Whoever made Sanji the fucking patron saint of sinking assholes really had an ass kicking coming to them. Not that he'd ever wish a moment of discomfort for the ladies but he couldn't help but notice he hadn't once had to pull them close to his body and kick to the surface.
Ah those curves pressed against him would be so nice, and not the bones jabbing into his side. He was pulling a skeleton from the water this time; a normal crew would be throwing skeletons overboard not diving in after them.
It was actually the first time for Brook to need patron saint Sanjis services, the cook realized as the wet suited skeleton was placed back on the deck of the Sunny. Was Brook breathing? Did the guy even breathe if he didn't lungs?
He put his ear above the musicians mouth, listening intently for a sign.
A perfectly focused stream of warm breath blew into his ear slowly as if this was just another instrument Brook could play with all his mastery. It was suggestive, encouraging, and thankful all at once and yet could just be a simple exhale too.
Sanji noticed his face was red and he was breathing a little harder…it had been that way from pulling the shitty man from the water right?
Brook just smiled underneath the cook, waiting. One benefit of being a professional was confidence in ones skill.