Chapter Text
It wasn't supposed to happen this way. There are moments in which Crocodile spitefully thinks he can undo the damage-- that he can walk away like nothing ever happened-- but all it takes is a single glance from those blue eyes for those thoughts to pitifully shrivel away.
Ivankov's offer to shelter him for a short time on Momoiro following their break out from Impel Down had been a boon. Despite the history between them that he'd rather sooner forget, Crocodile was a man who knew better than to look a gift horse in the mouth. When an offer like this presents itself, only a fool would refuse to take it.
Momoiro is an island even the Navy would not step foot on. Crocodile would find no better place to shelter himself whilst he gathered his wits about him and decided where he wanted to go next. It was meant to be a short stay, no more than a few weeks at most, but then...
But then came the Cook. Mr. Prince. And just like that, Crocodile's entire world crumbles down around him.
The first time he sees him, Crocodile thinks he has to be one of the least appealing specimens he's laid eyes on to date. The fact that he's on that straw hat brat's crew doesn't register at first, he's so focused on the absolute disaster that is everything else about him.
His hair is a mess, curling in every direction in a way that might be artsy if it were on anyone else. The dress is a disaster, a frumpy parachute of a thing that hangs off him like a bedsheet off a hanger. There are no words to describe the mess that's been made of his face, lip gloss smeared and mascara running.
The little blonde had looked righteously pissed even before realizing who Crocodile was. That anger quickly turns into something deeper as soon as he notices who he's just run into.
"Oh, great. As if my day couldn't get any worse." The Cook's voice is like a gunshot in an empty field. It zings down Crocodile's spine icily. "Why aren't they chasing you down with heels and tubes of lipstick, huh? Did I seriously draw that short of a stick?"
He's undeniably Mr. Prince. One of the few men to ever pull one over on Crocodile, and a voice that's haunted him from nearly the moment he first heard it. Crocodile's eyes narrow, his face settling into a scowl. All at once, his temper rears its head.
"It's you." Crocodile hisses, low and angry. The Cook looks supremely unimpressed, which only serves to make him angrier. "Mr. Prince."
"Gold star. Can we do this later? Ivankov said you're not allowed to fight me, which means I'm probably not supposed to fight you." The Cook's tongue clicks, voice casual as can be. Crocodile's eye twitches. "I'm sort of on the run right now, too. Unless you want to be my human decoy, I suggest we take a raincheck."
He's infuriating. The gall of him, the sheer audacity. The only thing worse than having one pulled over on you is having one pulled over on you by an incompetent twit. Which, by all appearances, is exactly what Crocodile is looking at right now.
The thought of eventually getting the chance to throttle him with his own hand and cut his stomach open with the curve of his hook had been one of the many fantasies to keep Crocodile sane in the cold depths of Impel Down. With the opportunity now laid out before him, he can hardly think of anything else.
"Give me one good reason not to strangle you right here and now." Crocodile's voice is low and dangerous, his hook raising beneath the Cook's chin in threat. Boldly, the blonde doesn't so much as bat an eye.
"First of all, I just did. Ivankov will have both of our head's if we get into it here." With a single finger, he shoves the hook back. Crocodile glowers harder. "Second of all, why're you acting like you didn't take over an entire country, deprive thousands of a basic human right, and then stab my captain? Shouldn't I be the angry one here?"
He says it in the same tone of voice one would use to complain about their soup being too hot. It's so perplexing a reaction that Crocodile can't help but falter slightly, though he'll never admit it out loud. And, well...
He has a point. Even Crocodile is a reasonable enough man to see that.
Blindsided out of his rage as abruptly as he'd been thrown into it, he finally notices the deep bags under the Cook's eyes. He's a slip of a thing, all lean legs and narrow shoulders. Crocodile's frown deeps, contemplating killing him anyway.
It would be personally satisfying to crush him into nothing. It would rectify the embarrassment he'd suffered, though the brat was unfortunately right about other such aspects of their situation. If Mr. Prince was here under Ivankov's protection, it would be ill advised to attack him now, lest he have the entirety of the Kamabakka Kingdom against him and no true means of escape.
The sound of distant hooting and hollering draws Crocodile from his contemplation. He watches, incensed, as the Cook reaches out and pats him on the forearm. Crocodile stares at his hand, semi-disbelieving that the brat would actually touch him.
"I haven't slept in two days, but good talk!" He beams widely, nearly hysteric. "It's nice to see someone in a suit, even if that someone isn't me. It gives me hope for the future. Protect your masculinity while you still have it, alright? Be that beacon for the rest of us."
Another pat, and then he takes off running so fast his legs smoke. Crocodile turns to watch him blur into the trees just as a wave of Okama come crashing through the bushes. Wordlessly, he steps out of the way as they speed past.
It's a whirlwind. No more than a minute. The impression of blue eyes still feel seared into the backs of his eyelids.
"Looking good, Croco-boy!" One of the Okama shouts as they pass. Crocodile is too busy turning on his heel to storm off to give much of any reply.
"This is a horrible idea." Sanji says for what has to be the millionth time. Crocodile astutely ignores him, also for what has to be the millionth time.
It hadn't been a question in his mind that he'd be following Sanji back to his crew. If Sanji would not go with him, it seemed a simple conclusion to draw that Crocodile should be the one to do the following. He had no other attachments or obligations beyond the shores of Momoiro, nor did he have any interest in forming any.
Whether Straw Hat would welcome him or not was still up in the air, but Crocodile would do what needed to be done to secure his place. If they'd accepted Nico Robin with such ease, there was a chance it would go more smoothly than Sanji thought it would. And if it didn't...
Well, it would be rather hard to get rid of an intangible cloud of sand. He'd force his way on if he needed to. His devoutness had grown to monstrous levels, the likes of which could not be challenged nor dulled by circumstance. He was going to have Sanji, no matter the cost.
"What if they attack you? Or you attack them? Or you all attack each other?" Sanji cut a slim figure in his suit, hair combed to perfection and crystalline eyes troubled. "Luffy is going to hate me and make me leave the crew, isn't he? I'm going to lose my entire family over a giant, useless lug! And then I'll be stuck living homeless under a bridge with only you to protect me from the wind, no kitchen, no food, no nothing! And then we'll starve!"
Crocodile's brow twitched at the insult, though he was more than used to it by now. He smoothed a hand down Sanji's back, eyes intent. It was only recently that the Cook had let him close enough to touch intimately like this. Satisfaction curled low in Crocodile's gut, seeing how used to it he'd grown.
"You doubt their trust in you so deeply? If it's you touting me along, I'm certain they'll be far more accommodating than you presume." Crocodile's fingers traced the knobs of his spine, counting each one, memorizing. "He accepted Nico Robin into your ranks once upon a time. Surely he'll be open to negotiation."
"...Maybe. If you're on your best behavior." Sanji bit the inside of his cheek. Crocodile stared at the plush of his lips. "You'll be on your best behavior, right?"
"If that's what you wish." Crocodile conceded easily. Sanji's nose scrunched up, though he didn't question the easy agreement. These days, Crocodile was akin to a well-trained dog. Like many other things, Sanji was gradually growing used to that too.
Crocodile had no reason to refute his whims, as they'd go directly against his goals. Sanji wasn't foolish enough to think he was fully brought to heel, but he knew to an extent that Crocodile wanted something. Sanji hadn't realized what that something was yet, only that Crocodile was content enough with waiting to be sated.
Crocodile is an agreeable man under the right circumstances, nearly passive when satisfied. So long as his goals aren't interrupted, his edges won't sharpen enough to cut. Crocodile finds it endlessly amusing that Sanji hasn't realized he's what's being hunted yet. At the rate they're progressing, it will only be a matter of time.
"Okay. Okay, I can do this. We can do this." Sanji reached out, hand gripping his upper arm. Crocodile burned at the contact. "You behave, and I'll give the pitch. Just-- Just nod to everything I say. And try not to glare at anyone, alright? Can you do that?"
Crocodile wants to crawl inside of Sanji's very skin and live there. He wants to taste him from head to toe, to map every inch of his body with his tongue. He wants to place his hands on his waist, wants to memorize the feel of his mouth. He'd sink his teeth into the neck of his prize if he thought he could get away with it, just so everyone would know he'd staked his claim.
Sanji is fragile when it comes to things in this vein, however. Finnicky as a rabbit, and Crocodile has come too far to startle him off now. He's so close. His prey is almost in his clutches, and though his return to his crew is a bump in the road, it's not one that Crocodile will let stop him. He hasn't had Sanji yet, but he will. Even if he has to follow him to the ends of the Earth to get him.
"I can do that." Crocodile soothed, towering over him. Boxing him in. Sanji, as always, didn't seem to notice. "Lay your worries to rest. All will go to plan, and you have my word I won't cause unnecessary troubles."
So long as none of them got in his way, of course. Crocodile doubted it would be a problem.
"Alright. Yes." Sanji let out a stressed breath, hand falling from his arm. "I still don't know why you're so intent on coming with me, but let's do this. Please don't backstab me and make me lose all faith in my ability to judge people's character. My bullshit meter is genuinely one of the only things I have going for me right now, cooking aside."
"I wouldn't dream of it." Crocodile swore. His eyes shifted to the small boat they'd be sharing for the next two weeks. As far as he knew, there was only one bed on it-- a detail that made the thing in his chest grow teeth. "Shall we?"
Crocodile held out a hand and grinned when Sanji didn't hesitate to take it.
Crocodile's ambiguously forming plans to kill the Cook vanish the moment he tries his food for the first time.
Mr. Prince looks better than the last four times Crocodile had the misfortune of running into him, as brief as those four meetings were. He at least seems as if he's gotten some modicum of sleep, clad in a dress that actually fits him for once. His hair is brushed, his makeup is passable, and his legs...
Well, it becomes immediately obvious that they're his best feature. Cleanly shaved, they look sleek and powerful enough to kill a man. The muscle of his calves and thighs is deliciously cut, flexing with every motion.
"Don't worry, I didn't poison it." Is the Cook's once again overtly casual greeting as he settles the plate down in front of him. "Tampering with food is a sin, but I'd be tempted to do it for you, you big old bastard. Bon appetit. I hope you choke on that fried shrimp and die."
"Mr. Prince." Crocodile sneered derisively, though he's hungry enough to shovel a bite into his mouth anyway. He freezes immediately, eyes falling to his plate. Across the table, Ivankov snorts.
What follows is... akin to a religious experience, if Crocodile had to compare it to something specific.
Crocodile has tried a vast array of food from all the blues, from a variety of different cultures and lands. He's always been keen on fine dining-- would even call himself an expert on it in many senses. It's why he'd opened Rain Dinners and taken such pride in the ongoing rotation of its menu.
This meal is simple, fried shrimp with orange slices and basil to compliment it's flavor. And yet, it is without a doubt the singularly most delicious thing he's ever eaten in his entire life.
The shrimp is just the right amount of crispy, spiced to subtle perfection and carrying the barest hint of honey underneath it all. The rice it's laid over is fluffy, cooked all the way through and complimented by a dash of soy sauce that tastes unlike any he's ever tried before. The broccoli is brushed with sesame oil and garlic salt, bringing a flawless hint of saltiness to the shrimp's sweet.
It's perfection. Any notion he had of getting revenge flies out the window, and with it goes his dignity. He cleans his plate of every last grain and asks for seconds the moment Sanji shows himself again, gazing at him with slightly widened eyes.
"Why're you giving me the psychopath stare right now?" Sanji stood as far away as humanly possible as he took the plate, stretching his arms to their full length for Crocodile to deposit the dish into his waiting hands. "Don't tell me you actually almost choked and died on a piece of fried shrimp. If you did, that's not my fault. That's completely you."
"Seconds." Crocodile demands. The Cook's expression does something complicated.
"I'll... take that as a compliment. I'm flattered. But also, fuck you." The Cook eyed him up and down contemplatively, like he wasn't sure what to make of him anymore. "Do you want any lo mein with that?"
Yes, Crocodile wants lo mein. And anything else he has hiding back there in that kitchen of his.
They say the quickest way to a man's heart is through his stomach, and perhaps that's true. Crocodile comes the next day. And the day after that. And the day after that. He comes every time he has even the slightest inkling that Sanji might be in the kitchen, waiting with stony patience to try whatever it is he has to offer.
As soon as Sanji finds out how willing he is, he doesn't hesitate to take advantage. He starts to shamelessly use him as a taste tester, experimenting with the vast array of recipes from Ivankov's combat collection. Crocodile, a willing participant, has never experienced such culinary bliss in all his life.
Somewhere in there is when it happens, Crocodile thinks. He can't pinpoint when it became less about the food and more about listening to the Cook ramble on and on about everything and nothing at all. When his focus shifted from what was on the stovetop to instead how the light hit his eyes.
Getting to know someone is a side effect of spending time with them. Crocodile learns about Sanji against his will at first, and then very willingly not long after. Starts gazing at the gold of his hair, and hungering after the details of his day, and wanting to see how large his hands would look around the small of his waist.
Eventually, Crocodile starts wanting. And what Crocodile wants, he gets.
The boat ride to Sabaody might be the best two weeks of Crocodile's life to date. As much as he hates to say it, he has Ivankov to thank.
The close proximity dispels any of Sanji's remaining hesitance about their increased touching. Their first night on the water, Crocodile has the utter delight of discovering that Sanji is a cuddler. He falls asleep with a pillow wall between them only to practically throw himself over it as soon as he's out, flopping face first into Crocodile's chest with a snore.
Crocodile wraps him up tight and rolls them over. The difference in their size is far more pronounced this close together. Crocodile engulfs him entirely, blankets his frame and swallows him whole. Sanji disappears in his arms, a line of heat that slots into place against him.
Sanji smells like sea salt and cooking oil and vanilla. Crocodile inhales it deeply, the monster in his belly rumbling with satisfaction. With Sanji in his arms like this, it's almost as if Crocodile has him entirely. At a minimum, it's close enough that it's a taste of what it'll actually be like when he does.
It makes Crocodile want it more, of course. Everything Sanji does makes him want it more. And when he wakes up...
"Wow. Has anyone ever told you that you generate heat like a furnace?" Sanji sleepily props a chin up on Crocodile's chest, eyes half-lidded and hair mussed. "I could get used to this. Sorry about jumping the pillow wall. Honestly, I sort of knew it would happen. I was just too afraid to say anything."
"It's no matter." Crocodile's voice is raspier than he means it to be, strained. He brings a hand up, pausing briefly before letting it fall onto Sanji's back. His pinkie slides into the gap between his shirt and waistband, resting on the sliver of bare skin there. "It's been quite some time since I shared a bed with another, but it's... preferable."
"Yeah, having two people on the boat makes it feel way more secure. I'm glad you're coming with me, against my better judgement." Sanji said, entirely missing the point. Crocodile started rubbing circles on his back, mouth flooding with saliva at the sigh the Cook let out. "That feels good. Keep-- yeah. Yeah, right there."
Heat fills him down to his core. Crocodile digs his fingers in a little harder, teeth aching at the groan it earns him. Sanji presses his nose briefly into Crocodile's chest, eyes closing for a moment before they're peering at him again from beneath gold lashes.
"Thanks." Sanji's voice was muffled from where his mouth was still pressed into him. Crocodile wants to bite him. "Keep going?"
Crocodile plans to hear those words in another context one day. For now, he keeps rubbing lazy circles, feeling his obsession deepen at the way Sanji melts against him.
Sanji's a skittish little thing. Coaxing him into the idea of friendship takes Crocodile nearly a year of praising his food and fighting skills. He dedicatedly eats every meal given to him, following the Cook doggedly during his free time so he can wedge himself closer.
Even then, Sanji is still hesitant. He seems skeptical of the interest being shown in him, like he cannot comprehend why someone could possibly care enough to want to get to know him. He avoids close touch like he's allergic to it, skipping away from Crocodile's wandering hands more on reflex than out of a conscious decision.
It's infuriating, and it only makes Crocodile want for more. Sanji is brilliant, a gem he can't believe someone hasn't snatched up yet. The glimmer of him is mesmerizing in everything he does. Crocodile is ensnared-- so thoroughly that he's beyond irritated about it.
"You know what? I've been wondering something." Sanji is in the middle of stretching on the beach. Crocodile is in the middle of watching him and vaguely hating his life for being unable to do anything but watch. "You know why I'm here. I've got to get stronger and bide my time until it's time to rejoin my crew, but what about you? What's keeping you here?"
Fried shrimp, Sanji's laughter and those legs. Every time he stretches like this, it's a reminder of how flexible he is.
"This and that. There's nowhere I'm required to be, and the hunt for me is still hot. Without reason to leave, I see little point in doing so." Crocodile waved a dismissive hand. "No ambition calls to me. Perhaps I'll simply follow you when you depart, so I might continue to partake in whatever masterpieces you should deem to cook up."
"Very funny." Sanji snorts, just as he has every other time Crocodile has casually floated out the idea of going with him. That's fine. Crocodile still has an entire year to whittle him down. "But message received. I knew you were only keeping me around for my food."
"And the excellent company." Crocodile hummed, watching his Cook's back bow. "I've achieved all I wish to achieve. My goals lie elsewhere now."
"As long as you're not going for the crown or planning to overthrow anymore countries, that's fine by me." Sanji fell into a perfect split. Crocodile took a fortifying sip of his drink. "I guess you're not the worst company around. At least you don't try to stick me in a new dress every time I breathe in your direction, no offense to the candies. I know they mean well, but if they try to put me in anything chartreuse again? We're going to have a problem."
Sanji tilted his head back to grin at him upside down, flipping into a handstand. Crocodile was helpless to do much more than smile back at him.
"High praises from the best chef on the four seas." Crocodile hummed. "You could pull it off. The chartreuse."
"Uh, duh. I can pull anything off." Sanji spun himself around, landing upright. "That doesn't mean it's not still a crime against humanity, but whatever. I'm as warmed up as I'm going to get. You going to pester me on my run too?"
It wasn't an invitation, exactly, but it was close enough to one to make Crocodile grin.
Sabaody is booming, full of hustle, bustle and endless business. The lively nature of it immediately makes Crocodile miss the boat.
He would sail for eternity with only Sanji by his side if it were an option. It's not, of course-- Sanji isn't meant to be caged in such a way. He craves community and sociability in ways Crocodile never has and never will. Where Crocodile remains a solitary being, Sanji flourishes in the presence and joy of others.
Crocodile has accepted by now that he cares too much to take that away from him. It's his livelihood, nearly the very blood that pumps through his veins. To rob him of it would be to kill him. An endeavor Crocodile has long since abandoned, as it were.
That being said, that doesn't mean he doesn't yearn. Waking up with Sanji in his arms every morning for the last two weeks has been blissful. It felt right, and Crocodile already bemoans the nigh insanity he's going to feel now that he can't have it anymore.
The danger of having a taste is the cravings that you risk following after. Crocodile fears he's already far past addicted.
"You're going to love the Sunny. She's the most magnificent ship in the world, from top to bottom. I swear Franky put a soul in her when he built her." Sanji is all but bouncing in place at his side, dressed in a sleek black suit and slightly heeled boots that make his legs look even more lethal. "You'll have to see the kitchen first! There's plenty of room to stick a chair in there for you to brood in, and I'll need help dusting. Everything needs to be cleaned and reorganized, and that's not to mention--"
He kept going on and on. Crocodile didn't stop him. He'd spent too long getting him to open up to do that. Sanji would hardly talk before, not about himself nor his interests and passions. Crocodile is reaping the benefits of his hard labor now, getting to hear him like this.
They traversed the streets casually, though Crocodile's height did turn more than a few heads. Sabaody had a diverse population, but Crocodile made for an intimidating sight with his golden hook and sweeping coat. The jagged scar stretched across his face certainly didn't help either.
Sanji stopped every few stalls, eyes catching on various products and seasonings. His purchases all accumulated in a swarm of bubbles dragged behind him, bags left to float in Sabaody's unique transportation system. Crocodile tried not to feel too smug, being the one to slide money across counters for whatever it was his Cook desired.
"And the sleeping quarters on your ship?" Crocodile's head tilted as they strolled along. Sanji was on another rant, one that had devolved into mutterings about where he'd store everything. "My height has caused... issues in the past, as far as accommodations go."
At eight feet tall, he far exceeded typical bed dimensions. Not that he suspected this would be a problem aboard the famed Thousand Sunny, with several of its crew members having heights comparable, if not greater, than his own.
More, he just wanted to know what to expect. Every step closer to Sanji's reuniting with his crew was yet another reminder that their time together would be shared. Sanji loved his crewmates deeply, more fully than he valued Crocodile at this time. It was... rather anxiety-inducing to consider.
"Franky can whip you up one in no time flat! Though, if you have trouble sleeping in a room with other people, there are other places on the ship you can rest." Sanji's brows furrowed. Crocodile perked up. "Zoro spent most nights in the crow's nest before, for example. And it's not like Luffy uses the Captain's quarters or cares who does."
A private room, with a private bed. Crocodile opened his mouth to say something else, only to be cut off by the sound of an explosion nearby, followed by a parade of panicked shrieks.
Sanji's head swiveled, eyes instantly alert. Smoke billowed from the coastline docks, a small boat not unlike their own up in flames as it gradually sunk. It looked to have been cleaved perfectly down the middle. And standing there, yawning disinterestedly as a fisherman yelled in his ear, was none other than...
"Zoro." Sanji realized, only for his expression to drop into a fierce scowl right after. Count on him to make even fury look appealing. "That moron! What did he do now?!"
And then he was off, dragging his cloud of bubbles behind him. Crocodile followed at a far more sedate pace, watching their reunion with hooded eyes. The green-haired swordsman was quick to butt heads with Sanji, their foreheads knocking, faces growing red with the volume of their shouts.
Close enough together that Crocodile wanted to rip him from limb to limb. He resisted, of course. The look on Roronoa's face when he looked over Sanji's shoulder and saw him standing there helped sooth the burn as well.
Winter on Momoiro is always mild, though not so mild that it doesn't still bite. Crocodile finds himself largely unaffected by the weather. Though he prefers to bask in the sun, he's always been a man who runs hot. Despite his ability to light his own legs on fire, the same apparently isn't true for Sanji.
He's sitting closer than he's ever let himself get tonight. A year and a half into their tentative relationship, and he's finally placed himself with a mere inch of space between them. It would be easy to lean the barest hint closer, let Sanji's shoulder bump into his arm, let his thigh press into his.
Crocodile doesn't. He's learned better than to push his luck. Sanji has to come to him, on his own terms, to at least some degree. Otherwise, it'll be one step forward followed by six steps back. Six steps Crocodile will have to fight to regain, no less.
Mr. Prince is contemplative tonight. He brings his legs up to his chest and wraps his arms around them, letting his chin prop atop his knees as he gazes up at the hazy sky. It's too cloudy to make out too many of Momoiro's stars, but Sanji looks anyway. It's become somewhat of a ritual for him, gazing at the constellations in hopes his crewmates are somewhere staring at them too.
Crocodile doesn't speak. He simply blows out a puff of cigar smoke, leaning back and sliding his arm over the back of the bench they sit on. The arm doesn't touch Sanji, but it's only a matter of time before his Cook gets tired and leans back. It will be there waiting for him when he does.
"You've traveled a lot, right? Seen a lot of the Grand Line?" Sanji murmured quietly. Much of his temper had faded in the face of Crocodile's complacency. Crocodile did not challenge him, and so Sanji softened. "Have you ever... I mean, did you ever hear about an ocean where all four of the seas and the life in them meet?"
Crocodile paused contemplatively, lips pursing. It sounded vaguely familiar. Next to trying new foods, reading was Crocodile's next preferred hobby. An ocean where all four of the seas meet?
"You're talking about the All Blue." Crocodile realized. Instantly, it was like flipping a switch.
Sanji rounded on him in the blink of an eye, eyes big and starry. Crocodile actually jumped from how swiftly the Cook latched onto him, practically throwing himself into his side in an uncharacteristic display of enthusiasm. He beamed, clutching the lapels of Crocodile's jackets, cheeks glowing cherry red in the night. His delight was so blinding it stole the breath from Crocodile's lungs.
"You've heard of it!" Sanji exclaimed, practically vibrating in place. "Do you think it's out there? Have you seen it? Heard any rumors? Finding it is my dream. I mean, a legendary ocean where every fish in the world swims? It's any chef's wet dream!"
Sanji was half on top of him, exuding so much excitement it was almost tangible in the air. Crocodile's mouth felt impossibly dry, so focused on the heat of Sanji pressed against him so suddenly that it took a moment for him to form words. This was the closest he'd ever gotten, and the happiest Crocodile had ever seen him look.
"I've read of it, though I've never seen it myself. Nor have I met anyone who claims to have." Crocodile held himself perfectly still, lest Sanji realize how close he'd gotten and throw himself backwards. "Do you plan to be the first to discover it?"
"Do you think I could be?" Sanji asked, eyes shining. The temptation to reach up and cradle the side of his face was overwhelming. "I want to open a restaurant there one day, if it's really out there. After Luffy is king and everyone else has achieved their dreams, do you think I could do it?"
He sounded awed. Crocodile has no idea if the All Blue is real-- the entire concept sounds ridiculous, to be quite frank. But Sanji is eager and excited, and he's smiling up at him like Crocodile has just made his entire life worth living.
He'd known he was gone before, but this is the moment it truly clicks that there's no going back. He wants to see this face again and again. Crocodile craves his joy, craves to be the one who gives it to him.
"I believe you can do anything you put your mind to." Crocodile gave into the itch to settle a hand on his hip and felt something in him rumble when Sanji didn't jump away. "And if you ever need aid, I will be there to deliver it. You remember Rain Dinners, I'm sure?"
"Your casino." Sanji recalled, still bouncing. Crocodile peered down into his eyes and smiled.
"Indeed, though it wasn't only a casino. A large part of it served as a restaurant as well, versed in dishes from across the blues. Its rotating menu was a personal pride of mine. Trying recipes from various cultures and lands is something of a hobby for me." Crocodile hummed, letting his hand lightly trace higher and higher. "You could even call it a dream, in some sense."
That wasn't necessarily true. A hobby, yes, but it wasn't something Crocodile held an intense passion for or would dedicate his life to. Sanji didn't need to know that, however. Because the whole point of his saying this--
"Well, the All Blue would be the perfect place to see it realized." Sanji said distractedly. Bingo. "Fish from all over the world would need recipes from all over the world."
"Then I suppose you'll find yourself stuck with me for quite some time." Crocodile's hand slid into Sanji's hair, his heart thundering when his Cook didn't lean away from the touch. "If you have designs on opening a restaurant there, I have a vested intrigue in what it is you'll produce. I suppose that means it will be in both our best interests to search for the All Blue, yes?"
Sanji looked possibly even happier than before at the realization that his dream was potentially shared, at least in some capacity. Crocodile's mouth watered at the way Sanji turned his face into Crocodile's hand, staring up at him with unabashed wonder and surprise.
It's not that Crocodile is lying. His ultimate goal now lies in Sanji specifically-- in having him, in seeing him happy. He never thought he'd find himself in such a position, but Crocodile can't say he minds it. He is a man who dedicates himself wholly and fully to a goal once he sets his sights on it.
This is no different. He never thought he'd find himself tamed in any manner, but he's had his time on the Grand Line. He was bound to be ensnared eventually. He can't say he has any complaints about the specimen that's done so. Caring about someone is... new, but Crocodile is far from heartless.
With how quickly Sanji wormed his way into his good graces-- all challenging wit, sharp humor, and an overwhelming kindness that was hard to comprehend at times-- this was an inevitability. For him, Crocodile was always going to fall.
"I guess so." Sanji breathed out. "Never thought I'd end up stuck with Sir Crocodile himself for all eternity, but having a business man along won't be so bad. Assuming you can play nice, Mr. Zero."
Crocodile grinned, sharp and not unlike the animal he was named for. Eternity. He quite liked the sound of that.
"With the promise of your cuisine, Mr. Prince?" Crocodile brushed a thumb across his cheek, letting golden strands of hair run like silk between his fingers. "You have my word."