A/N: Written for the First Annual Zosan Holiday Drabble Exchange kumiko-sama-chan has going on over on Tumblr. Mine is the lovely 4th day of our ZoSan December calendar!

(The title is a lame play on "team building", in case you were wondering. Don't look at me like that, I didn't sleep, leave me alone. :'D)

.o.O.o.

Steam building

.o.O.o.

The quiet December morning glistened in a fresh layer of white. The sun was out once more to play on branches laden with days' worth of snow, though only the memory of a still vivid Indian summer could lend warmth to its pale rays.

Rhythmic stomping at the door was a sure sign of a visitor. A tiny bell atop an ornate wreath chimed welcomingly at Sanji as he pushed the door to the resort hotel open with his elbow. The very first puff of white breath leaving his lips formed a sugar-laced greeting towards the young woman at the reception desk, then after kicking the last white bits off his boots, he heaved a warming sigh, and made his way straight towards the staircase.

Accompanied by walls of warm orange and pine-scented decorations, the cook climbed to the third floor. He could finally feel his reddened fingers thawing on top of the two shopping bags he was holding to his sides. He had bought a bit more ingredients than he had originally planned, which was why he didn't make use of the bags' grips, afraid of them tearing. Though, in his current company, anything he set on the table – or put in the fridge, or stashed away in the farthest corner of the cupboards – was sure to find its way into a couple of bottomless stomachs. All nine of them were there, after all.

The merry company had rolled into the small town embracing the hot springs with the previous day's afternoon train. The whole wagon loud with their laughter, the group seemed more like a noisy post-recess classroom than a gathering of responsible young adults. Then again, whenever Luffy, Usopp and Chopper came together, maturity flew out the window without so much as a trace. No matter if they had all scattered after their common school years, they still banded together every so often, turning back time for a little while on each occasion in favour of another class excursion – lively as ever, yet touched by faint sepia-hues of nostalgia. This time, for an early Christmas celebration at the spa resort, before most of them would go spend the holidays with their loved ones.

As he was walking past the teak doors lining the corridor, a lingering whiff of varnish filled Sanji's nose. It coaxed a smile onto his lips; the scent of something new. One of the bags rustled at the contact with the ground near the very last residence, and the blond swiftly slid the key card into the lock, opening the door with a single click. Pleasant warmth immediately poured over him from within, beckoning him inside.

Entering, Sanji immediately crossed the combined dining and living room, and stepped into the small kitchen to set down the goods onto the counter. The large common space of the superior suite, as well as all its rooms, stood around him in calm emptiness as he undressed and unpacked. The gang had dispersed after breakfast to enjoy the various opportunities for fun and relaxation the spa had to offer, leaving the blond to buy some more things to cook them all a delicious lunch from. True, Chopper had offered to help him with shopping. However, the teen's doe-eyed looks out onto the thermal pools had led Sanji to decline the offer, with a pat to his unruly brown head of hair, and a nudge to his back, urging him to run after the others.

Being left to himself in their quarters wasn't anything unpleasant, after all. Free from the usual hustle-bustle of his restaurant job for once, the blond preferred to have his peace, anyway. Frankly, there hadn't been anything quite as relaxing for Sanji as the clacking of dishes, the sound of his trusty knives on the cutting board and the gathering, harmonizing scents of his newest creations.

He was a workaholic, his friends kept telling him. Sanji preferred the term 'artist'. Especially in front of pretty ladies.

In bikinis…

Really, that kitchen had a great view. Out onto the glass-walled swimming pool area.

After a few minutes of definitely not gawking out the window with a lecherous grin plastered over his face, and most certainly not while giving the head of lettuce in his hand some very suggestive squeezes, something began to greatly disturb the cook. What a god fucking awful noise. A garbage truck? Just his shitty rotten luck for one of those to rumble on by. Were those damn things even supposed to be this loud? And couldn't that fucker just step on it already, he's been running that goddamn engine for the past five mi–

Wait. Wait a shitty minute.

Having put the abused piece of vegetable into the fridge, Sanji cautiously approached the bedrooms that were opening from the dining hall. The room he was spending the night in was right between the one occupied by Robin-chwan and that unworthy blue haired bastard, and the big one where bed-bouncing and tall-tale telling was usually accompanied by violin tunes and bubbly laughter, until an angry (but all the more beautiful) Nami-swan stormed out from her solitary suite across to punch the door, and some faces, in.

The awful rumbling noise became louder with the cook's each step towards the door. His hand on the handle, a growing suspicion pulled Sanji's eyebrows together.

The suspicion that he would kick someone's ass very hard, very soon.

.o.O.o.

An enormous stadium. Blinding reflector lights, grandstands filled with smudged, shapeless people and throaty cheering surrounded him. The crowd might or might not have had actual faces to stare at him with, but at that moment, he didn't care in the least.

All he focused on was the man in front of him. The one that each swing of his training sword aspired to defeat. That fame-framed name the audience was shouting as one. Dracule Mihawk.

This time, Zoro would change that for good.

His sword twitching between his fingers, his concentration was broken by a loud bang, and for a moment, he felt a curious breeze, as if smooth covers carrying an unfamiliar scent would shift around his bare back. The thundering sound repeated itself, foggily, one double door crashing open after the other between the rows of seats, cold winds howling their way in. The green haired swordsman hazily registered, halfway in disbelief, that the arms sprouting forth from his sides were part of a long-perfected technique, and, albeit uncanny, he understood that feeling chills along his chest was a natural occurrence while almost being cut in half…

It returned. That unknown scent, fresh against the right side of his face. Laced curtain-edges waved gently above the radiator, gradually less blurry to Zoro's opening eyes.

A few blinks later, he had forgotten the reason as to why lying in a comfortable bed safe and sound should have appeared strange to him. Why frigidity shook and numbed his chest had also slipped his mind. Only the feeling of cold itself had remained. Stayed in shape of two icy hands that were rubbing against his chest furiously. Aside from that, something he imagined as two edgy knees clad in moist jeans were prodding coldly into his thighs, and a pair of naked feet attempted to thaw curled around his ankles. There was a row of angry, puffing breaths continuously assaulting his nape, coming from what felt like an icicle boring into his skin. And that obnoxious little patch of hair that just had to tickle him between his shoulder blades...

Fine. Nap time was officially over.

"Oi oi oi! What the flying fuck, you crazy shithead?!"

The stupid cook cough-screamed, and his feet were waddling in the air like a duck's after Zoro pulled the blond's knees to his sides and simply rolled back onto him on the bed. He was the one yelling when Sanji's heel 'accidentally' found his crotch, though.

"OW!" The green haired man rolled back to his side in agony, hands between his legs. "You... curly bastard!"

"Ah, sweet revenge." Sanji's complacent smirk was audible.

"Ugh... The hell are you babbling about?" The swordsman, after noting the small bounce of the mattress under the cook's move to sit up, flung his elbow behind himself, in the general direction of the blond's thigh. The momentum had already thrown him onto his back when the anticipated groan arrived. "Sleep in your own bed, pervert-brow."

"This is my bed, you moss-for-brains," the irate chef exclaimed between two kicks to Zoro's side. "I'm not surprised, though. Only an idiot like you could get lost in a double room."

"The hell I did," the swordsman snorted. There was no way he had mixed up the beds. He distinctly remembered that his was to the left of the door. Or was it on the right side of the window? And where was the bathroom door again? Wait, who the fuck even cared? Shitty cook, trying to get him off-track. "Don't you have anything better to do than sticking your stinky feet into me, huh?" He swatted said feet away with the tenderness of a horse's kick.

"Stinky your hairy ass," the answer came like a bullet. "And I would, if your loud-ass snoring didn't shake the shitty shelve soff the walls," Sanji proceeded to poke his big toe into the other man's ribs. "Fucking garbage truck Marimo."

"What did you call me?!"

The swordsman sneered and shot up on the bed. Having grabbed both the bastard cook's ankles, he pressed them hard against the sheets, leaning in close to glare at him.

"Garbage. Truck. Marimo!" Wrinkling his nose, the repetitive words were venomous as Sanji spat them right into Zoro's face. That mock tone of his just added to the green-hair's desire to head-butt him in the goddamn mug.

Dead silence. A mutual state of staring down and growling commenced. Relaxation was guaranteed not to happen as long as the two of them shared a room, that was for damn sure. They didn't exactly remember how it had gotten to them being stuck together in the first place.

Something along the lines of Sanji having wanted the room to himself, thinking for some delirious reason that Nami or Robin would want to come over at night – aside from his dreams, that is, the green haired man could have added. To the cook's tough luck, though, he had found Zoro, again, already asleep on his bed after dinner. One way or another after that, while they had organized a spontaneous hotel room style brawl for all the neighbours to rejoice over, the door had been smacked closed on them. That, of course, had just been fuel for more tackling on the carpet. Good thing the green-hair was a good sleeper, or else the prissy idiot's moping around about 'lost chances' and 'crushed bachelor dreams' and whatnot wouldn't have allowed him a minute of shut-eye.

"I'm still a better garbage truck than you would ever be, with all that crap that's coming out of your mouth!" Man, it got harder to come up with a comeback the more the shitty cook pissed him off.

"Say whaaat?!" Luckily, Sanji seemed to have grown short of words, as well. Zoro could gather that from how his legs were twitching under his hold, and he really had to clench his teeth to keep those damn deadly things down there unless he wanted a complete face-makeover. The cook's fingers spasmed at his sides. Just what the swordsman was aiming for – to get the shitty blond so desperate as to force him to use his hands. And Sanji did his bidding.

"C-c-cold!" As in, the damn bastard plastered both of his icy hands onto Zoro's cheeks, and got him so distracted that he had let the cook's ankles loose, and was thanked with a shoulder grip, a gracious hop on the mattress and two knees in his stomach. "Ooof, shitfucking...!" He curled into a ball. Or would have, if the blond didn't land sitting on his thighs, so he practically bent onto his lap.

"You were saying, mold-brain?" The shit-cook didn't let him stay that way for long, but just kept shoving his frigid hand into the swordsman's face to smoosh his nose and lips, making the man straighten up again, groaning. He yelped, however, when Zoro slobbered all over his palm. "Ugh, eww, gross!" Really, he should have seen it coming...

The green haired man took his chance to try and restrain Sanji once more. This time, however, he went for his hands. He even found kicks more welcome than another prod of those icy-as-fuck fingers.

"Get your deep-frozen hands away from me, dammit! You trying to give me a frostbite or something, yeti-brow?"

Interestingly enough, the method he had chosen proved to be quite effective. Sanji sat perfectly still and didn't even say a word – a very rare thing indeed. Though, seeing as Zoro was clasping both the cook's hands tightly in his own, while the guy was still positioned halfway on his lap, that shouldn't have been too much of a surprise.

"T-then just let go already..." The blond poised the question with brows still furrowed and his eyes throwing deadly sparks. But Zoro had long since discovered that this expression went from stupid to irritatingly adorable with just a little pink around the idiot's nose. Plus the enormous effort of trying to ignore it, plain as day on his face. "Shitty Marimo..."

The green-head had to swallow. To hell with that stupid love-cook and his contagious embarrassment.

He relinquished Sanji's cold hands, all right. However, before the cook could have shaped his gasp of air into words, the quilt was already soaring over them both, and by the time it descended with a soft flutter, Zoro had pulled the blond to fall back with him onto the bed underneath.

Quiet began its rule. Still tense, but for whole other reasons.

"The fuck, you shitty asshole..." The swordsman heard Sanji mumble after a little while from beneath his chin.

Lying on their sides with the cook's hands pressed between their bodies, Zoro was holding the foul-mouthed idiot in his arms. He had to smirk to himself. The pansy cook's face felt nothing like his cold fingers against his pecs.

"Don't you have a pair of goddamn gloves?"

"I gave them to Nami-swan. She forgot hers," the chef's muffled explanation seeped forth from under the cover. Then some locks of blond tickled against tanned skin, before the swordsman was faced with a mass of tousled hair, and a dorky grin flashing from beneath. "Worried, Marimo-kun?"

A flustered blink was merely how long the cook's satisfaction lasted. Zoro was quick to grin right back and clap his hand roughly onto the top of Sanji's head.

"In your dreams, stupid cook," he announced menacingly.

The words had barely left his mouth when his fingers vigorously began to rub away on the cook's scalp, to ruffle his hairdo into even more of a mess among many swats, kicks and groans. Soon enough, however, his own green strands received the rough treatment, his laments joining the other man's. Whines and growls that soon morphed into swearing and laughs. Into lax arms around each other's necks while slowing breaths melted into one.

The idiot cook let out a sigh, trying to hide his lazy smile in the curve of Zoro's neck.

"That's too bad..."

Failing miserably.

.o.O.o.

Snug quiet filled the room, save for a tiny wind harp chiming silently outside the window and the soft snoozing of a relaxed cook, only for a certain green haired man to hear. As unbelievable as it sounded, Zoro had a bit of trouble taking naps together with the blond. He couldn't decide if he minded, though.

Listlessly focusing out, then back in on the carpet at the side of the bed, the swordsman's mind drifted to a thought that kept popping up especially much lately. He wouldn't admit it out loud, certainly, but ever since moving back to his old neighbourhood and a grey routine at his foster dad's dojo, his regular sparring with Sanji was the height of his week. To think they had met again by pure coincidence at the local gym, not much after the prissy blond had returned from France. It hadn't taken much time for their old bantering ways to return, either, and to Zoro, things had picked up as though by a whirlwind from there.

At first, they had just met once in a while, for the sole purpose of beating each other into a pulp. Then on a whim, they had gone out for coffee, and after some discussions about lifestyles, the blond had taken it upon himself to cook for Zoro, who hadn't even had a say in it – aside from some mandatory grumbling, of course, just to deny the idiot the satisfaction. And one night, after a long round of training and a hearty home-cooked dinner at Sanji's place, they had started to fight and wrestle, as always.

Which, however, switched to a full-blown make-out session, quite far from usual. Talk about the understatement of the decade.

They both had tried to shrug it off at first, most definitely. That, though, proved to be quite the job when it just kept on happening. Sanji's place, his place, on the training tatami, against the changing room lockers, almost even in the back of the late-night bus.

Oh, the blond had fussed and denied, a lot. He still did. But he kept meeting Zoro at the gym hall. He still leaned into his kisses...

He also, after a while, asked to keep it slow; and quiet, most importantly. And content with the flow of things, the green-hair had obliged.

Alas, despite his well-regarded willpower, trying not to want more of Sanji was beginning to harp on his nerves, badly. No wonder, actually, for they were just after their first instance of close intimacy. It had happened out of nowhere, on Zoro's couch of all places, so his afternoons of just stretching out and napping had been dramatically decreased. Haunted by pictures of Sanji straddling his lap, with his fingers tight in his hair, kissing fervently. Reluctantly giving a nod for the swordsman's hand to stroke over the fly of his pants, to loosen and slide his garments down below the curves of his ass. That hitching moan was in Zoro's ears again, as clear as it had tumbled out from the blond's parted lips, out of gratitude for the starting jerk to his erect cock. And the sensation of the cook's violently trembling thighs atop his own, just when he had come from his hand...

Lying in bed in his boxers, with said cook half-naked didn't exactly help.

God dammit.

"Oi, cook. You awake?" There was a nudge to Sanji's shoulder.

"Am now," he mumbled, giving the shithead's chest a light-hearted punch for good measure. Still better than waking up to flip-flop clapping and loud shrills for food... "What do you want, Marimo?"

"I wanna have sex."

"Eeeeeh?"

That statement convinced Sanji to sit up and stare at Zoro in dazed wonder. Right before he knelt up and stuffed his palm into his damn face, shoving him over onto his back.

"That's what you woke me up for, dipshit?"

"C'mon," the swordsman took his hand with a naughty smile – something that softened Sanji's expression. To sound more convincing, the tanned man brushed his mouth against his fingertips. "Humour me?"

After a few seconds of watching warm lips cover his fingers in kisses, Sanji huffed, grinning.

"Okay," he said, withdrawing his hand. Only to push a stern index finger against the green-head's chest. "If you can turn me on. Think you can manage that, shitty swordsman?"

The chef would have expected a retort, but instead was shown more of that playful smirk he might have only seen once on the mosshead's face before. Last time, when he had looked up at him from their groins covered in his cum...

Sanji didn't even have time to gulp at the image when Zoro pulled him in by his still extended arm. He went right for his tongue, that greedy bastard, crushing their mouths together messily, wetly, and just as coarse fingers caressed their way into his fair hair, the cook felt the swordsman swallow heavily into the lip-lock, sucking his mouth dry. Oh...

The blond angled his head just a little, his exhales vaporous on the other man's face. The way Zoro nipped his tongue had the cook hovering over him more, first with just his arms, and then swinging his knee over onto the man's right side. His fingers tangled among three golden earrings, for which a hot moan came buzzing along his tongue, then teeth slid over his lower lip. Biting back, a hiss escaped Sanji.

Shitty cheater.

Warm palms were roaming along the back of his thighs, and the muscles in Sanji's legs tensed and shook with each contact. His eyes opened when his mouth was left empty, gasping, in favour of messy, open-mouthed kisses to trail down his neck, saliva cooling on his collarbone and sternum, hands cupping, pulling his ass in for lips to reach the soft hairs below his navel...

"Oi..." The blond croaked, looking down at the hands tugging his open jeans lower on his hipbones. Surely he wouldn't...

"Hey..." He watched Zoro breathe heat onto his half-hard cock through his boxer briefs, but when the man's tongue flicked over his bulge, things became awfully blurry. "Take these off...?"

Sanji seemed to reach for the wall, but took his hand back in a twitch. Zoro glanced up at the blond's face; along the inviting angles of the man's torso he still had the lingering taste of on his tongue. Pulling on the soft cotton covering the cook's member with his teeth, a trembling sigh reached his ears, followed by a hushed curse as the blond hopped, all but tripped off the bed to push his lower garments down hurriedly. His inviting strokes welcomed the blond's thighs back, then under Sanji's intense gaze, he slid a little lower beneath him on the mattress, and, along with elevating himself onto his left elbow, he leisurely lapped his tongue over the growing length of the other man's cock.

"Mmmm..."

The swordsman's hand held onto Sanji's waist when his first groan reverberated behind his clenched lips. That damn shithead didn't let him ease into it one bit, but just took his shaft in right away, luring more embarrassing gasps and moans to break and tumble out of his mouth. Licking, brushing, slurping. Sucking him to full hardness by every thump of his pulse...

"Oh fuck..."

The cook gulped big. He leaned onto the headboard of the bed to watch, to follow with his gaze how the green bastard squeezed his tight lips down on his dick, letting it almost fall out before swallowing it back in again, hard. If he only knew why it the damn Marimo's face full of his cock made him so god fucking horny...

Another breathless moan coaxed the tanned man's gaze up onto a very dishevelled blond panting above him. The moment he locked eyes with Sanji, the cook bit his lip and squeezed his eyes shut, his erection throbbing; inside Zoro's smirking mouth. His elbow on the bed complained a little. Sanji had started to rock his hips towards his face a while ago, in small, involuntary, and painfully arousing twitches. He wondered what else the cook's lower body could make his pulse race with.

So did his fingers. Sliding between the cleft of the blond's ass, stroking from his balls to his asshole...

"Aaah...!" Sanji's knees buckled under, and he would have fallen right onto Zoro's face if not for the headrest and that bastard's hands. "Y-you d... Oh shit..." Not there, that's...

… something the green-hair had been wanting to try. The blond had only himself to blame – he shouldn't have left the bathroom door open while he had demonstrated the perks of kneeling while jacking off.

"Ah shit, I'm–" Sanji gathered all his remaining strength to ram his palms to the headboard and against a coughing Zoro's forehead, to pull himself free. But the difference in temperature alone had his whole body jerk... "Fuck...!"

The cook had barely pushed away when he thrust right back into the swordsman's mouth. Sanji's fingers were tight in his hair as the cook all but curled into a ball above him, shaking and gasping. His cum mixed with saliva tickling down the corner of Zoro's mouth...

.o.O.o.

A hurling spit. What a lovely way to disperse a post-orgasm daze.

Frowning, Sanji straightened up, greeted with a pair of grey eyes regarding him from between his thighs. Oh, right. He was still practically sitting on Zoro's neck. The green haired man didn't seem to care, though, wiping his face with a tissue, then crumpling it into a moist ball to throw it across the room. So the cook gave him something else to worry about – his knees squishing into his face.

"I said, turn me on, not suck me dry, you swamp-brained gorilla!"

"You looked pretty turned on to m– Ow!" Zoro's cheekbones didn't appreciate the tough tokens of gratitude. Just as much as the cook took kindly to belly-tickling.

"Hey!" A sure way to make him jump. Though, as soon as Sanji's behind met with the bed, so did his knuckles with the swordsman's cheek, twisting. "And was that fucking necessary?"

"Huh?" The green-hair gripped the blond's wrist and forced it onto the pillow beside his head.

"You didn't have to retch like that..." Sanji really didn't want to mumble. "'s not like it's some nasty shit."

The swordsman blinked once. To the blond, it seemed like a full minute before the bastard shot him a grin, one angular eyebrow raised.

"Bet you wouldn't think so if you had a taste."

Zoro could have sworn that the cook's hair stood up in flames. Though soon enough, he couldn't see a thing, nor breathe much. Sanji came crashing down onto his aching lips, vehemently tangling their tongues together, to drive the smallest of groans out of him and rekindle the heat in the pit of his stomach. He could barely caress over the blond's nape, though, when the man broke away.

"Can't taste diddly-squat," the cook wheezed.

"Then why don't you eat it next time?"

"Shut up, fartface!" A pillow smashed into the Marimo's mug closed the discussion.

The swordsman had a notion that shoving his face into places might have been one of the blond's weird-ass kinks. The thought seemed all the more accurate when Sanji heaved the pillow against the farthest wall, then leapt over him to crush his abused lips with his own, teeth clattering and tongues brushing together intensely.

Well, Zoro laughing his ass off at his flushed face might have had something to do with that...

Nah.

Sanji had assumed his favourite position, on top of the green haired man. A spot the cook himself didn't know he preferred, in contrast to Zoro, seeing how many times the chef had ended up tackling him onto the floor during their sparring. Not to mention make-out... He didn't exactly mind having a hot and bothered blond straddling him, arching his back to his stroking, either, and the realization hit Sanji in a wave of shivers when the swordsman's hard-on jumped against his inner thigh. The shitty Marimo should just get blue balls and die. Asking for sex and then making him come before he had had a chance to touch him back.

The bastard would pay.

"Oi, what–" Zoro could merely talk to the shit-cook's right buttcheek when the man swapped his knees at his sides to turn around above him.

"Zip it and lift your fucking ass," Sanji yanked the green-head's underwear below-waist impatiently, and when both brown legs were obediently raised for him, he discarded the pair with a snap of his wrist.

Zoro's abs tightened when he leaned close. The small hairs leading to the swordsman's groin were on edge under Sanji's tongue, ragged breaths quivering along tanned skin as he dipped lower, lower still, until he could lick over the length of the man's hard shaft. One slurp at the moist top and the green-hair's hips came bucking up in anticipation. But Sanji would take his time. Firm lips sucking downward on the side of Zoro's cock. Lapping up to the tip until he could hear, feelhim groan against the skin of his crotch.

He'd show him how it's done.

"Cook... Oh damn..."

A wet tongue curling around the head of his dick had the green-head in shambles, throwing his head back onto the sheets. Dammit. He had already been close during round one.

He willed himself to reach for the cook's ass to give it a squeeze, and pulled himself up to it, and there, he sucked Sanji's balls between his lips, nibbling. The game was on.

Sanji moaned around the swordsman's cock as soon as the licks began trailing up from his sack to his asshole. Grabbing Zoro's thighs, he dove down on the man's cock as deep as he could without gagging on its length, or on his own pleasured sounds vibrating around it, drawn out by the swordsman's teasing tongue. Zoro's wandering hand rubbed him completely hard once more. And Sanji reached down to guide it, making those calloused fingers clench and pump hot haze into his brain, doing his best to still bob his head and...

"Cook... S-Sanji...!"

Shit. Oh holy shit.

Zoro's dick spasmed heavily between his lips. The cook tried to swallow his small panic, along with globs of semen that were filling his mouth. His own cock spurting the swordsman's chest full with long jets of cum proved to be a more than perfect distraction.

Fine. It was a tie, then.

.o.O.o.

"Merry Christmas, shitty Marimo-head."

There was a snort at Sanji's neck, followed by rustling at his back and warm lips on his ear, inducing tiny shudders. Zoro's fingers curled around the cook's thin, finally warm ones beneath the covers.

"Christmas is in three weeks, idiot."