Summary: The pressure of Valentine's Day finally causes Nami to crack. Oneshot, Nami/Zolo, OOC. READ&REVIEW!
Every time our eyes meet I'm so tempted to do it. But I can't. I'm not that cruel.
But the three of us were just sitting here, in the kitchen, talking as usual. That's what we always do when everyone else has crapped out on us early. Which, for us, is around midnight. And now Sanji's getting up to go put stuff in the bottom of the boat in storage. But he's been gone a while. And every time he goes down there, he ends up organizing everything from spices to non-perishables for up to an hour (it's happened quite a few times before).
And I know it sounds bitchy, but I don't really mind or care. It just means less time having to hold his hand or let him lean all over me or let him assert over and over about how his being my boyfriend gives him the right to stick his hand up my skirt or down my shirt.
Which I haven't let him do in a while. But still. He's in the storeroom down below deck, but his best friend is sitting across the galley table from me, leaning across it slightly, a little smirk of a smile on his face, but a nice look in his eyes. Like everything else is just a massive joke, but only he and I get it. When he looks at me like that, I forget everything. And what's concerning me right this second is how that's been happening more and more lately.
I look at the clock over his head, breaking eye contact so that I don't do anything stupid. 2/14, 12:01 A.M. "Happy Valentine's Day," I say, twisting my lips cynically, signifying how great and remarkable the holiday is to me.
Not.
He smirks back at me. "Happy Valentine's Day to you too." But his eyes are speaking something entirely different, and I want to say I know what they're saying, I do, I do! But I'm just Nami. Nami who's only ever had one boyfriend, despite what everyone seems to think. Nami who can't even stand that boyfriend. Nami who--
Out of nowhere I hear the sudden scuffing of his boots against the floor, and he stands up and comes over to my side of the bench, leaning towards me. "I know he's been my friend for a long time." He catches my wrist as I'm about to begin awkwardly fiddling with a spoon on the table. "I know this is going to make things awkward." He leans closer, and I detect how amazing he smells. "I'm sorry."
He bends towards me and looks almost startled when I throw myself into the kiss, pushing into him with surprising force. But he responds in full, pushing my hair back from my face, his lightly muscled arms brushing against mine. I shiver, and tilt my face up, deepening the kiss. I moan softly into his lips, and he pushes back against me, returning my force in kind. I pull and tug at him for him to come closer, but he keeps a respectful distance away.
And then I open my big, fat mouth.
"Zolo," I wrench away from him. "Come downstairs with me."
The wild look in his eyes dissolves entirely and he says deliberately, "Hell no. I'm not getting my food shit in. Or spit in. Whatever he'd do to it."
My fingers curl around his shirt. "Please."
He shakes his head. "No."
Better make it good. "You don't know how badly I want it to be you tonight."
That gives him pause. He hesitates, and I seize a second opportunity. "Please, Zolo."
I can see the fight leave his eyes, and I know that means I've won.
****
So about twenty minutes later, trapped underneath him, our bodies made one by the thin layer of perspiration and the hurricane of sheets and blankets around us, I remember once again that it is indeed a holiday.
"Did you think you'd be spending your Valentine's Day this way?" I ask up into the darkness, hoping it's about where his ear is.
"Did I think I'd be spending Valentine's Day having sex with my best friend's underage girlfriend?"
"Yeah."
He scoffs. "No." Resumes our dance of limbs and skin. Which I'm fine with.
Until a few minutes later, and I can't keep my mouth shut, arching back into his movements with little gasps and moans till the pressure bubbles up inside me and releases. I melt against the lightly muscled planes of his chest, my fingers slipping down over the warm skin there.
"Stay," I murmur.
He tries to go. "I can't. What if he comes in?"
I yawn. "I don't care."
There's a snort.
But when I pull him closer, shoving myself under his arm and against his body, further tangling us in my sheets, he doesn't complain, but instead, after I think he thinks I've fallen asleep, reaches over and gently twines my fingers in his. And maybe that's the best part of it all.
Just a random little thing I was inspired to write. Has no rhyme or reason. Valentine's Day randomness. Sorry if I killed the series for anyone .