Wrestle

By The Chichi Slaughter House

Warnings: ZoroxSanji, spoilers up to the newer episodes of One Piece.

Disclaimer: I don't own One Piece, the characters or anything related to them. All that is Oda's, and I am waiting for the next ten years of One Piece with wide-eyed excitement. This is merely a little piece of fanfiction, and earns me no money.

Rating: G

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On the Thousand Sunny, the deck was clear except for Zoro and Sanji, who were yelling and gesturing violently despite the boiling heat outside. They were heading towards the hottest summer island they had ever been to, so the other crew members had taken refuge inside the ship's pleasant hull. Chopper was taking the heat pretty badly, and it was affecting everyone else too; even Luffy wasn't being his cheerful self. It was almost like they were traipsing that desert on Arabasta again, except this time with a few extra members.

However, it was never too hot for Zoro and Sanji to have a huge argument.

It seemed that no matter what, the two would be attempting to get on each other's nerves, and no one else felt like trying to talk them out of it this time. So they had just been left to it, the small disagreement turning into full-out war as they yelled insults at each other and vented their frustrations. It was getting to the point where they were sweating, foreheads pressed together as they tried to make the other back down, yet neither was willing to lose.

Half-drawing one of his swords, Zoro scowled as the other man did not lift his leg in retaliation, thrown by the change from normality. The cocky dartboard eyebrow raised up in challenge as the cook suggested wrestling, firmly insisting that their traditional method of fighting always ended at a stalemate and therefore, was useless. Not wanting to refuse the offer, the green-haired man readily agreed, the pair of them locking their hands together as they tried to push the other one back onto the floor.

It was the swordsman who won out in the end; his endless training causing his upper body strength to be superior to Sanji's as he shoved the cook onto his ass, moving with him to trap him to the floor. The visible eye glared up at him in fierce determination, the other obscured by that hair as usual as the blonde fought back against his grip as best as he could. Often Zoro would wonder why Sanji kept the damn thing covered, yet he never asked. The love-cook would probably reply with some bullshit about how it made him more mysterious to the ladies, or insist that it was in style and that Zoro had no right to talk about hairstyles with the seaweed growing out of his head anyway.

And if it was only for aesthetics, Zoro could pretty much care less.

All he knew was that it pissed him off; just like those over-curled eyebrows that Sanji obviously took painstaking care to keep. The other man took such care in his appearance that it bordered on weird enough as it was. No other guy in their crew so was bothered by 'fashion sense' or any of that crap that the cook prattled on about sometimes with the girls. No one else had as many different outfits as Sanji did anyway, and as far as he was concerned, it was just unnecessary baggage. There were more important things in life, like swords and sake.

Women and 'fashion' would just get in the way.

Taking advantage of his wandering mind, the cook suddenly got the upper-hand, rolling on top of him and holding his wrists tightly to his sides. At this, Zoro struggled against Sanji's grip with all he had, breaking free within a moment. He was about to push him back down when Sanji did something unexpected. Eyes widening as the blonde pressed a quick kiss to his lips, Zoro was stunned, too surprised to react to the sneak attack. He didn't even move when the other man smirked and lit a cigarette, not hearing a word Sanji was saying. With a shake of the head, the cook got up from his chest and walked away, leaving him by himself to stare up at the sky, a hand moving to touch his lips lightly.

What was that?