I'm notorious for late updates. I wouldn't be suprised if you all thought I had died or fallen into a state of illness so severe that I would be left so weak that I'd be unable to write. No, I was just on vacation in Ohio :) My whole family on my father's side was up there, so a lot of visiting and chaos was going on. This only took me two days to write, so it's much shorter than my other pieces. Also, I know that I primarily focus on ZoroxNami, but not this time. This is NOT ZoroxNami. It is ZoroxSanji, which means yaoi (however vague it may be...).
Title: Second Hand Kisses
Author: Beached Pirate
Category: One Piece
Rating: PG-13 (T)
Warnings: Sanji's love for the word "shit."
Parings: ZoroxSanji, vague but there.
Summary: Nami explains to Zoro why things that have been in one person's mouth should not go into another's.
Word Count: 1,266
Disclaimer: One Piece and its characters are property of Eiichirō Oda.
Zoro wasn't a smoker. He thought the whole concept of charring your lungs until you were coughing and wheezing between every other word was just plain stupid and ignorant. Plus, it left a horrid odor, not just in the air, but on the person who was smoking. It was strong, like a slap to the face upon smelling it, and it followed said person everywhere they went.
Of course, that said person was Sanji.
The damn cook chain-smoked just about every day, which pissed the swordsman off too no end. The kitchen always reeked of tobacco and had a permanent haze of smoke floating near the ceiling. Zoro had to inwardly wonder how the blonde was going to find All Blue and cook for the crew when he was laying on his deathbed under Chopper's watchful eye with some fatal lung disease.
But today, Zoro's opinion was changing. Rapidly.
On that particular lazy Sunday afternoon, Zoro was sitting in the galley, nursing a bottle of water (since that damn cook wouldn't let him near the booze), eyeing Sanji with clear distaste as he worked over the stove. The door had been left open by the swordsman in an attempt to clear the smoke from the kitchen, though the smell lingered through the gentle ocean breezes that drifted in.
It had been a downright shitty day, filled with nothing but perpetual headaches that not even Chopper's strongest medications could cure, marines and bounty hunters who obviously had nothing better to do than make his life a living hell, and an accident involving the misfire of one of Usopp's inventions. At this point, the first mate was willing to try just about anything for even five seconds of relief, even if it meant compromising his beliefs on personal health. He was opening his mouth to complain about the man's curt refusal to give him even a drop of alcohol when the cook turned around and walked over to the table.
"You know, marimo," Sanji began, pulling a pack of cigarettes from the pocket of his pants and extracting one of the sticks of tobacco. "You always give me shit for smoking, but yet you insist upon pouring bottle after bottle of rum and grog down your throat."
"Your point, shitty cook?" Zoro asked, watching with disdain as the other man held a lit match against the cigarette and took a long drag.
"You're killing your liver, idiot. The more booze you drink, the more you tear the damn thing apart." The cook blew a lungful of smoke at Zoro, who scowled in response.
"And you're doing the same thing with your lungs." The swordsman regarded the cook with a sideways glance before asking, "Why exactly do you smoke that stuff, anyways?"
"When I first started working on Baratie that shitty geezer always had me stressed and pissed to no end. Always criticizing my cooking, my attitude, just being his usual shitty self. One of the waiters noticed how irate I was and said that smoking would help me mellow out. So I tried one and got hooked." He passed a wary glance at the swordsman before adding, "Why the hell do you care?"
A brief period of silence passed before Zoro furrowed his brow and, completely disregarding the inquiry, asked, "What the hell does 'mellow' mean? That some kind of cooking term?"
Sanji rolled his eyes, heaving a smoky sigh before setting the cigarette into a nearby ashtray. "It can be, but that's not the point. Mellow is like saying relaxed, or at ease. They can be a godsend after a shitty day."
Zoro's head lifted from its drooped position. "What?"
Sanji raised an eyebrow, pushing his chair back in. "They help you relax after a hard day. Going deaf, marimo?"
"Shut up, dartboard-brow."
"Feh. Whatever, swordsman," the cook replied, striding across the galley and out through the open door. "And don't get into any of the ale. I'll be able to tell if you did."
Muttering a "whatever" under his breath, the swordsman's eyes traveled over to the still-lit roll of tobacco smoldering in the tray. What the cook had said had left somewhat of an impression on him, given the fact that he had been banned from the booze and had tried to work his frustrations out through rigorous bouts of training, but to no avail. Though the first mate would never admit it, he was growing desperate, and the coming evening would only hold more annoyances and inconveniences.
Sticking his head out the door and looking around quickly so as to assure himself that the act he was about to commit would be in private, he quickly made his way to the far end of the table and gingerly picked the cigarette up. The smell was much stronger up close, nothing like the cook's scent of smoke mixed with seafood that, coupled with the much stronger aroma of the ocean, was so normal that is was barely noticeable.
After a brief moment of hesitation, he held the unlit end between his lips and inhaled, watching the embers on the tip change from gray ash to a brilliant orange. Strangely enough, there was only a slight tickle in his lungs, and not the harsh burning that he had been expecting. Spending all that time around Sanji must have given his lungs some form of resistence against the harsh effects of the smoke. Pulling the stick of tobacco out of his mouth and giving a slight cough, he watched in amazement as the white smoke curled its way up towards the ceiling. Another cough pulled his attention away from the haze when he suddenly caught sight of a figure standing in the doorway.
Turning his eyes to the far end of the galley, he saw Nami staring at him, utterly slack-jawed. Their eyes met in a moment of strange silence, a wide-eyed navigator staring at a confused Zoro. Faster than the swordsman could blink, Nami dove across the kitchen and smacked the cigarette out of his hand. It fell to the floor, blazing embers and all, and Zoro frantically scrambled past the woman and stomped it out with his boot.
"Dammit all, woman!" Zoro yelled, pointing a finger at the flattened mass of tobacco and ash. "You could have set the whole ship ablaze!"
"What where you doing with Sanji's cigarette?" she yelled, on the verge of hysterics. Her wide eyes bored into his head as she grabbed his shoulders, giving him a shake. "Do you have any idea how…how…"
"How what?" the swordsman shouted, pulling himself out of her grasp.
"How disgusting that is?"
Zoro stared incredulously down at her. "Excuse me?"
"Sanji's had his mouth all over that!" she retorted, pointing again at the floor.
"No shit. It's not like he has some weird mouth-disease."
"That's not the point! You practically allowed him to give you a second hand kiss!"
"Dammit woman. Are you insane?" he hissed, snatching up the remnants of the destroyed cigarette from the wooden planks. "We shared a smoke. So what? It's not like I was actually kissing him."
"No, Zoro, but it's the first step. And you're a guy. It's just gross."
"You must be outta your mind, wench."
"Mark my words, Zoro," she wagged a finger at him as she turned to leave the room. "You may not realize it, but this is a sign."
He watched her with a distasteful shake of his head as she exited the galley. He sighed and bent down, looking at the pulverized mass of tobacco, paper, and ash.
What the hell is she so worried about? He inwardly smirked, picking up the flattened cigarette as the blonde entered the room. He shot a confused Sanji a deviant grin. Besides, Zoro had done much worse with the cook than share a cigarette.