Chapter Two
~0~
Ace D. Portgas was nothing like Sanji had ever expected. From what Luffy, Brooke, Nami, Franky, Usopp, everybody said, Sanji had already formed a mental picture of the older D. The man would be thin and wiry, with hair exactly like Luffy's and a beard which looked like an old musketeers. He would be loud and annoying and would eat too much and fall asleep in the middle of the meals. The man would pad around in little else except boxers and enjoy pastimes like hunting, camping, and watching football on TV.
What he got was nothing like that. What he got was something entirely different.
The party had just begun; everyone was there, the beer was out, the food was placed on the tables, and the boombox was blasting Pitbull's Hey Baby when Luffy screamed, "He's here!" and held up his Iphone in triumph. The doorbell rang, as if to second Luffy's assertion. Everyone cheered and Franky snapped his thong against his hip obscenely loud and yelled his trademark, 'Ow!'
"If your girl want to play—let her go—let her go—"
"No, wait, Luffy! I'll open it—" Sanji yelled, scrambling up as Luffy vaulted over three chairs and went racing to the front door. It wasn't that he wanted to intervene in the brother's reunion, it was just that Luffy was apt to tear the mahogany door off its frame and shatter the delicate, frosted glass with the brute force he had been naturally born with. And if Luffy's brother was anything like him, the two together would rip the whole front wall to shreds and manage to break every single piece of handcrafted porcelain and every single brick-a-brack he had so carefully picked out over the years to match with the opium pearl color of the walls.
He should have known that Luffy ran a mile in roughly four minutes and thirty three seconds. Sanji was just barely making it out of the living room before he heard the front door bang on the wall and some, strange, unknown voice shout, "Luffy! Fucked if I haven't seen you in a while-" It was a handsome, drawling baritone, the kind that only absolutely drop dead gorgeous men seem to have and he, for the first time, briefly wondered about Luffy's brother and about his looks.
Luffy's equally enthusiastic, "Ace! Ace!" rang out almost as loud as his brother's.
Sanji couldn't help smiling as he turned the corner and saw Luffy wrapped up in the arms of a taller man who—wasn't wearing a shirt—and who was a few inches taller. Understanding, he stayed back for a while and let them have their moment. He was not so base as to interfere in such a reunion, regardless of how much priceless imitation Ming vases and bamboo statues were broken.
After another few seconds, Luffy's brother shoved Luffy off, "All right little bro. That's enough, get of me." He turned to Sanji, smiling, "This little guy probably gives you a hell of a lot of trouble, doesn't he?" There was none of that boorish, simpleton attitude that Sanji might or might not have been expecting. There was no lewdness or perverseness or carefree attitude or any of a million vices with which Sanji had already endowed the older D.
Sanji was pleased to see that there was a handsome, responsible looking (albeit, bare-chested and was that an immense dagger strapped to his waist?) and overall decent man standing in his hallway, smiling in a polite and respectful manner, his head already inclining in a little bow.
Sanji took the greeting as permission to walk closer, and he closed the distance, his hand outstretched, ready to give and receive the all-American handshake, "You don't even know. The guy drives me bugshit. I'm surprised I still live."
The guy laughed and nodded, "Sounds like him," and shook his hand warmly, "Thank you very much for taking care of him and letting me shack up for a while at your house. I swear I'm nowhere near as much trouble as this little rat (he shook Luffy with his other hand) and I'll keep a thumb on the little brother while I'm here." His eyes twinkled as he met Sanji's. "The name's Ace. You must be Sanji. I've heard a lot of good shit about you from mutual friends. I'm surprised we haven't met before. I'm starting to think I missed out on one kickass guy."
Sanji smiled back, feeling oddly flattered, his hands went into his pockets and futilely searched for the pack of cigarettes he always kept there, not realizing that he had placed them in his butt pocket, "Ah, don't thank me. Luffy bugged the hell out of me until I caved in. I'm sure you're okay, though I was a little unsure from how Luffy described you. No offense."
"None taken," Ace said, "Nice house by the way. You, my friend, have very admirable taste."
"Thanks. Well, come on in," Sanji gestured them through, "Might as well get comfortable since you're going to live here for—? How long again?" He paused with an eyebrow raised.
"Forever!" Luffy chirped happily. "He's going to—" Ace automatically thumped him hard in the head and covered his mouth with one broad hand. The exclamations were cut off and Luffy—wonders of wonders—couldn't seem to pry of his brother's hand or even twist out of the other man's grip. Sanji's eyes widened in spite of himself.
Jesus H. Christ jumped up and played the fiddle. How fucking strong is this guy? Even I can't keep Luffy down and quiet. His muscles are pretty damn outlined if that's any clue.
Maybe Ace was going to be a welcome asset to the household. He would forever earn Sanji's gratitude if he continued to act as Luffy's mouth gag and pest controller. And the guy wasn't at all hard on the eyes, especially if insisted on going bare-chested everywhere—
Oh, shit Sanji. Are you that desperate that you're checking out the kid's older brother? Whom you've met three seconds ago, you fucking idiot. Can you say 'repressed cook?'
But oh come on. Anyone would trace their eyes up that physique. It was hard not to lose yourself in those toned, rippling muscles. That broad back on which Sanji could see himself straddling and the taut ass that he could discern from under the guy's black cargo shorts that looked like its sole purpose in life was to be held while he—He could already see himself holding that head and moving it closer to his bare hips.
I gotta get it together. Shit, Luffy should of told me that this guy was hotter than Johnny Depp and Adrian Brody's love child. Stupid Luffy…this is all his fault.
Ace, who probably would have run away screaming at the injustices he was being subjected to in Sanji's dark, perverted, sick, sick, sick mind; suddenly ran a distracted hand through his hair (with the hand not gagging Luffy who was still struggling to escape his brother's clutches and failing miserably), "Ah, shit Sanji. You're going to hate me for this." The blackhaired man glanced through the still-open door.
"What? Why?" he raised an eyebrow, at least temporarily saved from his internal fantasies in which Ace Portgas had just bent over and smiled coyly and beckoned him with a crooked finger. And the fact that the other man was already calling him by his Christian name as familiarly and casually as they had known each other for years now was not lost on him. Though the notice on his part made him feel slightly disconcerted and vaguely juvenile.
Ace grinned sheepishly, "I had a friend who I traveled with from Mexico and, well, I invited him to stay with me tonight—"
He sighed, "Well, whatever, why not—" It wasn't as bad as he had thought; but bad enough. Another unknown individual sharing his living space.
Ace interrupted quickly, "But don't worry. It's just for tonight. His parents live in Riverside, so he has a place to stay, except he didn't want to spend the night driving there—"
"Yeah, that's fine then. You can crash in Luffy's room then or in the living room and your friend can take the guest room next to mine for tonight. Later you can move in there," he said, relieved that there wasn't going to be another stranger under his roof, "Sound good?"
"Yeah, though I'll probably kick Luffy out of whatever room he's in and take it," Ace grinned and turning, called, "Hey Zoro! You finished?"
"Almost there, wait your ass Portgas! How much shit did you bring?" A voice called back, out of the darkness, followed by a clump of what Sanji presumed were suitcases hitting the pavement.
"Hey," Ace yelled back, but smiling, "No vulgarities shithead! I'm talking with our host!"
There was a pause, then, "Sorry!"
Sanji chuckled and shook his head, "Should I go help him?"
Ace laughed, "Nah, he secretly enjoys lugging things around. Is why I keep him around."
"Ace!" "Ace!" Voices babbled from the hallway where it seemed that the others had finally grown impatient to see Luffy's brother.
Ace glanced up, grinning widely, "Franky! Brooke! Usopp! Chopper! Nami! Robin! Buggy! Damn, I haven't seen your faces in forever!" He dropped Luffy and strangled Franky and Brooke in a bear hug.
Luffy jumped on his back, "Group hug! Everyone, group hug!" There were cheers as more people came out from the living room and swallowed a laughing Ace who was pretending to defend himself. Sanji snorted laughter and leaned back against the door jamb to watch, taking out a cigarette from his suit and lighting it up with his Barney's (New York brand) silver lighter. He liked a group hug as much as the next guy (he always seemed to manage to throw his arms around Nami or Robin's shoulders), but what he wanted to do right now was lean back and try to clear his head.
He had barely managed to compose himself and return to that level of stately calm that he so innately possessed. Before a voice at his elbow murmured, "So…he's just as popular everywhere he goes, eh?"
He glanced around, surprised, and saw another man, this one wearing a dark grey hoodie and a black beanie which covered most of his features. The guy, who had been watching the dog-pile in the hallway, turned to look at him when he turned. "You must be Sanji. I'm Zoro Roronoa." He stuck out a hand.
He shook it, switching his cigarette so that he could shake appropriately, "It seems like everyone knows about me beforehand. Does everyone talk about me behind my back or what?"
The man's eyes flicked across his face and down his body quickly, so quickly in fact, that Sanji half-doubted that he had seen them move, "Nah. I just heard someone describe you before. I think it was Ace. Or Luffy. But anyway, thanks a lot for letting me stay the night. I'm dead on my feet right now; I'd probably pass out on the bus."
Sanji shook his head, "Don't worry about it. There's plenty room to spare—"
Ace, extricating himself from the pile made his way over to them, "Ah, so you guys have met each other already? Zoro, take off that beanie and hoodie so Sanji can actually see your face."
Zoro frowned and shook his head, "No thanks. I have the good sense to not go around half-naked." He closed the door behind him and scooted the couple suitcases closer inside. "Here's your shit."
"Thanks man," Ace grabbed two of them and yelled, "Luffy, take this stuff up to the guest room, you little chimp. Careful not to break anything."
"Sure, Ace." And Luffy grabbed them happily enough.
The freckled man turned to Zoro, "Hey, have you had the presence of mind to thank Sanji?" Sanji held up a hand in a 'that's fine' gesture. Every second Ace impressed on him another level of manners which were polished to the extreme—despite the adventurer's attitude and macho exterior.
Zoro shrugged, "Sure I did, but then you had to interrupt."
"Hey, you guys coming or what?" Nami called out from where everyone had just trooped back into the living room. "Or are you going to jawing on all night? Everybody's waiting!"
"Let's go, eh?" he said and walked off to where Nami was leaning with her hand on her hip, "Sorry Nami~"
He didn't see Zoro turn to Ace, eyes highly amused under his dark beanie, and he didn't hear him murmur, "Lucky bastard."
The freckled man shook his head as if to clear it, and blew steam out of his cheeks, "Oh—man. I mean, I had heard the descriptions but still."
"Up close and personal; it's different, eh?" Zoro asked, grinning.
"How was I? I wasn't—I don't know—acting stupid or anything like that? I was cool and shit and just right, yeah?" Ace asked, lifting one hand to run through his inky black tangles. "Shit—I haven't felt this nervous since I met Marco. I'm not sure—"
"Ah, shut up and go do your stuff," Zoro grunted, and shoved his friend towards the living room, "You're fine."
~0~
It was nearly impossible to not see, hear, taste Ace D. Portgas when he was in the room. Sanji was starting to believe that the man was some alien parasite that had crawled within his mind and lodged there irrevocably.
To say that he was the life of the party was sort of like saying that a hurricane was a couple drops of water; like saying that Dali had been an artist, like saying that Poe had been a poet. Ace D. Portgas was the party. He was everywhere, laughing, throwing up his head and roaring out gusts of laughter, smiling, grinning. One second he was toying with Nami's skirt hem and pretending to slip lecherous hands between her bare thighs, the other—he was kicking Luffy's ass in Halo and then over next to the breakfast bar with Franky, knocking massive mugs with the engineer (who had by then put away quite a few barrels of Heineken) and drinking beer as if it was water.
And always he was throwing out a raunchy punch line, discussing the philosophy of Immanuel Kant, telling a story of how he had fought in the Mexican insurgency down in the deep south of that developing country, disguised as a fair-skinned indigenous man or recounting past memories from his previous meetings with the others.
They loved him; everybody loved him. Sanji was half coming to suspect that it was a viral condition. Women's eyes sparkled as he approached and their black pupils ran up and down his muscular frame in a mental rape of which Sanji would have had no problem being the victim. It was easy to see that Luffy's older brother had easily snatched the most eligible bachelor spot as well as sexiest man and greatest guy all around. There were already dirty looks and flaring blushes of jealously amongst the women as soon as Ace paid too much attention to one.
Oddly, there rarely was a catty word spat out. The blackhaired man flittered around, seeming neither like a superficial socialite or a juvenile heartbreaker. He simply was. The only woman who seemed vaccinated against his sultry, enthusiastic presence was Nami Pinwheel—who merely slapped at Ace's head whenever his hands became too adventurous. But then—she had set her cap for the shy, blond banker whom she worked under—and with such a thoroughness and bulldozer attitude that all other men had ceased to exist in her amber eyes (much to Sanji's disappointment).
Not a second would go by that Ace's name wasn't shouted, called, cried out as someone or other decided that they needed to talk to the young man and make their presence known. The first twenty minutes that the party had began in earnest; Ace was toasted over twenty times with the oddest sayings and the strangest variety of toasting agents that Sanji had ever had the good grace to hear and see.
Luffy was first, and remarkably, the most normal, "To the return of Ace! Huzzah!" But then he lifted his mug of chocolate milk and poured half of it in his mouth and half on the leather sofa he was currently sitting on, controller in hand.
"To Ace! May your delicious six-pack ever prosper!" Alvida smirked, raising a dainty bracelet-clad hand holding pink, fizzy champagne with a paper umbrella in it. More girls cheered and Ace bowed charmingly in their direction, a grateful expression on his face but his eyes all but exuding mirth.
Some drunk girl screamed out jubilantly, "To your twenty-five inch dick!" And Ace nodded, as if he very well did have his piece that large.
"To Portgas! May your fire never be extinguished!" That was Franky and Brooke's toast and it caused a roar of laughter and applause to reverberate the room and shake the now-forgotten clay pirates on one of the glass end tables. The toast was repeated several times and the wit of it commented on and duly appreciated. Ace's apparent obsession with fire and anything highly flammable was apparently well-known. Ace himself bowed several times to this and even brought out his lighter (A very, very fancy one which he claimed to have bought off a Mexican curandero who had imbued it with the magical properties of the Serpent God Quetzalcoatl, but yet blessed it with the Almighty's hallowed name)and flicked it open a few times—shooting Sanji an apologetic look.
He waved it away, smiling. He wasn't drinking—yet. The cigarette he currently had clasped in his hand was enough of a vice to keep him going. It had been a while since he had been so damn content and satisfied with life. The constant thrum of the crowd living it up in his ears was nice; the views that the girls with their rave-short skirts and skimpy blouses and happy faces gave were enough to last him years upon years of lonely nights and whenever the small ember of his cigarette died down (even a little), Ace would be there—his infamous lighter out, leaning over the sofa, his muscled arm out, lighting him up like a personal servant with only a murmured 'can't have the host go without his cig, can we?'
It was too hard and too outrageous to tell himself that he hadn't been watching Ace the greater part of the evening. He didn't even bother. It wasn't like it was going to go anywhere. And, everybody was watching the barechested man, no one was going to notice another pair of adoring eyes following the man around.
He didn't even bother. It was enough to sit back, kick it, smoke, and enjoy the views.
~0~
He would have been beyond surprised to know that he had been under the same intense scrutiny from the same man that he purportedly had been watching.
Ace D. Portgas was not a hopeless romantic, neither was a indiscriminate player no matter what his playboy attitude caused people to think. The women he had courted had been few, the men fewer. He did not believed in love at first sight and still did not believe it.
But to say that Sanji Blue had caught his eye and held it would have been an understatement. He had heard of Sanji Blue from the mutual friends that they held in common, and there had been more than a few (Luffy the most energetic) who had long since been urging him to step up and attempt to make some chemistry. He had refused, not because he had been unwilling (Sanji Blue had most often been described as undeniably handsome, pretty hot, good-looking devil, and fucking sexy.) but because he had felt it would be a little odd to date his brother's housemate and because he secretly felt like the arrangement had the sniffings of some sort of urban arranged marriage. Just because they were both into men and knew each other—he liked to reason—did not mandate a forming of a relationship.
Plus, he hardly knew the guy asides from the fact that he knew that Sanji Blue had—supposedly—thigh muscles which could crush his head.
Nevertheless he had come to Luffy's house both politely and with an open mind. And when he immediately recognized the blond man, his tight boot cut jeans all but declaring the length of his manhood (which was pretty formidable indeed if Ace's eye was right, judging from the lax bulge underneath the rough cloth and Ace's eye was often right), his tasteful black vest and yellow-striped dress shirt which shaped his form nicely, the cool nonchalance with which Sanji Blue had greeted him, the strong grip, the dark blond hair, the way he had unbuttoned his vest and dress shirt as he lay lolling on the sofa playing and gambling at Hearts with three others had captivated him.
The best he could do was make his way over when Sanji's cigarette had faded and light it up for him, hoping that his hands didn't tremble when Sanji leaned his head back so that the tip was just there and Ace, looking over and down, saw his outstretched neck before him, perfect and ready for the burning brand of someone's lips.
He retreated into the tumble of women who adored him, laughing, watching the cigarette closely so that he could approach with no excuse and lean forward again.
Never had he felt such irresistible attraction. It was heightened with every word he exchanged with the other man. It was clear from the onset that Sanji Blue was the star of the socialite events. He neither needed to be loud nor rambunctious to grip the jugular of the life and drink directly from its flowing fountain. A simple shrug, a clever phrase, a sly and bantering look was all it took to establish the intensity of his nature.
"Hit me," Sanji said, lips moving expertly with the cigarette between them, his vest open and his sleeves rolled up so that Ace could see the muscles flexing subtlety whenever Sanji picked up his mug or shifted his card around.
Drake passed him three cards, smiling, "You won't like it."
Sanji took them and glanced down at the cards, his face gave away nothing and he only tugged his tie loose with one crooked finger.
Duval (Who slightly resembled Sanji) tossed down the first card—the two of clubs and the game began. Ace, nearing, perched behind Sanji's piece of sofa, glancing in curiosity at the game.
Sanji glanced up at him, his eyes questioning politely, "Do you want to play next game?"
He nodded, not looking at him, "Yeah, though I'm not that good. Hearts, yeah?"
"Then don't bet that much," a man whom Ace vaguely remembered from somewhere (who went by the odd name of Croc and not because he wore those ugly, plastic, foamboard shoes) grunted, "But then that makes the whole game pointless."
"What—" he leaned forward to take a closer look at the bills on the table, "Oh, you guys are playing for keeps, eh?" He grinned, eyes flicking from the rolls of fifties and hundreds to the player's faces. "You guys that desperate for money?"
Sanji snorted, "Oh, please. It's not that kind of shit."
He glanced down at the blond head, "Then what—?"
Croc grinned at him, his slicked back hair gleaming oily, "It's just fun to yank Satan's balls once in a while."
"Hmmm…I'm in next game," he said, after a pause, "Maybe I'll win some rent money. I have an angel's luck."
Sanji immediately raised the hand not holding his cards, "I'm not going to accept anything from you. I hope you know that."
Those are some pretty bad cards my lovely blond. I don't know much about Hearts but I do know that you could pull better cards out of my asshole. How much dough do you have rolling on the table?
Drake tossed a card down and Sanji immediately followed, flipping the piece of laminated paper down with no outward show of hesitation.
"Your cigarette good?" he asked, leaning forward.
"Its fine—you don't have to keep on lighting it up. Don't inconvenience yourself at my expense," Sanji said, not turning.
Ace smiled, "I don't consider it an inconvenience…at all."
Duval smiled winningly and tried to wink at Sanji (he failed miserably), "Such a lucky man! You have your own personal servant!"
"Hmm."
The game rolled on. There was a steady stream of loose talk which varied from topic to topic. And the liquor flowed like water. And to Ace's surprise, Sanji handled his cards like a magician—always managing to drop a high card where it was needed and rapidly shedding himself of all the shit cards Ace had thought Sanji was stuck with.
"Shit," Drake muttered as he picked up the first heart of the game, courtesy of the Croc.
A few minutes later, Croc stuck it to the ex-marine yet again and forced a full hand of hearts on him, Drake cursed and took them up.
"That's what you damn well deserve for serving me that Spade-Bitch last time Drake," Croc said, a slow, arrogant smile stretching his thin lips.
"Hmmm…let's see how you like it from me Captain Hook," Sanji said smoothly, dropping the same bitch on Croc.
"Nice, Sanji," Drake smirked tightly.
Laughter and applause (except from Croc who snatched the Bitch up and snapped the thick cigar in his mouth in repressed anger) and a few seconds later, Sanji swept the shitload of money off the table and into his lap.
He, too was clapping, grinning, pleased with the sudden trump, when Sanji glanced up at him, "You still want to play?"
He was already jumping on the sofa beside Sanji, scrambling over the top to claim his place, "Hell yeah."
"All right, let me move—"
"Wait, what—where you going?" He asked, surprised, as Sanji gathered up the floating money and deposited it in a nearby vase.
The blond only looked at him, hand on his hip, the other on his cigarette, "Only four can play. I won so I'll let these guys try to win back their grocery money." And he was gone—beelining to Nami who was sitting with her friend Conis, trilling her name.
What? No, this wasn't what—
"Ready Ace?" Duval asked, twirling a strand of pale yellow hair around his finger.
"Yeah," he said, resigned.
~0~
It was Operation Avoid Ace D. Portgas. He had even taken to covering the tip of his cigarette and snuggling in with Nami so that he was never open to attack. If Ace approached, he'd be deep in the throes of an intimate conversation. It wasn't anything abnormal—it was just a technique he was using so as not to make himself a greater fool. He almost got away with it too.
It wasn't until somewhere around one clock in the fucking morning that his resolve started to weaken a bit. The party hadn't slackened a bit. That was around the time the girls (minus Nami who gave him a significant look and started texting whom Sanji presumed to be the shy blond banker) had finally conceived a sexual monopoly and had coaxed Ace into their heated circle and had begun to smother him with coconut oil (probably taken from his own kitchen), rubbing the viscous liquid all over his tanned body as the freckled man laughed at the tickling sensations.
It was around the time that Robin started inching down his board shorts when he felt himself go self-conscious, cough, and look away. No one else seemed to be paying attention to the small scale orgy going on next to the shelf filled with the volumes of the Encyclopedia Britannica. Luffy, Chopper, Usopp, and a few others were groggily playing some sort of game which seemed to involve Lunchables, Smirnoff Vodka, a few pillows, a bean bag, and Chopper's body. Franky and Brooke and a few other musical ones had moved on to the piano and the guitar the engineer kept in a case next to the door and were busy serenading the party with a classical version of Motley Crue's Saints of Los Angeles. Others were drinking at the bar, others still grinding against each other, others passed out. The unlucky ones had had their faces drawn on with black Sharpie marker—courtesy of Luffy.
"Something wrong Sanji?" Nami asked, perfectly arched eyebrow raised in question as she toyed with the expensive diamond necklace on her neck.
That's when he realized that that he had been saying something and the words had died in his mouth as he watched the girls coyly tug on Ace's waistband while a few others played with his unruly, black hair.
"I said—" he tore his eyes away and focused on Nami's face, "I forget—I think I'm going to call it a night. I have to get up early tomorrow. I shouldn't even have agreed to this idea…but ah, well."
"I do too," she said, shrugging one bare shoulder, "Paulie is expecting me early to help and I don't want to let him down. Hopefully most of these people will be out of your house by the time you return from the Baratie."
"If not, I'll kick them out," he grunted, hiding a smile and getting up, wobbling only slightly (He could hold his liquor astonishingly well). "Good night Nami, dear. Have a safe trip home—your ride?"
"I'll call a Taxi," she agreed and got up too.
His warm lips pressed firmly on the cool skin of her hand, letting himself linger.
"Good night Sanji; I'll see you tomorrow."
~0~
Shit.
His favorite word. His favorite word because it expressed so much in just one nasty hiss. You could be in shit. You could be hit with shit. You could fall in some deep shit. Someone could put you through shit. You could smoke some shit. Have some good shit. Someone could be full of shit. You could do shit. You could be the shit. Shit happened. It was the sacred Om of his personality. Just saying it relaxed his muscles and lightened his eyeballs.
Quickly, as he trudged down the hallway, head down and hand massaging his temples, he inventoried the mess in his head.
Fact: I need to get myself under some kind of control. That man is going to be living under my roof for the next who knows how many months. I can't be sporting a hardon every time he looks my way.
Fact: The guy is the God of Hot.
Fact: The guy is also the God of Awesome and the God of Fucking Badass.
Fact: I am sexually attracted.
Fact: It's not going to go anywhere and neither is going to be voiced to anyone.
Fact: I will go to sleep and I will wake up and I will be in control of my emotions and hormones.
I hope.
He actually managed to make it to his room on the third floor. The music faded, welcomingly, with each foot he put forward and by the time he was on his floor, it was only a distant, comfortable reverberation.
His bedroom door was closed and he frowned, (Luffy was in the habit of closing his door for some strange reason though he had told the idiot that it was to the advantage of Feng Shui that you keep the damn doors open to let the fucking chi flow, do you understand me you great buffoon?), a wrinkle crossing his brow for just a second as his hand closed around the cool doorknob and twisted it open.
The pitch black interior sent out welcome, seductive fingers to him (though he usually left a window open all the time that cast some faint moonlight into his room) and he yawned widely, hands already sleepily unbuckling his belt and kicking the door softly shut behind him with his sock-clad foot and reducing the light to a faint yellow slit under the door.
I'm not usually like this. It's…just the heat of the moment.
His hands—so talented and possessed of so much finesse in the kitchen—maneuvered his buttons open and pushed his jeans down. Hands that had ached the live-long night to join the delicate (or not so delicate as in the case of Ms. Monday) hands of the girls and run enthusiastic hands over that body which even the sun had loved and placed worshipping lips on it to kiss his skin a dark peach.
But his hands would be different. A cook's hands were always different. Whereas another's would roam and pet, pamper and please. His were direct and honestly brutal. He would grip and stroke where it was best; would, with the tips of his fingers, draw out each sensuous secret from Ace's hard, scarred body and make the damn pores open up moan his name.
It's always like this. I see some cute or hot guy, imagine something hot, get bitter for a second because there's nothing I can fucking do, and then forget about it the next day. The only difference being that here, I can't forget about the next day because I'll see his face the next day.
His jeans slid off and landed on the floor in a noiseless pile and he balanced for a second to peel off his socks. His hands paused on the small, metal buttons of his dress shirt and he grinned as he gently folded the expensive material and tossed it on the big, mahogany chest at the foot of his king sized bed (which was a water bed since he was a romantic, daring soul who couldn't seem to separate himself from the ocean life of his youth).
Well, at least he'll be covered up tomorrow.
He chuckled in the empty dark. It was going to be okay. He'd been used to it for a while now. Not everyone he saw and wanted was available and that was perfectly natural, it was okay even. It was a bitch—especially when that someone had beautiful green eyes and abs which seemed like they could live on their own—but he had put up with it for a while and tonight was nothing new. Choices were limited—but that didn't mean he had to sulk and moan about it, eh? He was Sanji Blue—never an empty bed when he wanted it full, never alone at the bar, never without a dazzling D-cup lady hanging on his arm and every word when he wanted a woman; never without a panting, broad, muscular back stretching out before him, jeans puddled around his calves, his hips moving slow and exploratory and a cigarette in his mouth when he wanted something more firmer, more rebellious, more dangerous.
Why the hell am I even complaining about one guy?
The lazy question spun out in his mind and he smiled again, ego and vanity restored as he pulled back the top of the quilt and he let himself sink into the comforting—
"Oh-fuck!" He didn't scream it; it was more of a startled snatch of sound which had been lurking in his chest and had half-heartedly jumped out. His hand scrambled at the night stand's little lamp and finally, light threw the room into some sort of hazy light. Heart racing.
The sleepy, wide eyes of the man in his bed opened blearily and stared at him. "Yeah…Sanji?"
At first, there was absolutely no recognition in his head. Absolutely none except a feeling of how the hell does he know my name? coinciding with Burglar!
But then—the strong curve of the jaw, the full lips, the sharp, hawkish eyes even in their sleepiness. Eyes he had just barely glimpsed underneatha dark beanie. The connection clicked and he let out a breath of pent up steam and adrenaline. Barely realizing that he had completely forgotten about this man.
"Shit—Zoro. What-what the hell you doing here man, this is my room—you're, uh, fuck, sleeping in my bed," he scratched at the back of his head, feeling a bit embarrassed. Not sure how Ms. Manners would advise such a situation.
The man called Zoro let out a sharp hiss and scrambled out of the bed, "Oh, Christ. Sorry man, I was wondering why the guest room had a water bed and a balcony—Sorry, I really am—Damn Ace, he told me second room on the right after taking a left and a right on—"
Sanji waved away the apologies, shaking his head, just feeling relieved that it hadn't been a strange form of killer who slept in the victim's bed before murdering them. And seeing that the other man apparently liked sleeping exactly how he had slipped from his mother, he politely turned his back as Zoro scrambled for the clothes he had apparently dropped on the floor before crawling into the wrong bed.
"No, it's fine," he said, facing the wall and cracking his neck to relieve some of that tension which seemed determined to keep his neck in a stage of rigor mortis, "I just freaked out because I had no fucking idea—and then I didn't even recognize you—your beanie—"
"Yeah, I'm good now, you can—"
Sanji turned around and continued, noting with amusement that Zoro had just slipped on his pants backwards in confusion, "Damn, scared ten years off my life—no, don't apologize," he held up a hand and laughed more freely, "It's funny when you think of it."
The guy looked relieved, and some amusement was coming back into his swarthy face, a little grin etched itself around his lips, "Maybe I should listen to Portgas more and stop wearing my beanie so people recognize me when they see me without it."
Sanji nodded, and all but let his knees unhinge and sat down hard on the bed, hands already reaching for the Camels in the night stand and his lighter. The flame took a while to make its acquaintance with the butt's end and not until Sanji felt the velvet smoke kiss his bronchioles did he finally relax his jittering muscles and look at Zoro.
The guy was just wearing his dark black pants, slung low and loose on his clearly defined hip bones; the muscles matched his friends perfectly, except this particular set of musculature was browner, more scarred, rougher. Zoro was not as cute as his friend, but was undeniably the sort of rough-and-tumble handsome with the five o' clock shadow which Sanji liked. The only oddity was his light green hair which should have been fucking weird but surprisingly wasn't.
"Yeah…" Zoro smirked and slid his fingertips through the hairs at the nape of his neck "That's why I wear a beanie…" It seemed that after the initial shock had faded, the guy's natural audacity and pampered egoism was returning full blast.
He jerked his eyes down to the man's face, "Sorry—I wasn't—it's just—"
"Fucking wierdass, I know, don't have to tell me. I'm planning on dying it black—"
"No, don't—it looks good on you. It's nice." As soon as the words had left his mouth did he realize his fuck up.
Shit.
Pause. Zoro glanced at him, hand still rubbing at the base of his neck, "…thanks," he drawled softly, and Sanji heard the grin in his words.
Shit. Does he know—somehow?
He retreated into his cigarette, leaning his head back against the large, curved backboard and blowing out smoke rings to ease the humiliation. How many times had he fucked up today? How many times had he been jerked out of his calming, serene, elegance?
I don't care. I'm not going to see this dude after tomorrow so why should I care? Ace—he'll leave eventually. It's just all this shit happening at the same time, it's enough to drive anyone insane.
Zoro's voice broke into his thoughts, "Man…I'm not going to sleep after this."
"Welcome to the club," he muttered back, "It's going to be another hour or so until this adrenaline dumps itself out of my system." The slosh of the water bed moving as Zoro sat back down, back to him, surprised him. He opened his eyes lazily and glanced over at the broad back. He had just enough time to notice something odd about it before Zoro spoke up, not turning as he said—
"Hey—Sanji," the guy grunted, not looking at him, "I want to get to my parent's early so I was planning to leave at 2 or 3 AM but might as well go now since I'm up, it's nearly 2." Sanji took another glance at him as the other man shifted and bent down to fit on socks and shoes.
"All right dude, do what you got to do," he said, shrugging and since he couldn't help it (and probably because he didn't want to help it), he eyes meandered down the gently curving spinal cord and down to where the dark pants had slipped a little in the back. He smirked, enjoying the view, his heart had settled back down so he could safely return to its perverted machinations.
"Thanks for the bed at least, I got some good shut eye," Zoro got up and reached for his shirt, slipping it on and reaching for his lanyard on the night stand, "Thanks for putting up with Portgas too. He's a good guy."
"Yeah, it's Luffy's idea anyway," Sanji said, shrugging not looking at him.
"I'm not coming back this way for who knows how many years so this is probably the last time I see you," Zoro glanced at the clock and then back at him, before smiling, "So it was nice meeting you. And take care of Ace, will you?"
"Sure," he answered, slightly disturbed at the phrasing. (It was as if Zoro knew absolutely everything that had passed through his head in the evening and was poking fun of it.) The other man nodded and walked towards the door, he had his hand on the doorknob and was already opening it when he turned back again.
Sanji, who had just been ready to crawl deeper into the bed, looked up, "Yeah?"
Zoro looked at him for a second and then grinned in that brazen way which Sanji was already coming to associate with the man, and said, "Ace is a lucky bastard. If I'd been the first one—" he broke off and shook his head in amusement, and then repeated, "Ace is a lucky bastard, you can quote me." And then he was gone. The sound of his shoes muffled on the carpets
"What the hell?" he asked to now truly empty room. But then he forgot about it as his mind finally realized the odd thing about Zoro's back—even though his chest and stomach had been covered in scars, bruises, and what looked like cigarette burns; his back had been absolutely pristine. But then he forgot about that and finally fell asleep
~0~
And I hope you enjoyed the read as much as I enjoyed writing it. And now, that read just cost you one review and ninety-nine cents. I accept Visa, MasterCard, and check. Thank you, come again.
[1] I know it's a little old-fashioned, but I can just picture Sanji playing hearts, gambling, smoking, and kicking some serious ass. I do it all the time. For those who are not heart-addicts, getting the Queen of Spades served to you is almost tantamount to losing the game.