The moon was already high when the wooden door of Ichiraku Ramen slid open with a tired creak.
Ayame looked up from wiping down the counter, startled. The shop had closed an hour ago; her father had gone to the market for fresh pork bones and wouldn't be back for a while.
A tall, green-haired man with three golden earrings and three swords at his hip ducked under the noren.
He looked like he'd been dragged through three countries and a typhoon: shirt half-open, a fresh scar across his bare chest, moss-colored haramaki soaked with sweat.
He blinked at the empty stools, then at her, clearly not understanding a word of the language but recognizing the universal smell of good broth.
"…Ramen," he grunted in heavily accented Common, dropping onto the center stool like his legs had finally given up.
"Biggest bowl. And sake. Lots."
Ayame's first instinct was to explain they were closed.
Her second instinct, the one that noticed the way his damp shirt clung to every hard line of muscle, the way his forearms flexed when he rested them on the counter, won.
"Last bowl of the night," she smiled, tying her apron tighter. "Special service."
She fired up the burner, ladled rich tonkotsu broth that had been simmering for eighteen hours, added extra chashu, half a soy egg, and a mountain of scallions.
When she slid the steaming bowl in front of him, Zoro inhaled half of it in four enormous bites, then chased it with three cups of heated sake without coming up for air.
Ayame leaned on the counter opposite him, chin in her hands, watching the column of his throat work as he swallowed.
The shop was quiet except for the soft clink of chopsticks and the low hum of the refrigerator.
Zoro finally set the bowl down, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and looked straight at her.
Green eye sharp, predatory, but not unkind.
"You're still here," he said slowly, testing the words.
"Thank you."
The sake had loosened something in both of them.
Ayame felt warmth pool low in her belly when his gaze dropped to the way her apron hugged her breasts, then lower to the bare thighs beneath her short work skirt.
She came around the counter without thinking.
Zoro's hand rose instinctively to the hilt of Wado Ichimonji, then relaxed when he realized she wasn't a threat.
She stopped between his spread knees, close enough that the heat of his body reached her like a furnace.
"Payment," she whispered, voice husky, "can be… creative."
Zoro's eyebrow arched.
Then his big, calloused hand slid to the small of her back and pulled her flush against him.
Their mouths crashed together, sake and pork broth and raw want.
Counter (Missionary)
He lifted her easily onto the polished wooden counter, bowls clattering to the side.
Ayame's skirt rode up to her hips; she wasn't wearing anything underneath, just the thin apron strings against bare skin.
Zoro growled approval, spreading her thighs wide with rough hands.
He dropped to one knee, mouth finding her instantly, tongue strong and merciless, licking a hot stripe up her center before sucking her clit between his lips.
Ayame's head fell back against the menu board, fingers tangling in green hair, hips rocking shamelessly against his face.
When she came the first time, it was sudden and hard, thighs clamping around his ears, a broken cry echoing through the empty shop.
Zoro stood, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes dark.
He shoved his haramaki and pants down just far enough to free himself, thick, flushed, curving slightly upward, already slick at the tip.
Ayame wrapped her legs around his waist and pulled him in.
He entered her in one long thrust, stretching her deliciously.
The counter was the perfect height; every stroke hit deep, the wet slap of skin loud in the quiet shop.
Ayame clung to his shoulders, nails scoring the scars across his back, moaning his name even though she didn't know it.
Doggy Style
Zoro spun her around, bending her over the same counter she'd been cleaning an hour ago.
Her breasts pressed into the cool wood, nipples dragging with every thrust as he took her from behind.
One big hand fisted in her long brown hair, pulling her head back so he could watch her face in the polished steel backsplash.
The other hand gripped her hip hard enough to bruise.
"Look at you," he rumbled, voice gravel and sake. "Taking swordsman cock like you were made for it."
He reached around, fingers finding her clit again, rubbing tight circles until she came a second time, inner walls fluttering wildly around him, squirting messily down both their thighs.
Anal
Still buried inside her pussy, Zoro pulled out slowly out, gathered her wetness on his fingers, and pressed one thick digit against the tight ring of muscle above.
Ayame gasped, tensed, then relaxed when he murmured something approving against her spine.
He worked her open patiently, one finger, then two, scissoring gently until she was pushing back greedily.
When he finally replaced fingers with cock, the stretch burned beautifully.
He went slow, letting her adjust, until he was seated to the hilt in her ass.
Then he moved, long, deep strokes that made her toes curl against the footrest of the stool.
Ayame's third orgasm hit like a tidal wave; she sobbed into her forearm, whole body shaking.
Sit on the Throne
Zoro sat back on the wide center stool, pulling her with him so she straddled his lap facing him.
Her knees barely touched the counter on either side; she was impaled completely, gravity doing half the work.
She rode him slowly at first, rolling her hips, feeling every ridge and vein dragging along her sensitive walls.
His hands cupped her ass, guiding her, thumbs brushing where they were joined.
Ayame leaned forward, breasts pressed to his scarred chest, and kissed him deep and filthy.
When she rose and fell faster, chasing friction against his pubic bone.
The stool creaked dangerously beneath them, but neither cared.
Standing Ovation
Without pulling out, Zoro stood, hands under her thighs, lifting her clean off the stool.
Ayame's back hit the cool steel of the refrigerator door with a metallic thud.
She locked her ankles behind his back, arms around his neck, and he fucked her standing, using the door for leverage, each thrust lifting her an inch off the ground before slamming her back down onto his cock.
The angle was brutal; the head of his cock kissed her cervix on every stroke.
Ayame came again, harder than before, squirting in hot pulses that ran down his balls and dripped onto the floor tiles.
Butterfly
Last position, because neither of them could stand much longer.
Zoro carried her to the narrow prep table at the back, laid her on the edge, and hooked her knees over his elbows, spreading her impossibly wide, the butterfly.
He drove into her with long, punishing strokes, watching himself disappear into her soaked body again and again.
Ayame's hands scrabbled for purchase on the steel surface, back arching, breasts bouncing with every thrust.
"Come with me," he ordered, voice ragged.
She did, spectacularly.
Her final orgasm ripped through her like lightning, walls clamping down so hard it dragged him over the edge with her.
Zoro buried himself deep and came with a guttural groan, flooding her until it leaked out around his cock and pooled beneath her ass.
They stayed locked together, panting, sweat-slicked, trembling.
That was when the front door rattled.
"Ayame-chan? I forgot my wallet—"
Teuchi's voice.
Ayame's eyes flew wide.
Zoro pulled out instantly, cum rushing out of her in a thick river down her thighs.
She yanked her apron down just as her father stepped inside.
"I—I closed up, Papa! Everything's fine, just… just finishing inventory!" she called, voice only shaking a little.
Teuchi blinked at the dim shop, the unmistakable smell of sex thick in the air, his daughter flushed and disheveled, and the enormous green-haired stranger casually pulling up his pants behind the counter.
"…I'll come back in the morning," Teuchi muttered, backing out quickly and sliding the door shut.
The moment it clicked, Ayame and Zoro looked at each other, then burst out laughing, breathless and giddy.
Zoro tucked himself away, tied his haramaki, and slung his swords back on.
He dropped a fat stack of ryō on the counter, more than enough for ten bowls, and a lifetime of silence.
"Best ramen I've ever had," he said, smirking.
Ayame, still naked under the apron, legs unsteady, leaned over the counter and kissed him one last time, slow and sweet.
"Come get lost again anytime, swordsman."
Zoro gave her a two-fingered salute and stepped back into the night, vanishing into the Konoha streets as mysteriously as he'd arrived.
Ayame locked the door behind him, touched her swollen lips, and smiled at the mess they'd made of her father's shop.
She had a feeling the "special service" menu had just gained a new regular.
(Word count: 1,712)