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“Zoro,” his captain’s voice draws him from his mug, the current round little more than a slosh away from empty. Zoro tips his head back to drain the rest, making eye contact with Luffy from where he’s standing. “I’m borrowing you.”
There it is again. That little glint in his eye. Like a crow that’s found another shiny for their collection, or a cat that’s finally got the cream. Zoro can’t tell what Luffy’s thinking when he’s like this, can only catch the way the fire makes his skin glow warm in the dark, the hints of mischief in his grin.
He reaches a hand down and Zoro takes it, can tell he’s a little less than sober in the way his arm stretches like taffy when Zoro applies force. “Oops,” he giggles, gets it right the second time and tugs them both away from the party. Luffy crackles like a flame, almost too hot to touch, and the rubber shackle around Zoro’s wrist singes as they stumble through the forest.
They move until vegetation has swallowed the light from the bonfire, the noise from the celebrations. They’ve dealt with Enel, and as a result, the Shandians and Skypieans have finally come together. Everyone seemed to be on the same page about eating and drinking themselves into a stupor about it. It’s a great plan, genius even, and it’s why Zoro knows whatever Luffy needs him for must be urgent if he’s able to pull himself away from a feast for any amount of time.
When they stop it’s behind a tree, thick circumference softened with moss. Luffy pulls Zoro against him, leaning back against the trunk. It’s a proximity that makes him heady, dizzy at the way he finds himself on his knees as soon as Luffy tells him to kneel.
He doesn't know what they're about to do, but the sight is enough to destroy him. There’s the rosy tint of alcohol in Luffy’s cheeks, the glazed way he’s looking down at Zoro. Luffy whines, reaches for the button of his shorts. “I almost couldn’t hold it,” and he sounds so impatient, desperate, that whatever it is that he’s having trouble holding doesn’t actually matter. “I really had to piss.”
Oh.
Not the way Zoro wanted that sentence to end, but he stays put anyway. He wasn’t given permission to do otherwise.
Instead, he presses his lips into a tight, thin line. It gets him an easy, gentle smile from Luffy, amused laughter as he says, “That’s my Zoro.” And alongside the absolute fire that sends down his back, the image of Luffy cradling his limp cock in a palm, carding back Zoro's short hair with the other brands itself beneath his eyelids. It’s the only thing he sees when he closes his eyes, the only thing he can think of as he holds himself still at the first splash of hot wet against his face, his neck.
It reeks, delicately put, and Luffy’s a sorry aim, but it doesn’t stop Zoro’s cock from filling out anyway. It’s these little noises. He doesn’t know if it’s just him or if Luffy’s doing it on purpose, twisting his sounds of relief into something extra breathless, obscene. He lets Zoro’s name fall out of his mouth in a way that’s sure to haunt the swordsman’s daydreams for weeks if not months, and it has to be more than a coincidence at this point: that airy moan accompanying his endless stream.
It’s amazing, unpleasant, that his captain is this full of piss. He aims sloppy at Zoro’s mouth, dribbles down to his shirt, his pants. It plasters Zoro’s tank to his chest, cools his skin to the extent of goosebumps. Puddles around his knees and makes the ground squishy around him.
“Zoro’s my personal toilet, yeah?” Luffy exhales, and Zoro gives a hard gulp and a minute nod. His hands are balled into tight fists atop his thighs, the unconscious inclination towards kneeling seiza giving a great outline of his hard cock. “He wouldn’t let anyone else do this to him.” his captain continues, and Zoro nods again.
Luffy reminds him that he can use his words, too, and Zoro can only grind out a coarse “Yeah,” working hard to keep the grimace off his face when he gets liquid into his mouth. He’s twitching, aching, dying to relieve the tension in his groin. It’s not not even the piss that’s doing it for him, either. It’s the audacity. The way Luffy ropes him into these situations and Zoro just lets him. Wants him to do it, even.
He pretends like he’s disappointed when Luffy berates him for trying to touch himself, a firm heel pressing into his crotch in warning as he reminds Zoro that toilets don’t have hands. It doesn’t have to make sense, because Zoro lets him do what he wants until he’s empty regardless. Until the stream becomes a trickle across the bridge of his nose, down his cheek.
Luffy laughs again, always, but leans forward to wipe the piss off Zoro’s eyelids, the bow of his lip, deceptively sweet. “Thanks, Zoro! I’m going back now.” He lets Zoro watch as he tucks himself back in and is gone like that.
In privacy, Zoro’s posture crumbles. He barely gets a shaky sigh out before he’s freeing his cock, wrenching his eyes shut once more to indulge in fantasy. If only Luffy had pressed into his mouth instead… Maybe he’d even hook a finger in there first, to loosen his jaw. Not that he’d need to; Zoro would swallow him down without a second thought, make it so good he couldn’t help but keep coming back. He ignores the traces of sticky tacky salty on his skin as he shoves fingers into his mouth and pretends like it’s the real thing. Fucks into his hand and wishes it was someone else’s. If a man comes in the middle of the forest and no one is around to hear, does he make a sound?
Zoro’s orgasm is a snotty smear on his soaked tank top as he wobbles to his feet. Might be worth finding a river to take a dip in before wandering back to the others for another drink.