Chapter Text
Sanji swayed to his own tune while drying off the last dishes. Looking back, it had been quite a relaxing day. Just the normal meal preparations, watching his crewmates feast, and some quiet cigarettes with an ocean view.
He also got to use that knife he bought at the last island. Now his eyes went past the blade, safely settled on the wall. Dim light reflected on the shine of the metal. Everyone had gone to sleep a while back. The only one left – as always – was the grunting Marimo in his back. By now he should probably have gotten used to the noises. More often than not that last training session was held inside the kitchen these days. Sanji wasn’t though. It was annoying and rather – in his mind he waved wildly – distracting. And the smell…
Quietly the last plate ended up in the cupboard, while his gaze stuck at the dark ocean in front of the little porthole over his sink. His nose moved over a crunched lip. Behind all the heavy breaths echoing from the walls he could make out the sound of the waves. The pacific atmosphere broken by a more intense grunt.
The Cook rolled his eyes. Fine. Maybe he hadn’t given enough attention to the events behind him. Long fingers moved, pulling a case of cigarettes out of a pocket. As he turned, one of them landed between his lips, which curled at the blatant stare presented to him. Relaxed he leaned on the counter. The lighter giving some more shadows to the room. A deep breath later his eyes still clung to the angry eyebrows.
“Awe… C’mon. Don’t look at me like that.”
As he spoke his smile widened. Gracefully, Sanji stepped to the dinner table; right next to the chair the Swordsman was in. The closer he got, the heavier the movement of the broad chest. Zoro wasn’t bound, but he looked the part with his arms tangled on the backrest of his seat.
Sanji pushed himself on the table, sitting comfortably – one leg propped over the other. The Marimo’s jaw clenched tight, giving his own creative brow a reason to rise.
“You know you asked for this, right?”, his left hand moved to his shoe, letting it clack to the ground, “Really – there’s no justification for your anger.”
The Blonde stretched his toes, breathing out a relieving puff of smoke as his ankle turned one way, then the other.
Zoro, quite apparently, did not agree. At least his face didn’t show it. That brat. He did realise he often shot too early, even asking for help, but then what? The training method didn’t fit his idea? That wasn’t really fair now, was it?
Sanji untangled his leg, stretching out until his foot reached the strong thigh and pushed right into the skin next to the shuddering centre of the Swordman’s body. He broke the pissed off gaze with that. Bringing clenched eyes as a reaction and making himself nearly choke on his cigarette smoke – holding back a giggle.
“You also know how to end this.”
The Cook leaned – completely misjudging the last location of his ashtray. He had to bent way too far to reach it and drop his cigarette in. Therefore, losing contact to his Crewmate’s body. A frustrated growl followed. By now the green guy had earned his pity, but he didn’t want it to show. Instead, he used the chance to get rid of his other shoe. He loved his dressing attire, but being barefoot still felt best.
Sanji leaned forward, pushing his elbow on his crossed legs and his chin into his hand. Tilting his head, observing the mess in front of him.
“Just stop being stubborn.”
Even from a distance the white shirt seemed damp. By now it was only clothing the broad shoulders. Earlier the Cook had pushed the front of it over the green head and into the muscled neck. The legs were lewdly spread, held by the pants and haramaki on the toned ankles. Drops of sweat falling from tensed muscles. In the middle of it all… strong standing, but tightly bound by a satin ribbon, well… The Cook let out a deep breath, sinking on his back. His legs dangling from the table.
“C’mon, shitty Swordsman. Stop making it ‘hard’ for yourself.”
He closed his eyes, resting for a moment and giving the Idiot some time to think. From this position he couldn’t make out the waves anymore. The moon wasn’t visible either. Just darkness in front of the porthole. Nothing outside. Nothing inside. Sanji groaned. Clearly getting impatient as he pulled himself up, only to slide from the table, coming to a halt between the stretched-out Bodybuilder’s legs.
“Don’t make me angry.”
The absolute audacity of that huffing grin. His head turned with different intention now. A shrug hiding his own smile. Leisurely he stepped over those thighs, sinking his weight on them. Zoro’s lips split in a mumbled curse.
“That’s not it. Try again.”
Sanji looked between them – the dribble of precum oh so visible on the swaying mid-section. That brainless thug was in no situation to be this defiant. His hand slid down over the muscular arm, ripping the tight grasp off the chair to pull the fingers onto his own neck. A visible shudder moved all the stacked muscles on the Swordsman’s stomach as he felt the short strands of blonde hair.
“… … please.”
“Good start.”, Sanji shifted his weight, sliding deeper into the lap. His black pants nearly touching Zoro’s problem.
“Try. Again.”
To be clear – he was absolutely proud of his stupid Idiot. This all was taking way longer than he normally held out. ‘aight, half the time Sanji had just ignored him, but still, he’d say the training session was a success. Zoro dragged it out unnecessarily.
He opened one of his buttons, before peeling the other hand from the chair and sliding it through the hole onto his stomach. Rough fingers scraped over his skin. A loud grunt mixed with:
“Please, … S…”
Sanji smiled. They were getting so close. At least one of them was. He leaned forward, his hands on the half-clothed shoulders as his breath hit the ears under the green.
“Please – what?”
The Cook’s hand pushed down, right between the thigh and hip of the other man, squeezing tightly to encourage the last bit of stubbornness to break. The grip in his hair hurt. Fingers dug into his ribs.
“Please, S… Sanji…”
“There ya go. Good job.”
Lightly he placed a peck on the cramped-up jaw. His hand danced – untangling the ribbon and encasing the swollen prisoner.
“Come, Zoro.”