Author's Note : This will be my very, very first official fanfiction. No kidding. I've always written short drabbles and done fanart, but never a full blown piece of (if you can call it that) literature. This may not be the most original thing you've read, or ever want to read. (I am still learning to be confident in my writing.) But thank you for taking the time to click on this link and skim through. (: Also, English is not my first language, so there might be some tiny grammar errors even though I went though and editted.

Anyway, I feel like I should put in a couple notes about this fic. The idea came to me after flipping through my folder of fanart, and then rewatching the Mugiwara Theatre: Jingi-nai Time (The mafia one.) Yes, this will be a Zoro/Sanji (Sanji/Zoro, whichever) fic, but the other characters will come in later, perhaps. (I wouldn't want to spoil anything.) As such, Lacking Respect will be an AU story. Sanji and Zoro are roughly 24, 25 years old here. |D Yes? Yes.

I think that's it. I've talked enough. Thanks again for reading, and I hope to see some reviews from you readers!

Prologue

Arms useless. Legs numbed from the ruthless beatings. He looked pathetic, lying on the ground in such a fashion. His clothes were stained with red here and there. The condition was not as bad as it was the last time, but the fact he couldn't move or defend himself further made up for that. He kept his mouth shut. There were no words that needed to be exchanged between the two.

He struggled to move his fingers to his pocket for the box of cigarettes. Damn, did he need a smoke. However, the squatting individual hovered over his body, obviously thinking otherwise about letting him enjoy the nicotine.

"Oi, I'm talking to you."

The sudden shock of cold steel pressed up into Sanji's jaw. That very motion jerked his head up, ice blue eye glaring with noticeable irritation. The pistol's opening was further shoved into his neck. The blond Don could make out the blurry vision of the other man's thumb rested on the safety lock of the firearm. At this point, it seemed as though it would be curtains for him within the next three seconds. The click of the safety almost confirmed that in his mind. ...almost. He still had fight left in him, with or without those useless subordinates of his.

Zoro's serious scowl only deepened as his prey's lips twisted into a smirk. Did he not know the position he was in? He slowly grew more and more aggravated. He hated this man's expressions; even this close to death, he grinned as if this were a regular occurrence.

"Yeah, I heard you." Blue eyes lifted to meet dark emerald ones. Sanji's smile didn't falter.

At least, it didn't until the gun dug into his flesh even more. "You should give up. After all these years of fighting, it's clear who the superior family is."

The blond chuckled. "It's clear that you don't have your damn facts straight." He choked in a breath the best he could with the weapon obstructing his windpipe. "You haven't won yet ... so don't get your shitty hopes up."

"Tch!"

Zoro withdrew his pistol and rose to his feet. Immediately following, he reached down and grabbed Sanji's collar, forcing him up. The gun returned to the smaller man's neck. "I don't think you are aware of the situation you are in, Chevalier."

Gravity began pulling blood from Sanji's wounds. It did not matter if they were caused by knives, swords, or sniper guns. The damage was still fresh and Zoro's rough tugging disturbed the clotting. Scarlet droplets dripped to the floor, joining the puddle that was there already. Some of it was dried along his face, cracked here and there. Pupils dilated. He looked like a dead man.

"Don't think ... you understand shit either." A weak hand came up and gripped the other's wrist.

It wasn't a good hold, but it would have to do. Sharp pain struck through his lower body as he channeled what was left of his strength into his dominant leg. He aimed a kick at Zoro's ribcage. The attack did not have the power it did when he wasn't hurt. Regardless, it was still powerful enough to send the swordsman Don flying through a brick wall.

Finding his footing, Sanji's unintentional heavy breathing grew weak. "You shouldn't let your guard down." He fished his pockets for his smokes. The box was crumpled, damn. "Or give me the chance to kick your ass."

Squished or not, he desperately needed a smoke. In one swift motion, the blond lit the end, pulling the poisonous air into his lungs. The sensation was wonderful. He ran a hand through his hair. All that violent playing unslicked his locks. Still, he stood strong. Any other human would be lying down bleeding to death. Not him, though. Bullet wounds in his side, slacks cut up here and there, and a dislocated shoulder was not enough for him to raise the white flag. His left arm hung at his side limply, a detail in which he was extremely pissed off. Although this was not the first time the Roronoa family had intentionally targeted his arms in a fight, each time was more unforgiving than the next.

"I know you're not dead, Roronoa." He released white smoke from the other side of his bleeding lip. "Quit faking it and get your ass out here."

Zoro stepped from the hole his body had made after colliding with the building. Bright vermillion liquid flowed from the top of his skull, mixing with the dry collected on his facial structure. His coat's condition was just as bad as his opponent's. Rips and tears lined his slacks. His dress shirt ... it could not even be called a dress shirt anymore.

As long as his swords were okay, he didn't give two shits about how his body was. He would endure it.

"Sorry I kept you waiting." His menacing glare pierced straight through the dusty air between them. Sanji simply brushed off the intimidation attempt.

Unsheathing his three swords, he clamped Wado between his teeth, tightly grasping the other two in each hand. "It's been a while since you've made me use these." He spoke clearly nonetheless. "Give me all you got ... Dartboard."

The blond Don flicked his spent cigarette to the ground, stomping it into the dirt with his toe. He pocketed his hands and slowly stepped toward his prey.

"I don't need your damn invitation, shitty swordsman."