Attention: in one part of this chapter there are explicit, scurrilous and rough terms. If you don't want to read that part, skip what's written entirely in italics.

Once he was out of the aquarium, Sanji headed for the kitchen, a frown on his face.
He still couldn't quite accept and truly believe that the kitchen would no longer be his for a total of two weeks.
He only could cook that night, then ... Fourteen days of nothing.
Three hundred and thirty-six hours of probable constant 'what the hell I should do' and of a clear and blatant uselessness.
At times he regretted to have not given a negative answer to this request, but he knew very well that... after the navigator's initial inquiring questions, answering something that was not a 'yes' simply would have meant to humiliate himself and, even more, disappoint Nami.

He wouldn't have liked neither of the two things, especially the second one: after all, his ego was already quite destroyed by itself, while the beautiful and Amazing Red haired girl, well ... Of course, she deserved attention, praise and affection.
Sanji would have really done everything for her, simply because she deserved it ... So he didn't want to destroy her expectations.
He tapped the tip of his shoe against the floor with nervousness, making a slight grimace and shaking his head.
He had at least that evening.
He would have overworked himself as much as possible, making every kind of dishes: nobody could say anithing about that.
He reached the stove with a convinced expression, litting them up, quickly pulling up the sleeves of his shirt and he started to work.

*

- Did you really think we were done, didn't You? - Niji said with the usual cruel smile, once after the other two brothers left the room, observing the blond with his cold eye.
Sanji couldn't help wincing, swallowing and feeling his breath hurrying to every shiver that ran down on his back, clinging into his skin.
-Maybe, at this Moment, Ichiji and Yonji, yes. Maybe they don't need anything more. For me, instead ... Nah.-
A break.
A long pause in which the minor of the two found himself staring at the twin with the eyes of someone who had just witnessed the sight of a ghost.
-We've just started, really- Niji added, licking his lips.
-After all, a whore like you can't be tired after a little game. You need to give me more- he almost purred.

The blond stiffened to the feeling of the twin's hands palpating his buttocks, separating them again with his rough fingers, slipping one of them into the orifice and sliding the white liquid down, which dripped hot along his long legs, tearing out a shiver from him.
Everything in Sanji's head seemed to be gone, but his body was so damn sensitive.
As he felt Niji's finger move in his butt, Sanji made a sound similar to a squeak, something that amused the blue, probably, because he simply bursted into a big laughter.
The younger twin blushed with frustration, gritting his teeth, ignoring the burning of his eyes that seemed to want to throw tears of shame out.
-What was that?- he asked to him, still laughing so much, too much, enough to make Sanji want to be ten feet under the ground, blushing even more.
Jeez, he hated that piece of shit so badly, and he hated the power he had on him, on his body.

- I want to hear it again, little bitch.- Niji said once after he managed to stop laughing - Do It again. Come on-
-G-go to fuck yourself you bas... Ah!- the blond moaned again, sensing the second finger entering him, then pushing inside him at a very fast pace.
He could feel him proceeding on the movements, making him feel a sudden heat, with strange pangs in his belly and ... Was that... Pleasure?
Was it really pleasure?
Was it?
"No... It can't be..."
He could feel the weird excitment flowing into him, rising and stirring in his body like his own blood, snatching out of him what he wanted to hold back, as he feared to let come out something similar of what had previously escaped him.
-It seems to me that you are appreciating this ... You are wet, fucking lil' slut - the twin grinned, making the other boy feel the need to kick him in his mouth, perhaps because of the ass-face he was proposing.
Niji seemed even more amused by the other's indignation, who had resumed - apparently - trying to fight even a little, repeating and pushing himself more and more deeply in response to delete his attempts at their start, adding even a third phalanx, watching then the blond member get up a little more with every movement his hand made.

Sanji could feel it throbbing, suddenly hard.
"No. No. It is not true ... It cannot be ... I don't want this! I don't like it! Why?!"
-You really like it then, Sanji-
The tone of scorn and malice in those five letters ... Accompanied by the knoweledge that he had responded to the violence as if he was appreciating it for real, as if he accepted it and wanted it in his turn ...

It disgusted him.
It disgusted him so damn much.
He was so disgusted by himself, by his own stupid body.
With what was happening to him... He, at least hoped to resist, to keep away something about himself, because if It was really happening, then he needed to make a some kind of a line to protect his mind, but instead his own body was firing it with its acceptance.
He was so disgusted that he returned to the previous apathy, with the desire to be able to cover his face with his hands, trying to hide the tears that now slipped along his cheekbones.
These, probably, were really pleasing Niji, but he was still not truly satisfied, apparently ... Because he took his face between his unoccupied hand, touching Sanji's lips, tugging and squeezing the blonde cheeks with such a force to make them become purple, with the marks of his nails clearly visible, then placing his mouth on Sanji's, kissing him, biting him until his lips bled... and devouring them as if they were his property , as if he really knew ...
As if he knew that this was Sanji's first kiss and that, apparently, the blonde twin would never be able to forget it, that he would be eternally marked by it.
Releasing his face, he began to move his hand again in the minor boy's orifice - who, by now, had four fingers inside, all pressing with even more rude violence: they pushed forward and tear off unwanted sound by his mouth, like everything else it was happening on him - and the second, which had clung to his erection, amusing himself by making the boy shudder, wince, moan, tremble convulsively and cry.
It seemed to Niji to have back the old days ... Only with a little difference... it had never been so much fun for him.
Not like this.
He had always liked it, to see him sick and hurt, to watch him look for something to hold on to survive and to find a some kind of meaning for his useless and fragile existence, but this ... This was above every level.

It was a unique view; the shame in that gaze, more blue than a sky, previously so determined, then now so destroyed as to barely be a skeleton of what it had been before, only leaving it to the memories.
Such a view ... It was beyond imagination, he would never have been able to summon it.
- Come on, you little bitch. Come for me. I will allow you one orgasm. Only one. You should already be grateful, you know. Eh, Sanji-
The blond would not have wanted to give him satisfaction, the proud part of himself pressed in a corner of his head, needing to be noticed and followed to prevent his body from accepting those touches again, knowing perfectly that it would not end there at all ... And that cumming in this way was ... Fucking shameful.
Something that, if he could, he would have totally denied, but his system seemed to want to humiliate him, in fact the pleasure exploded in streams, splashing on the surface of the bed, drop by drop, accompanied by his tears and frustration.
This feeling was always there, mixed with a big dose of apathism with which his brain still tried in vain to defend itself, knowing that if he listened to Niji's words too much, he would return to believe in them, to absorb every insult, every comment made by that fucking asshole.
After all, however, he didn't deny them.
He had never denied them, not as a child, not at this moment, especially because of his own ridicolous and inappropriate reactions, so... He knew.
He knew that he had already lost the battle.
He lost it from the fucking start, damn it.

*

-Cook-

The blond winced at the feeling of being shaken vehemently, pulling himself up from the hammock quickly, so quickly that, once he sat up, he could feel his head spinning for a long series of seconds, only flicking his gaze where there was the person who , so abruptly, had chased him out of his dream - or nightmare. Yes, nightmare sounded really better -.
Crossing those gray eyes for the umpteenth time, Sanji didn't know exactly how he should have felt.
A part of him wanted to protest, to kick him, give him a middle finger and then go back to sleep.
Protest because, of course the swordsman had the same delicacy as a damn elephant on waking him up.
Protest because he had no idea about what the hell the mosshead was doing at that time of the night - whatever it was - and why he decided to wake him, completely out of nowhere.

But the other part of him was so grateful to Zoro for what he did.
The reasons why he was, well, they were pretty obvious, but he wouldn't give them a voice.
He did not even have time to open his mouth to ask what the Marimo wanted exactly, because the damn swordsman speaked for him - and before him -.
-Give me space- he asserted, in a slightly hoarse voice and a tone that didn't accept replies.

If Sanji hadn't been mentally and physically in need of rest, he probably would have protested, probably screaming out loud to that fucking plant to fuck off, he told himself, but at that exactly moment he didn't.
He did not resist: he allowed the swordsman to lie down near to him in his hammock - he had to be very sick, perhaps it was because of the nightmare he had just had - and to wrap him around with an arm to bring him closer.
Sanji really wanted to protest, dammit, he wanted to try to say that for how much a furnace Zoro was, he would end up sweating seven shirts with his suffocating heat, also because they were far from a winter island and, that night, it wasn't that he was particularly cold there.
He wanted to tell to the seaweed that he stank and to take a shower, to sleep in his own hammock, to stop posing in such a strange way because at times he ended with a freaking heart attack because of his mood swings - that he said to himself that he wouldn't have accepted anymore not even ten hours ago - to leave him in peace and that if he probably would not have been able to shut his eyes anymore it was the damn stupid idiot plant's fault ... But ...
Fuck, his throat was dry like a desert.
And maybe Zoro wasn't really the hot one.
Yes, he was, but not like that!
It was him who felt warm on all his face.
Too hot on hia face, with a decidedly too rapid heartbeat and a blank mind, completely shut down.
Only after about ten minutes he managed to take a little bit of decent oxygen, calming his heated nerves and sighing out loud, telling himself, before falling asleep, that the next day, at that cabbage head, he would have made some question.
Many, many questions.

**
N. D. A

Because the two of them in the hammock are extremely wjdjwjdjwksksks

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