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It happens to the best of them, is what they say. The thing is just - it never happened to Sanji before. Never. No, really. Not even when he was still young and inexperienced. Not when he still got excited and overzealous all too easily in the heat of the moment. Not even when he was still learning the ropes.
So it is all the more embarrassing for him that when it actually does happen, there are not just two gorgeous women present – in the form of Nami and Robin - but the entire strawhat crew is there to witness his defeat. Well, taste it, to be more precise.
His heart drops from his chest right to the pit of his stomach as soon as he sees Namis pinched face as she swallows the first spoonful of his bouillabaisse.
His bouillabaisse.
His bouillabaisse.
It’s the recipe that made the battle-hardened old captain of a pirate ship cry with pleasure once, the one that moved a rich sea empress to ask him to run away with her and become her own personal chef. It’s a Sanji-Special, one of his all time favourite secret weapons sure to win over even the fiercest of critics, and the way to the heart of the most beautiful women.
Today, however, it appears to be an epic fail.
The crew is sitting around the table in the galley staring into their steaming bowls of soup, their eagerness from just moments ago fading by the second. There must be something wrong with Namis taste buds, Sanji thinks at first. Maybe she’s caught something during their latest shore leave. But then he sees Choppers fur stand on the back of his neck as a shiver runs through his tiny body and Robin elegantly putting her spoon back down on the table after just one taste. Even Zoros usually stoic expression is worried by a tiny wrinkle forming between his eyebrows that have drawn together in confusion as he stares down at his spoonful of soup.
Usopp, however, is the first to pass a verbal judgement as the word “Urch” falls unceremoniously out of his mouth.
No, it’s impossible, Sanji thinks. It never happened to him before. Never.
“What – what is it?”
Usopp catches Sanjis horrified expression, pulls himself together in the brave attempt of a smile and gives him a hoarse: “It’s, um, good.
There’s a terrible pause.
“So... salty.”
A deadly silence descends upon the dinner table as Sanji slowly walks over and grabs a spoon. Even Luffy pauses in the middle of shovelling the soup into his mouth aggressively at this point and is watching his chef with slight concern. Sanjis doesn’t get his hopes up. The fact that Luffys appetite seems undeterred doesn’t mean anything. The boy would eat a bowl of playing cards soaked in sea water if he had to - and still find it tasted okay.
What Sanji tastes when he takes a sip of his bouillabaisse (his bouillabaisse!) might just as well be playing cards in sea water. The sharp sting of salt burns the tip of his tongue the moment the liquid hits it and it takes all his willpower not to spit it out immediately.
Another pause follows.
“This is inedible.”
In the thick silence he can practically hear the others squirm in their seats uncomfortably.
This has never happened before. Not ever.
If he wasn’t so sure he’d been alone in the kitchen the entire time, he’d say someone must have tampered with the soup when he wasn’t paying attention. He had been a little... well... distracted lately, thanks to a certain someone whom he had recently started expressing feelings towards and who, to Sanjis absolute surprise, hat started expressing feelings back towards him, too.
It’s not that he overly cared about said expressions. They had been physical with each other right from the start. Just because punching had turned in to kissing, kicking to caressing, biting to sucking doesn’t mean Sanjis is over the moon, chest exploding with a thunderstorm of emotions whenever that someone so much as enters a room. So they are fucking now. Big deal. It doesn’t make Sanjis entire body tingle with happiness just thinking about it.
And it certainly doesn’t explain this catastrophe of a dinner. The soup was fine before– great even - with just enough salt to make the flavours of the ingredients come out beautifully, the buttery taste of the fish, the sour-sweet freshness of the tomatoes, the herbs, the vegetables. He must have salted it again after tasting without noticing - at least twice by the taste of it. And then some more.
“Don’t worry, cook-bro”, Franky attempts. “It’s still super!” He gives Usopp a meaningful look and the sniper makes a weak noise and smiles at Sanji maniacally, fear of death in his eyes.
Sanji thinks his mind is going to disconnect from his body. This is too much.
“Well,” Nami finally says and her dry remark seems to relief the tension that’s been palpable in the room. It does nothing to rebuild Sanjis ego, though, that feels like it has been smashed to pieces, then cooked to a pulp, oversalted and finally put on display on the kitchen table for the rest of the crew to inspect. “You know what they say: When the dish is too salty, it’s because the cook is in love.”
She grins at Sanji, who chokes a little on his cigarette. From the corner of his eye he can see Zoros head shoot up nervously and decides not to notice it.
“How could I not be, with so much beauty in the room, Nami-chan and Robin-chan?”
The slight cough in his voice kind of ruins his grandeur. The women giggle, though not because of bashfulness over his gallant remark, he suspects. This dinner is a fucking disaster.
*
In the end, Sanji manages some scrambled eggs and vegetables with bread and bacon, all the while apologizing shamefully for the shortcomings of his meal. He makes a deliberate point of seasoning everything once, then carefully tasting it, then seasoning again only if necessary, and then putting away the salt in a far corner of the room. He is painfully aware of Zoros eyes following him around the room the entire time.
“This never happened to me before”, Sanji huffs (again), defeated, as the girls follow the rest of the crew out onto the ships’ deck about an hour later.
“That’s what they usually say”, Nami quips and winks at him.
The pun hits right home but Sanji can’t even muster the strength to reply - not even with a hurt expression - just hangs his head in silent shame as the galley door shuts behind her and he turns to collect the dishes.
He might quite possibly never live this down. The memory of this night will likely follow him trough death and come back to torment him in his next life – his next life as cook in a seedy snack booth on some nameless island because there’s just no chance he’ll ever be fortunate enough to be a real cook in a real kitchen again after this. It’s shattering. And it’s all Zoros fault.
They’ve known each other for a while now, sailed together, laughed together, cried together, fought together, fought each other (a lot). And all this time they’ve been dancing around this thing between them, huge and looming and far too frightening for them to touch. It hits Sanji right over the head, the thunderstorm it loosens in his chest when they finally do touch that something and it turns out to be... well.
He’s been attracted to Zoro from the moment they met, denied it for a long time, until one day there was no ignoring it any longer. What he didn’t see coming, though, were the summersaults in his stomach, the burning cheeks, the weak knees, the shaky hands and the fact that his skin would feel like it might dissolve in a flock of butterflies whenever the swordsman looks at him. He’s been struggling with coming to terms with his feeling for so long, he just didn’t expect things would feel this new and overwhelming.
So overwhelming it would mess with his cooking. It’s pathetic.
Outside on the deck, Sanji can hear the others laughing – probably at him. He tries to ignore them right along with the broad chested figure looming in a corner of the galley, apparently hanging back on purpose. A minute of strained silence passes in which Sanji tries to mentally shield himself from whatever is coming his way.
What they usually so crudely call “fucking” might have developed to become somewhat deeper and slower, sweeter and gentler, over the weeks, become something that Sanji (if he’d be forced to do so in court for lack of a better word) might just call “making love” in the privacy of his own mind. But they haven’t ventured as far as actually talking about feelings or any of the sort out loud.
From across the counter Zoro keeps staring and it’s all Sanji can do not to break the plate he’s currently trying to clean. The asshole is virtually asking for a kick in the head.
A few more moments of silence pass. The air in the room is thick enough to chop with a kitchen knife and Sanji is just about to flip and throw the green haired bastard out of his kitchen with a kick when Zoro finally speaks.
“In love, eh?”
The words hang in the air heavily and it takes Sanji a few seconds to realize that they don’t seem to sound put off at all. Actually, if anything, Zoro sounds smug. He sounds so infuriatingly pleased with himself, in fact, that Sanji has to work really, really hard to suppress the grin that is threatening to capture his face all of a sudden. His body really is a bloody traitor when it comes to Zoro. He presses his lips together and manages a “Shut up” that sounds respectably reserved, given the circumstances. Playing it cool never was his forte and of course Zoro sees right through it.
“Hmmm”, he hums, amusedly.
No, definitely not put off at all.
“Shut up”, Sanji says again for no particular reason.
He really should think of something more eloquent to say, but all the fight leaves his body as Zoros slowly walks over. The swordsmans’ distinct scent and the heat of his body make Sanjis breath hitch and bring his heartbeat into disarray as Zoro moves in closer and uncrosses his arms to wrap them around Sanjis waist. Pathetic.
Their kiss is slow and deep. It goes on forever and is over way to quickly.
“I might have been... a bit distracted as of late”, Sanjis finally brings himself to concede as they draw back, arms still wrapped around each other foreheads an noses still touching.
“That so?”
Zoros huge warm hand rests in the back of Sanjis neck reassuringly as he kisses him again, a little more vigorously. It’s still puzzling to Sanji, the intensity the usually so stoic swordsman brings to their physical encounters. How can a man not be overwhelmed by so much Zoro?
“I might know the feeling.”
“Yeah?”
“Hmmm.”
Somewhere outside on the deck, the is the sound of a small explosion, then a loud crashing noise, some hurried shuffling of feet and finally Namis voice, shrill and angry, shrieking Usopps and Luffys names.
They listen for a moment if anyone’s going to barge into the kitchen. But everything stays silent.
“Sanji, I...,” Zoro starts. And Sanji thinks, this is it. This is it.
But then the sound of angry footsteps drawing closer shatter the intimacy of the moment and Namis voice somewhere near the galley rips the moment into a thousand little pieces.
“Zoro, get your lazy ass out here and get your captain under control”, she shouts.
There are a few loud bangs on the door right before they can hear her stomping away again, then: “LUFFY!”
Zoro places one more kiss on Sanjis lips, tender and light, brushes his thumb over the cooks lower lip and gives him a strange little smile – an expression, Sanji has learned over the past weeks, reserved exclusively for him. It’s tiny and sweet and bordering on shy and there’s something in it that Sanji likes to think might be longing, though he isn’t quite sure yet. The small huff that follows is easier to read as Zoro breathes out his frustration at the interruption.
“See you later, cook, yeah? Then we’ll go on talking about that oversalted love soup of yours.”
Sanji thinks he must probably look really, really goofy, with the way he feels his smile stretch his cheeks so wide they hurt.
“Shut up”, he grins.
Before Zoro leaves the galley he pauses in the door for a moment.
“And don’t you dare throw the food away. Because I happen to love it.”