Rating: PG-13

Warning: yaoi, language, adult concepts

Pairing: Zoro/Sanji

Timeline: Following the crew's reunion after the events of Saobody Archipelago


~*Ambience*~


Fading into a milky twilight, all the contrasting, yet complimentary colors mixed in a waltz of goodnight. Lavenders caressed tangerine that slowly encased fire in an ice-blue prison alongside cobalt and slowly approaching midnight.

The lullaby of the sea sloshed gently and rhythmically about the Adam's wood ship, slapping against the hull and splashing softly back to the dark recesses below.

The gentle sounds of the whale's mating calls in the distance mingling with the subtle whistling of the breeze against the vessel's railings drifted down to the silent figures relaxed against the outer wall of the galley, soaking in the ambience of another calm night on the Thousand Sunny.

Moments like these between the two pirates were rare – a silence between nakama that followed the stresses and fights of the day…the quiet moments between sunset and dark night where time and place didn't matter and all of the worries of their present situation in the New World were superfluous. Now, in this stillness, everything was peaceful and right – all negativity far from them and all differences pushed aside.

A mess of mossy-green hair relaxed heavily against a corded thigh wrapped in black polyester slacks, jade eyes hidden behind tired lids. A set of pale, lean fingers monotonously threaded themselves through the deceptively feather-soft strands, working into a calming rhythm that contradicted the fiercely nasty fight that had taken place between the two crewmates earlier that afternoon.

Neither could really understand what had started the fight, but both knew that they had been equally as harsh and unforgiving as the other.

So now both men were silent on the deck, baring their souls to the night sky and their troubles pushed out to the black sea. As those nimble fingers continued their soft path along the tan scalp below, he couldn't help but slide his own oceanic eyes shut in exhaustion.

A grateful sigh escaped the recipient of the ministrations; a strong, callused hand rose to stroke gently against the baby-soft skin of the slighter man's bare forearm – light green sleeves rolled to the elbow, jacket and striped tie long forgotten.

It was as close to an apology as either man would offer the other, and that was accepted. Because words were for the poets and the women…