't look so surprised. Believe it or not, there was actually a similar mishap back on the Baratie. I know how it is."

"Um, actually, that's not it. Um, Sanji? Your shorts are on fire."



Zoro's eyes had cracked open when the stupid chef had mentioned having a similar mishap in the past. What the hell? That perverted idiot had been struck with a never-subsiding hard-on before? Somehow, Zoro wasn't as surprised as he thought he could be. The cook clearly existed on nicotine and hormones. And then Long-Nose had said Sanji's shorts were on fire and he blinked as his eyes fully opened for the first time since Usopp had fallen down the ladder.

Sure enough there was a visible curl of smoke rising from the idiot's black-clad thigh, the cigarette that had earlier tumbled from his lips in shock having begun to burn a hole in the fabric. He watched with some amusement as Sanji yelped and started slapping at the spot. The cigarette fell onto the floor, cherry finally snuffed as it impacted with the wood, but the cotton wasn't extinguished so easily. There wasn't any visible flame, just smoke, but somehow the hole kept getting bigger and finally Sanji could feel the heat against his skin.

"What the hell?! Why won't it go out?!"

Zoro had to bury his head back against the arm of the couch to hide his snickers. This was just too funny. The chef was jerking around on the floor, flailing at his own leg, and completely failing to extinguish anything. Usopp, on the other hand, leaned forward anxiously. This wasn't good. If Sanji burned himself really badly, there wasn't anyone around to patch him up. After all, he was...indisposed, as was Nami. Luffy was nowhere to be found, and Zoro's idea of healthcare involved five hundred extra pushups before lunch and copious amounts of booze.

"Ouch! Shit!"

Sanji finally stood up to slip out of the shorts as a true flame blossomed at last on the dark fabric. Seeing the flame, Usopp forgot himself and his problem. His precious ship was at risk now! He lunged forward from his cower, damp overalls at the ready.

Zoro missed the actual moment of impact, still occupied with trying to muffle his laughter, but he jerked up at the resulting crash. And oh what a sight met his peeping eyes. The shitty chef, black shorts now around his knees was sprawled out on his back, strands of drying blond hair fluffing out around his face. Lying across the smooth paleness of his chest was Usopp's tanned face, his own still damp hair even curlier than usual, black ringlets that trailed in spring-like coils all the way down to where a pile of pink-stained brown fabric was pushed against one very muscular thigh. It wasn't quite enough to hide the flushed tip of Sanji's erection, nor was Usopp's own troublesome problem any longer covered as he half-knelt, half-reclined over the cook. And the sharpshooter's rather shapely posterior was sticking up in the air as well.

The swordsman swallowed a groan and mentally swore as his own love-potion induced hard-on surged, throbbing in his pants for the same freedom being allowed by the other two in the room. He DID NOT just think that Usopp had a nice ass. He DID NOT! He ordered his eyes to close, wanting to break away from the scene so that he could regain some control, but they refused to listen. And so it was that he had an excellent front row seat for what happened next.

Usopp was frozen, his limbs locked by a combination of fear and arousal so strong that he could barely force air in and out of his lungs. It seemed that his love potion was enhanced by skin to skin contact. Sanji's chest was beneath his lips and he had the most curious desire to just stick out his tongue and taste. But he knew, he just knew that at any moment Sanji was going to throw him off and kick his head in. So he was stuck, shaking ever so faintly, completely unable to tear himself away and wanting, oddly enough not to run, but to have Sanji hit him because at least then it would be another hand on his body.

Sanji's thigh hurt faintly. He could feel the strange stinging prickle that meant he had been burnt at least through the top two or three layers of skin, but it was a distant sensation in comparison to the tingling of his chest where Long-Nose was currently resting his face. He could feel every slow, hot puff of air the sharpshooter exhaled and it tickled nicely, made his cock (happy that it was no longer stuck in tight black shorts) twitch with every breath that shivered across his skin. His heart beat loudly in his ears, once, twice...by the time his count reached ten, Usopp still hadn't moved and the fire in his groin was too hot to ignore any longer. Besides, as he had said to the other boy before his unfortunate accident with the cigarette - damn that shitty old man anyway for always telling to quit smoking before he burned the ship down - it wasn't like he didn't have any experience with this situation. He knew what to do and his body was definitely fully prepared now that it had come into direct contact with both the pink liquid and Usopp.

For a long moment time seemed stretched to the swordsman; it moved thick and slow like the molasses the dumb cook used to make those little brown man cookies that Luffy had so much fun biting the heads off of. And then it snapped back like the elastic rubber that made up his captain's body and sped forward. One moment the asshole and Long-Nose had been still together on the floor. The next moment found Sanji reciprocating Usopp's earlier pounce. Now it was the sharpshooter who was on his back, gasping in shock from the suddenness of it all as the cook made quick work of getting the rest of the way out of his burnt shorts. The overalls were torn from his grasp, his baneful shield tossed away and then Sanji was crawling up between his legs and bending forward.

He hadn't really meant to kiss the sharpshooter. He had, in fact, been aiming for his neck. It was a sensitive spot on his own body and he figured it couldn't hurt to find out if the same held true for Usopp. Certainly it had for the dish washer back on the Baratie. But Usopp had arched up at the just the wrong, or maybe it was right?, moment and now he was kissing him. Kissing his surprisingly soft lips and squirming his tongue between them and he hadn't really meant to do that either, but hell, his mind was pretty much gone now, just softly encouraging the demands his body was placing on him. Usopp, despite being doused in a floral smell that could have been the mother of all perfumes, didn't exactly taste sweet. Instead he was kind of spicy, the professional portion of Sanji's brain identifying the hot notes of chili powder and tabasco, with an underlying bitterness that came from always sucking on the end of his pencils or chewing on his paintbrushes. It wasn't bad, pretty good actually, and Sanji swept his tongue across Usopp's own hungrily, tasted the back of his teeth and the roof of his mouth.

Holy crap, Sanji's tongue was in his mouth and he thought he was going to melt from just how good the sensation was. He moaned softly in the back of his throat as his palate was stroked with enthusiasm. Sanji's taste, which he noticed as he began to lightly suck on the part of the other boy currently within his reach, was as he expected - cigarette smoke and vanilla and a hint of the brandy he kept in one side drawer, the one he claimed was for cooking but everybody knew it was the one he took nips of through out the day to keep from killing Zoro or kicking Luffy over the side. And was that?

It didn't seem possible, but Zoro's eyes went even wider as he watched his two shipmates making out naked on the floor. The jerk cook had snaked one hand between his body and Usopp's, had gathered his own rampant erection and held it with the sharpshooter's, was even as Zoro stared dumbly, using that large calloused, freaking precious and well-protected, hand of his to stroke both of them off together as his mouth tore away to nibble on the thin skin of Usopp's collarbone. The chef was working them with long, even strokes, their two bodies moving in time together as Zoro's unconsciously mimicked the same rhythm. Usopp was making noise, small breathy exhalations mixed with occasional whimpers as his overtaxed body struggled onward to its third orgasm in less than an hour. Sanji was silent other than the occasional low rumbling groan from deep in his chest. The damn cook's noises sparked an memory in the swordsman, recalling the faint possibility that maybe Sanji hadn't been completely quiet the last time Zoro had watched him get off and merely been supressing the memory. His whole frame shook with an effort of supreme self control, even unaware his body fought to keep from revealing its need, and he refused to give any sign to the two on the floor that he was awake.

If there was one thing Sanji could safely say he knew almost as well as he knew cooking and kicking and swimming and how to piss off that shitty swordsman, it was jerking off. He'd actually been pretty discreet about it since joining the Going Merry, but that was a combination of Nami, the asshole, and the sheer excitement that leaving his old home for a new one and for new adventures had caused on his system. His hormones hadn't been bothering him nearly as much as they used to, so, other than for a few late night slip-ups, his wanking had been confined to the shower or occasionally the crow's nest during a watch. He'd never really felt any shame about it. After all, he'd bunked with many different men for all of his life and by the time he'd hit ten, not a one of them had cared if he'd seen them. And so he'd seen it all. Fucking, sucking, stroking, licking, biting, kissing...everything except what a man did when he was with a woman. Because there weren't often women on the ship overnight and the cooks took their whores to hotels on the few instances the Baratie put into port.

With such a vivid education, it was no wonder that he was already whacking off when he was eleven, more out of curiousity that anything. Then, after that incident when he was fourteen, there had been very few mysteries remaining about the male body. A part of him wondered briefly at the ease in which he'd grabbed hold of Usopp, but it didn't bother him too much. There was the damn potion after all, and Usopp was nakama and he was hurting and Sanji knew how to make it better. Plus, Nami had told him to take care of it.

Long-nose was pliant under him, soft and hard in all the right places, the fall of his unbound hair tickling across his forehead and shoulders as he forgot himself and suckled harder than he had meant on the joining of neck and shoulder. It drew a gasp from the sharpshooter, the hands that had at some point reached up to grasp at him briefly clawed at his back, just rough enough to make him arch into it and hasten the movement of his own hand.

Usopp knew that he had to look ridiculous, sprawled out naked on the floor with his hair going every which way, making stupid noises that he couldn't stop from coming past his lips and clutching at Sanji like he was drowning. But he had to. Because he felt like he was drowning. So this was what it felt like to be touched by another person, to be ravished and wanted, even if it was only a fake desire brought about by a complete misunderstanding of the meaning of the word love. He spared a brief moment of pity for Nami, locked up in her room all alone, but it was tempered by the fact that she was going to definitely kill him later. At least he wouldn't die without having been kissed.

The feeling of Sanji's dick against his own, even more than the talented hand stroking them together was what finally did it for him. Really, they were such contradictory things, satin skin over iron, and why did it feel so damn good to have Sanji aligned against him like that? There was a droplet, then another, of moisture on his oversensatized crown, the blond boy's own fluid leaking onto his flesh. The idea was enough to blow his mind and he stiffened, back arching up off the floor with a murmured "Unh~"

He felt Usopp buck up into his hand, felt the boy's cock jerk, felt the scant smattering of warmth on his stomach (more, honestly, than he'd expected given that Usopp had probably come at least once or twice before this), and felt the faint stirring of breath in his hair at the soft exclamation and his own highly stimulated body reacted in kind with a mostly swallowed groan.

Zoro, who had been watching breathlessly, mostly ignorant of his own lightly thrusting hips, watched as two backs bowed in towards each other in quick succession, listened as tiny noises issued from saliva-slick lips, bit the inside of his own mouth hard enough to bring tears to his eyes and keep himself silent as he gave one more quick jerk against the couch cushions and came in his pants.

All was still for a moment in the dim room that now smelled like flowers and sweat and sex, the only noise the panting breath coming from three heaving chests. And then as if on cue, a pair of brown eyes and a single visible blue one turned to stare at the couch. If nothing else, Roronoa Zoro knew how to feign sleep. All the sharpshooter and the crap chef saw was him lying there, motionless and silent, head buried in the crook of one hastily moved arm.

Usopp managed a shaky laugh as he gazed up at Sanji. "I guess he really CAN sleep through anything. I bet the potion didn't even affect him."

"Shit head? I don't even think he knows what a dick is. That guy is an unfeeling bastard."

Sanji knew his words were a little harsh, but he had been curious and voyeurism didn't mean much when you hadn't known anything else. So, he'd caught Usopp before and he had his suspicions about the captain, but Zoro didn't appear to have any desires. That much control over one's body was actually a little intimidating and it pissed Sanji off just thinking about it.

"Hell, and even if he did see one, he'd have no idea what to do with it. I'm sure he wouldn't even know his existed if he didn't have to use it to piss."

Sanji's tone was dangerous so Usopp risked a quick nod and a shaky "y-yeah" as he slipped back out from under the chef. He was extra sticky now, with the potion and both his and Sanji's semen covering his body. Without his overalls and having gotten off again, the need wasn't nearly so insistant any more. Probably huging the clothes against his body had only made his problem worse earlier. A long shower with a lot of soap should take care of his problem...

A/N: Yeah, um, yeah, that was kind of sucky. And really long. Ah well. I'm so tired that I'm falling asleep over my own keyboard, not that that's really any excuse but I'm going to use it anyway. Unedited as always (and I'm sure it's extra apparent this time around), you have now officially read 11,464 words about boys wanking.

So many pent up teenage hormones in that small cabin below the deck.