Testosterone

Author: chibi_trillian
Disclaimer: One Piece ain\'t mine. I\'m not that clever.
Notes: Inspired by the Bush song of the same name.

Testosterone

Nami wasn’t quite sure what had woken her up.

Some creak of the ship or shift in the wind or miniscule alteration of air pressure triggered her Navigator’s Trouble Sense™ for a moment—just long enough to knock her out of a sound sleep—and now she was fully awake without any reason to be except a vague nagging feeling of wrongness. After a minute or two of sitting in her hammock and waiting fruitlessly for the hunch to resolve itself one way or the other, she sighed and decided to go up on deck. There was a full moon tonight, so she should be able to get a decent look at the clouds. It was probably just groundless paranoia, but a paranoid sailor was a sailor who still had a ship at the end of the day.

Nami slipped silently out of her cabin and crept up onto the deck. She really didn’t need to be so sneaky, but Sanji was supposed to have wheel watch right now. Nami was a bit tired to try and come up with something useful for the self-proclaimed Love Cook to do so he’d stay out of her hair. Really, he was like a puppy sometimes in the way he always wanted attention. If she was lucky, she could get a feel for the weather without seeing him at all and go quietly back to bed.

There wasn’t a cloud in the sky. In fact, it was so clear that the moon was actually casting shadows. The bad feeling that had woken her vanished without a trace the second she set foot on the deck, leaving only a mildly peevish Nami behind. She knew she ought to be happy that there was nothing wrong, but being awake for no reason was not helping to put her in a glass-half-full sort of mood.

The wind shifted slightly and brought the smell of cigarette smoke to Nami’s nose. Oh shit. Sanji. She’d better get belowdecks before he spotted her and cried out, “Nami-saaaaaaan!” loudly enough to wake the entire crew. Nami spun on her heel and headed for the door.

Then she heard what sounded like an unsuccessfully muffled moan.

Half of Nami thought that when a guy you know isn’t getting any makes that kind of a noise, you usually don’t want to see why.

The other half of her went, “Hey, blackmail. If I get a picture of him fucking a watermelon or something, I’ll own him for life.”

The half of her with beris in its eyes won, as usual. She snuck towards the source of the moan. Hidden in the deep shadows cast by the Going Merry’s main sail, she was utterly invisible.

Sanji, on the other hand, was quite, quite visible. The moon was practically spotlighting him as he leaned back against the aft railing, one hand clamped halfway over his mouth. Halfway, because Sanji wouldn’t give up his cigarette even for the sake of silence. Idiot.

The moon was also shining rather brilliantly down on Zoro’s spiky green head, with Sanji’s other hand planted firmly on top of it.

God. Zoro was giving Sanji a blow job. On the goddamn deck. Zoro. Performing fellatio. On Sanji. Hot Mr.-Bushido-on-Love-Cook action. It was wrong. It was perverted. It was actually kind of sexy. And it was going to make her a fuckload of cash. Nami reached for her camera…

Only to discover that it was still in her cabin because she hadn’t really been planning on playing paparazzi when she’d gotten out of bed. Shit. Well, Plan B was to just let Sanji think that she had photos. This was still going to make her a wealthy woman—well, as wealthy as Sanji could afford, anyway. It wasn’t worth it to go after Zoro. He was too broke and probably wouldn’t care anyhow.

In the meantime, she would watch. For the money, that is. Not because watching two of her male crewmates get it on was really an incredible turn-on. Nope. All business and avarice.

Sanji’s hair looked almost white in the silvery light of the moon. His face was a collection of planes of light and shadow, made weird and almost inhuman by strange lighting and stranger expressions. The little puffs of cigarette smoke coming out of his nose helped with the unreal, almost fey look. Actually, in Nami\'s humble opinion, Sanji looked more attractive when he wasn\'t looking like himself. He still had most of his clothes on—his shirt was untucked, his belt was open, and his pants were (obviously) unzipped, but that was about it as far as nudity went. All of Sanji’s important bits were covered by Zoro’s head and only became visible for brief moments when the aforementioned head pulled back.

Zoro was still fully clothed, and he had a rather weird look on his face (or what flashes Nami could see of it, anyway). It looked kind of like the expression he had while practicing—focused, every move just so, every action planned and rehearsed a thousand times before but no less vital for it. It really was not an expression Nami would have wanted anywhere near her genitals, frankly. Sanji’s fingers were contracting rhythmically in Zoro’s hair, but every time it looked like he was about to grab and yank Zoro would punch him in the thigh without even breaking rhythm. Well, it was good to know that some parts of the ever-changing universe remained constant.

Sanji’s panting moans were starting to escape his fingers with increasing regularity. For a few minutes, the only sounds on board ship were the lap of waves against the hull, the rigging creaking in the wind, Sanji groaning, Zoro making little businesslike sucking noises, the faint grating clatter of Sanji’s heavy studded belt hitting the railing every time Sanji bucked his hips, and Nami holding her breath. Okay, so the last one wasn’t a sound.

Suddenly, the hand Sanji had been using to cover his mouth slapped down on the railing as he went rigid. He ground his teeth for a second, practically destroying his cigarette, and then he reached climax with a quiet, explosive exhalation of “Fuck!”

Sanji slumped against the railing as Zoro got to his feet and casually spit overboard and wiped his mouth. Zoro then turned around to look at Sanji with a distinctly visible smirk.

“No stamina, as usual. Now zip yourself up and get on your knees, stupid Love Cook. My turn.” It was remarkable how Zoro’s voice carried when he was being smug.

“Fuck! Let me finish my goddamn cigarette first, shitty swordsman,” Sanji growled, having managed the coordination to light a fresh cigarette to replace his now-mangled one, but nothing else. So far, it was Sanji and Zoro business-as-usual, with the variation that Sanji’s dick was hanging out of his pants. It didn’t look bad, from this distance. Not good enough to be worth putting up with the overeager Love Cook it was attached to, though.

“Do you forfeit, then?” Zoro asked, going from “smirk” to “evil pirate-hunter grin that makes hardened criminals quake in their boots and scream for mommy.” Nami blinked. What the hell was he talking about?

Sanji practically laid back his ears and yowled. “I’m not forfeiting to you, asshole. Whip it out, you impatient bastard, and prepare to lose.” Sanji zipped his pants back up, but didn’t bother with the belt. Zoro started working with the fastenings of his pants while Sanji took a final deep drag on his cigarette and tossed it into the ocean, preparatory to smoking something else entirely.

No. Oh no they were NOT. Those two testosterone-filled meatheads were not having a suckoff competition. There were some things that should not be turned into contests, and this was definitely one of them. Nami knew that people got bored after weeks at sea, but this was ridiculous.

Yes, they apparently were having a suckoff competition. Sanji lunged as soon as Zoro got his pants open and attacked with the enthusiasm that only someone with an oral fixation as massive as his was could muster, physically forcing Zoro back against the railing. This was beyond belief, and considering all the things Nami had seen, that was saying something. She was torn between laughing out loud and walking over there and punching them both, and so Nami just sat there in the darkness turning slowly purple with suppressed emotion and trying to breathe without screaming.

While Zoro seemed to put more emphasis on finesse and technique, Sanji’s modus operandi was to overwhelm and ravish. There was no other word for what Sanji was doing with his mouth: it was penis ravishment bordering on the brutal. It was messy, it was a lot noisier than Zoro’s efforts, and Luffy himself would have been put to shame by the amount of bone-sucking going on. God, she was never going to be able to watch Sanji stick anything in his mouth ever again, possibly including cigarettes and food. Every gasp Sanji got out of Zoro was hard-won and wrenched from the depths of Zoro’s stubborn soul. It was epic. It was vicious. It was the scariest damn blowjob Nami had ever seen.

At least it was mercifully short. Sanji didn’t do things halfway when he got pissed, and even the mighty pirate hunter Roronoa Zoro couldn’t withstand that kind of assault for long. Sanji also apparently didn\'t believe in spitting. That, Nami would blackmail him for. The rest of this was something she wanted to purge out of her memory by pouring boiling water into her ear, but the sight of Sanji swallowing, jumping to his feet, and hissing, “Now who’s got no stamina, shitty marimo-head?” was staying in there.

“Che!” Zoro huffed, defeated for the moment and looking like Sanji had accidentally sucked out some of his soul during that blowjob. “All that does is make us even. Eight and eight. I’ll get you next time, stupid Love Cook.”

“Just keep telling yourself that,” Sanji said, looking like the cat who had gotten the cream (no pun intended) and lighting a fresh cigarette from his seemingly bottomless supply. He looked like he wanted to savor his victory some more, but Zoro had disobligingly fallen asleep. Sanji aimed a light (for Sanji) kick at the sleeping swordsman and walked off to go check the ship’s course, redoing his belt as he went. He passed within three feet of Nami’s hidey-hole.

After Sanji had left, Nami remained very still for a moment. Then, she carefully slipped over to Zoro to check something.

Zoro’s hair did indeed have a Sanji handprint in it. Nobody else on the Going Merry had fingers that long. Nami smirked and headed back to her cabin. She’d be getting at least one picture after all, and Sanji was going to be paying her for her pain and suffering until he was old and gray.