Me: I thought this idea was funny after posting such a dramatic drag like Can I Go One More Night.

Mid: We own nothing, not even a crumb of Wan Pisu T-T

The Oddly Fluent Chef

Ever since the Sunny's swordsman and blonde chef realized their constant petty fights and useless competitions were just subliminal signs and cover-ups for their actual repressed feelings, Zoro and Sanji's relationship, both date-wise and nakama-wise, had gotten considerably better. They still loved to physically fight, brutally insult, and bet against all odds that one was better than the other, but small and hardly noticeable changes were there. Whenever Sanji served dinner, Zoro still wasn't first to receive his plate, but the platter was set down more tenderly than before, and the cook would flash a smug grin and ruffle his marimo locks. While washing dishes, Sanji would occasionally keep a firm grip on the wet plate he passed on to the other so that their hands would brushed together when Zoro reached out to take it. Sanji still flirted with the girls, but the former "Nami-swaaans" and "Robin-chwaaans" were impressively dimmed down to Nami-san and Robin-chan. The swordsman didn't think it was possible, but he also didn't think that he's be dating the curly-browed bastard, so who was he to speak about possibilities?

Zoro set down his weights with a loud clank of metal colliding with the wood. He always trained after dinner, as well as breakfast and lunch. The moon was clearly visible through the crow's nest windows, shinning its silver light across the floor. Zoro sat in that square of light, though it wasn't intentional. Thinking about his and the cook's relationship differences distracted him too much; he lost count of how many sit-ups he's done. Thinking about Sanji in general gave him a fuzzy yet warm sensation in his stomach, which, at first, made him nauseous. Hell, that feeling was so constant he barely paid any attention to it anymore. Once he asked Chopper about it, and the reindeer asked him if there were any specific times when he felt it. Of course he replied, "Whenever I see, hear, or touch the shit-cook." Chopper only laughed knowingly.

It pissed Zoro off that the doctor just let him worry on about something as trivial as love; Robin's choice of word, not his. Though if he had to name that wonderful, giddy, comforting feeling, love would probably fit perfectly. Denying that Zoro didn't feel all kinds of happy and pride when he helped or did something nice for Sanji would be useless, pretty much because it showed on his face.

The door to the lookout opened with no trace of hesitation, only meaning that it was the blonde chef. Anyone else would have knocked, not wanting to disturb Zoro when he was in serious mode. As for Sanji, he came in whenever he wanted to. He didn't give a damn about any mode the swordsman was in. "Oi, Marimo," the smooth voice Zoro had gotten so accustom to attracted his attention immediately. He'd even go as far as saying that it was addictive, like a special brand of nicotine.

"What is it, Mr. Interrogative?"

Sanji chuckled softly. Nothing Zoro said pissed him off like it used to. "Time for bed."

"I go to bed when I want to," Zoro stated matter-of-factly.

"No you don't. You have as much control over your sleeping patterns as Ace does, and I'm not gonna suffer with a bitchy ball of algae tomorrow. If you're not in bed in ten seconds, I'll make you sleep."

The swordsman sighed, startling an unexpected yawn to slip out. He stood and headed for the door; Sanji was deathly serious about his threat. Zoro could get a tiny bit grouchy when he missed one of his daily naps. The two exhausted men leisurely made their way below deck to the men's quarters, yawning ever so often. In times like these, Zoro was glad as hell that they had mattresses instead of their old hammocks. Sanji rarely slept in his own bed, claiming to prefer Zoro's instead. The swordsman had no problem about sharing with the cook. and he certainly wasn't complaining about the extra body heat on cold nights. But Zoro was a light sleeper, so the slightest shift in the ocean could wake him.

And Sanji was the fucking jumping bean in the jar of limas. For reasons unknown to Zoro. the cook moved a lot in his sleep. If being around Sanji didn't feel so damn good, he'd have his bed all to himself. His lonely bed. His lonely, cold bed. Zoro sighed inwardly. Okay, Sanji would be with him regardless, whether in his bed or the cook's.

XVX

Loud snores echoed around the room, which Zoro trained himself to ignore. What he couldn't ignore were the damn toes in his ear. Sanji lay directly on top of him upside down, and top half stopping at Zoro's crotch. His legs were being hugged together by strangling strong arms, immobilizing them and all means of changing positions. The cook's own legs were on either side of Zoro's head; their flexibility seemingly more lithe when Sanji slept. The frustrated swordsman groaned quietly as said toes' nails jabbed his temple.

He's tried on many nights to wake the cook up, but all attempts proved to be a failure. Zoro pushed him on the floor one night, and to his surprise, Sanji absent-mindedly stood up and flopped his dead weight down on his unsuspecting chest.

A small sound voiced from the back of Sanji's throat as he turned over on Zoro, freeing his legs but causing a heel to slammed into his mouth for a split second. Clearly not amused, Zoro gently grabbed those leg nuisances and placed them on one side and one side only of his abused head. Sanji's body twisted inhumanly, but Zoro could care less at the moment. He needed sleep.

"Mm, Zoro," the blonde mumbled.

Did he finally jolt himself awake? About damn time it happened. "Yeah?" Zoro answered.

"Dance with me, Papi." Sanji's voice strangely had taken on an accent.

"...Huh?"

"Sí, sí, mover los pies así, Zoro. Lo estás haciendo bien, nena." Was Sanji speaking Spanish to him? What the hell? So many questions needed to be answered, but the swordsman was positive that the cook was still knocked out on account of the light snores. The restless legs had some sort of spasm as they repeatedly connected with Zoro's windpipe, choking him until he properly sat up.

"Shit," he wheezed, holding his bruised throat. Damn squirmy curly-brow; what the hell was he dreaming so aggressively about? Whatever it was, it had to be stopped. Zoro was sick of almost dying by random flails of limbs almost every night, but telling the cook that could end up hurting his feelings, which the swordsman forbade himself from ever doing. Zoro shifted onto his side as best as he could. He made up his mind. He would get Sanji into his own damn bed tomorrow, one way or another. Just so long as neither of those ways involved confronting Sanji directly about it.

Me: For those who aren't familiar with Spanish Sanji said "Yes, yes, move your feet like that, Zoro. You're doing fine, babe." Lol