notes: Written for op-fanforall over on the ol' Livejournal. Check that shit out.
Their firewood supply has run out. Sanji could burn the supply of herbs he has in his coat pocket, but he worked much too hard to use them like that, after all the trouble he went through picking them at the mountain's peak; besides, he says, they won't last long. Nami agrees. She has old maps in her back pocket, Jaya and Skypeia and Drum Kingdom, but he gallantly tells her not to waste the things she's made; he assures her he'll save the both of them before they freeze.
She realizes there's only one thing left to do. She sidles closer and pulls off a mitten with her chattering teeth; she fumbles with the catch of Sanji's slacks, fingers red and trembling.
"N-nami-san, what's the matter—"
She unzips his fly and pulls out his flaccid cock with a practiced hand, offering no reply; as he stammers, hands twitching at his sides like birds, she shucks her pants down off her hips and to her knees, never baring more flesh than need be.
"Have to keep warm, don't we?"
And she lowers herself onto his cock, only half-hard, awkward and squirming with the position; no preamble, no foreplay, no romanticism as Sanji had always imagined.
He groans low in his throat as she rides him; it wasn't supposed to be this way at all. He was supposed to be the seducer, to woo her with flowers and chocolate parfaits, to write her sonnets and wax rhapsodic about her eyes and hair and skin until she melts under his fingers, to coax her into trembling; never this sort of impersonal tryst, not with her. Their breath fogs the air in tiny gasps and their fingers scrabble for purchase in the hard-packed dirt and frost; Nami places two fingers at her clit, raw with cold, and her body shudders.
"Nami-san..." Sanji breathes, swallowing down those basest of noises he hates to make. "Please..."
The way his jaw clenches, the way his neck arches back and breath hitches—she can tell he's already going to come, and it shames him, coming before she's had her chance. Hair-Trigger Sanji. Sanji-Who-Comes-Before-Women-Do.
"You shouldn't come in me," she says baldly, and slides herself off his cock.
"B-but what about you?"
"Don't worry about me," she says.
She squats down next to him in the dirt and wraps a chapped hand around him, chafing his flesh with roughness and cold; her other hand is working at her clit, hips pumping fast and awkward as she teeters on her heels.
"Wait," he groans, and comes, hot and violent, into her palm.
He quickly offers out a hand help her finish, but she swats it away and finishes quickly, silently stiffening and sinking to her knees.
"The others will be here soon," she says, cleaning her hands in the snow. "I know it."
He reaches out to touch her, but his hand is stiff with cold and nerves, and Nami is out of reach.