Taste
The cool morning air brushed damply against Sanji's skin as he laid out the final ingredients needed for the impending breakfast he was preparing for the crew. The sky, visible through the open window of the kitchen, was barely brushed by the reaching rays of the approaching sun; the waves below still dyed black from midnight.
At this time of the day, the deck of the Going Merry was unusually still and silent, as most of his companions slept a while longer allowing Sanji this time of solitude. But, as always, he was not entirely alone in the pre-dawn hours of the day. He knew that he had only to turn his head to the small window beside him to see the shadowed form of Zoro already well- into his morning training; the heavy weights lifted above his head, his teeth gritted in concentration, the muscles in his corded back and arms stretched taunt in exertion, the fine sheen of sweat coating his body would just about be catching the first golden hues of the lightening sky –
Soooooo much breakfast to prepare. Yep. Breakfast. Better get started.
Sanji sighed, and began cutting the first mix of vegetables with a little more force than was strictly necessary. He resolutely did NOT turn his head towards the said window, but the stern resistance hardly did him any good, since he could picture the scene so clearly in his mind. It had been like this ever since they had returned from what was now referred to 'Spider Island' (although, Usopp had opted to call it 'Giant-Gross-Horrible- Fanged-Spiders-that-Would-Eat-Your-Face-Off Island', but the rest of the crew preferred the more condensed title).
Neither had spoken about what had happened back on that island. They had returned and fell into old routines, both doing their damnest not to be the first to talk about this, well, this thing between them (Sanji couldn't even think the words in his own head, and Jeez, how pathetic was that?). Outwardly, they acted as though nothing was out of the ordinary, each pretending that the new connection they had forged silently on that grassy shore didn't embarrass the shit of each of them. And if they avoided each other a little more these days and talked a little less, well, they were never known as 'hanging buddies' even before this whole mess started, so the cook assumed the rest of the crew hadn't really noticed anything amiss.
But inwardly, the tension was constantly leading Sanji's thoughts. Even with increased avoidance, his awareness of the other man was heightened to an uncomfortable level. He wondered sometimes if the way he was feeling was the way attraction worked between men. Because although women had always affected him greatly, it was vastly different from the way he now felt around the swordsman. A beautiful woman enhanced the world around her, making even the dullest setting seem special while she was there, and made all the world look brighter through Sanji's admiring eyes. But, this was different; the whole world didn't brighten, but instead, seemed to fade and drop away until the only thing that seemed to exist, at least to Sanji, was the hard form of Zoro.
It was like an unspoken dare each morning, when the two of them, for all intents and purposes, were alone on the ship. A silent challenge issued to both of them to see who would break the silence first and approach the other. But it hadn't happened yet in the weeks since their return, and the thought of confronting the swordsman about the intimacies shared on the island sent flutters deep within Sanji's slender chest.
And that was ridiculous! He was not some blushing 12-yer-old girl mooning over her first crush! He was a MAN, for Christ's sake, trained in combat by that Shitty Ol—by the legendary and feared pirate Redfoot, and he was not going to hide from this one day longer. Even now, he could just picture Zef's face if he knew how Sanji was behaving 'Men don't let things flutter! Get out there and face what needs to be faced before I kick that pathetic head off of your girly shoulders' and his shoulders were NOT girly, thank-you-very-much, they were lean and mean, just like the rest of him, unlike other green haired idiots that he could mention, that needed to bulk themselves up to compensate for, well, you know. Not that he did know, since they hadn't gotten that far yet and –wait! What was this 'yet' thing? There was no 'yet' in this equation! The thought of 'yet' was NOT making him turn beat red and sweat, and this 'yet' thing was where he calls it quits, he wants off of this boat with its flutters and muscles and 'yets' (not the actual boat, mind you, he still needed that to make it to All Blue, but the figurative boat of Zoro, that he had ridden quite long enough --- ...)
.........
ENOUGH! Enough, enough, ENOUGH!!!!
He threw the knife down onto counter with final determination, and quickly turned on his heel to go out there and finally face this whole ridiculous situation before it got any more ridiculous (if that was even possible at this point) and it was amazing the kind of sound that two heads can make when slammed together at close range. He stumbled until his back hit the side of the counter, cursing, holding his aching head.
Looking up, he saw Zoro mirroring his actions, with a pissed and pained expression on his face and multiple curses on his lips. The two men sat there glaring at each other, until Sanji spat out,
"What the hell is wrong with you, you idiot! Sneaking up on people is a great way to get that ugly face of yours kicked in!"
"I wasn't sneaking up on anything, you baka cook! I've been here for like five minutes calling your name, but you've just been standing there hacking up vegetables and muttering to yourself like a lunatic. I went over to tap your shoulder when you slammed into me!"
More silence and more glares. As some degree of sanity slowly started to return, and Sanji started to remember what had him all worked up in the first place, the cook started to feel uncomfortable again in the swordsman's presence, and that lead to anger, because it was far easier to be pissed than uncertain.
He dropped his eyes from the other man's, crossing his arms defensively across his chest. Zoro was sweaty and shirtless from his workout, which was to be expected. Sanji forced his eyes from the impressive scar across the tan chest where they had naturally drifted towards (trying not to remembering how the rough flesh felt against the surface of his cheek) and settled on the recently wounded shoulder. There were still black stitches embedded within the flesh, and the skin around the injury was tinged red due to the strain placed on it during the early morning training.
"You're going to pull your stitches open if you don't take it easy like Nami instructed. Idiot."
The remark was made just to fill the stifling silence, not out of any real concern. Not really.
"Humph. I can handle it. I have complete mastery over my body. It behaves the way I want it to."
Sanji was almost able to stop from rolling his eyes at the boisterous remark. He had the sudden urge to walk up to the other man and jab his finger hard into the wound to see this 'mastery' in action.
There was a pause.
"How's the leg?"
"Its fine. Nami-san took very good care of me." He drawled with a smile.
Zoro's face grew stormy, and he looked to the side. Then, a wicked smirk twisted the corners of his mouth, and he said,
"That's good to hear. I don't blame her for taking extra care with you, with you looking so delicate and all. I mean, I doubt even Nami-san would want to see a grown man cry."
There was an even longer pause where Sanji felt his face go from flushed to drained and back again no less then half a dozen times. Nothing existed to the blonde but anger and its target, the world dimming around him.
He approached the other man slowly, who looked at him warily, overly aware suddenly that he had entered the kitchens without his swords. Sanji entered and pushed past the other man's personal space, and noted with distant satisfaction the almost imperceptible unconscious step back Zoro made. They were practically nose-to-nose, sharing mingled hot breath in the short space that still separated the two men. Eyes locked stubbornly on one another, bonded like the earth and the sky, each waiting to see who would break the contact first. Without a word, without a warning, Sanji lifted his right hand, index finger extended, and dug it hard into patched shoulder.
Zoro was unable to hold back the cry of pain mingled with surprise, and Sanji smiled at the sound, delighted at the sound, and wanted nothing more at that moment to hear it again. He raised his hand again, but this time his wrist was caught in an angry grip, but the cook refused to relent and he threw himself hard onto the other man, determined to extract the rest of his revenge. But Zoro, with all of those ridiculous muscles, matched him with force, and they wound up stumbling around the kitchen in their struggle, until the swordsman used his greater bulk to twist Sanji around, slamming the blonde hard against the wooden wall.
They stood like that, each seething in his own rage, panting with exertion of the struggle, with Zoro holding each of the cook's wrists against the wall in a bruising grip while the rest of his body pressed into Sanji's in an attempt to prevent the blonde from kicking out. The chef strained against the confining body, but knowing that it was a lost cause, since the other man had him beat quite easily when it came to brute strength.
He needed to get away, leave the kitchen, get away from this brain-dead tormentor that just wouldn't seem to ever leave him alone. It wasn't suppose to be like this, his life was not suppose to take on even more complications; he was suppose to find All Blue, and be famous, and be ready for Nami when she finally stopped pretending that she didn't want him, and show that old man back there that it was possible for him to go out and find both of their dreams...
He looked up into Zoro's eyes and it hurt, twisted deep within his gut, to see the complex pool of emotions reflected back at him through those dark eyes, and he broke, couldn't take the contact, and dropped his eyes down to the taller man's throat that was still so close to him. This close, this strained, he could seen a single drop of perspiration snake down the fine cords of the other man's neck. Without thinking, without understanding intention, he leaned close and took the small droplet onto the tip of his tongue.
This was something that he could take in and understand; not the soft gasp of surprise above him, not the shared shudder that ran through both of their bodies. He was a cook, had been ever since he could remember, and he had been trained to understand the complexity of things through their taste.
Flavor of the man exploded on his tongue, and quickly passed onto other regions of his body. There were so many different layers to the salty taste of Zoro's sweat, reflective of the man himself that Sanji struggled to take in barrage of sensation that the single drop of wetness provided. He could only concentrate on that one sense, not noticing that the grip on his wrists had slacked and was no longer painful, not noticing the racing heart hammering from one chest to another, not acknowledging that he was hard, they were both hard, and that things were looking to get a lot more complicated from this point on.
And he was hungry, that sampling of flavor made him feel starved, and he felt that if he didn't lift his head to get more of that taste that he would die from wanting. He lifted his head to seek more, and it was granted swiftly as the other man's head dipped down and an equally starved mouth pressed against his, lips firm against lips, until they parted, gave way, and Sanji's tongue pushed eagerly, instinctively, into the warm cavern.
If he thought he was in danger of death from wanting, now he was in danger from exposure, as he felt mercilessly overwhelmed by the amount of flavor in which he found himself drowning. Nothing had ever tasted like this before, and he doubted that anything would ever taste this exquisite, this perfect, this endless. Not even the legendary taste of elephant tuna would even come close to the way that this man tasted, could never make Sanji feel so satisfied and so starved.
They broke apart for the utterly annoying need for air. They rested, forehead to forehead, each drawing in deep gulps of air. Neither one was ready to stop just yet, and when they felt they were ready, their mouths began to draw together.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
"Breakfast breakfast breakfast!!! Its time for breakfast !! I'm sooooooooooo hungry! I haven't eaten all night – Why can't I smell anything!?! SANJI!"
Luffy's distant but approaching voice intruded and jerked them apart. They both stared at each other in wide-eyed shock, neither seeming to have the facilities left to react.
"Sanji-kun! Where is the special breakfast that you promised me this morning?"
At the sound of Nami's approaching singsong voice, Zoro stepped back from him with a stumble, and Sanji had just enough dignity to stop himself from sliding to the floor at the lost contact. Without a word or a final look back, the swordsman turned and left the now daylight filled kitchen.
In a daze, Sanji pulled himself from the wall, and made his way back to the abandoned ingredients left on the counter. With a final swipe of his tongue against his swollen lower lip, catching the cooling flavor, he tried to compose himself before he was greeted with the rest of the crew.
To be continued...
The cool morning air brushed damply against Sanji's skin as he laid out the final ingredients needed for the impending breakfast he was preparing for the crew. The sky, visible through the open window of the kitchen, was barely brushed by the reaching rays of the approaching sun; the waves below still dyed black from midnight.
At this time of the day, the deck of the Going Merry was unusually still and silent, as most of his companions slept a while longer allowing Sanji this time of solitude. But, as always, he was not entirely alone in the pre-dawn hours of the day. He knew that he had only to turn his head to the small window beside him to see the shadowed form of Zoro already well- into his morning training; the heavy weights lifted above his head, his teeth gritted in concentration, the muscles in his corded back and arms stretched taunt in exertion, the fine sheen of sweat coating his body would just about be catching the first golden hues of the lightening sky –
Soooooo much breakfast to prepare. Yep. Breakfast. Better get started.
Sanji sighed, and began cutting the first mix of vegetables with a little more force than was strictly necessary. He resolutely did NOT turn his head towards the said window, but the stern resistance hardly did him any good, since he could picture the scene so clearly in his mind. It had been like this ever since they had returned from what was now referred to 'Spider Island' (although, Usopp had opted to call it 'Giant-Gross-Horrible- Fanged-Spiders-that-Would-Eat-Your-Face-Off Island', but the rest of the crew preferred the more condensed title).
Neither had spoken about what had happened back on that island. They had returned and fell into old routines, both doing their damnest not to be the first to talk about this, well, this thing between them (Sanji couldn't even think the words in his own head, and Jeez, how pathetic was that?). Outwardly, they acted as though nothing was out of the ordinary, each pretending that the new connection they had forged silently on that grassy shore didn't embarrass the shit of each of them. And if they avoided each other a little more these days and talked a little less, well, they were never known as 'hanging buddies' even before this whole mess started, so the cook assumed the rest of the crew hadn't really noticed anything amiss.
But inwardly, the tension was constantly leading Sanji's thoughts. Even with increased avoidance, his awareness of the other man was heightened to an uncomfortable level. He wondered sometimes if the way he was feeling was the way attraction worked between men. Because although women had always affected him greatly, it was vastly different from the way he now felt around the swordsman. A beautiful woman enhanced the world around her, making even the dullest setting seem special while she was there, and made all the world look brighter through Sanji's admiring eyes. But, this was different; the whole world didn't brighten, but instead, seemed to fade and drop away until the only thing that seemed to exist, at least to Sanji, was the hard form of Zoro.
It was like an unspoken dare each morning, when the two of them, for all intents and purposes, were alone on the ship. A silent challenge issued to both of them to see who would break the silence first and approach the other. But it hadn't happened yet in the weeks since their return, and the thought of confronting the swordsman about the intimacies shared on the island sent flutters deep within Sanji's slender chest.
And that was ridiculous! He was not some blushing 12-yer-old girl mooning over her first crush! He was a MAN, for Christ's sake, trained in combat by that Shitty Ol—by the legendary and feared pirate Redfoot, and he was not going to hide from this one day longer. Even now, he could just picture Zef's face if he knew how Sanji was behaving 'Men don't let things flutter! Get out there and face what needs to be faced before I kick that pathetic head off of your girly shoulders' and his shoulders were NOT girly, thank-you-very-much, they were lean and mean, just like the rest of him, unlike other green haired idiots that he could mention, that needed to bulk themselves up to compensate for, well, you know. Not that he did know, since they hadn't gotten that far yet and –wait! What was this 'yet' thing? There was no 'yet' in this equation! The thought of 'yet' was NOT making him turn beat red and sweat, and this 'yet' thing was where he calls it quits, he wants off of this boat with its flutters and muscles and 'yets' (not the actual boat, mind you, he still needed that to make it to All Blue, but the figurative boat of Zoro, that he had ridden quite long enough --- ...)
.........
ENOUGH! Enough, enough, ENOUGH!!!!
He threw the knife down onto counter with final determination, and quickly turned on his heel to go out there and finally face this whole ridiculous situation before it got any more ridiculous (if that was even possible at this point) and it was amazing the kind of sound that two heads can make when slammed together at close range. He stumbled until his back hit the side of the counter, cursing, holding his aching head.
Looking up, he saw Zoro mirroring his actions, with a pissed and pained expression on his face and multiple curses on his lips. The two men sat there glaring at each other, until Sanji spat out,
"What the hell is wrong with you, you idiot! Sneaking up on people is a great way to get that ugly face of yours kicked in!"
"I wasn't sneaking up on anything, you baka cook! I've been here for like five minutes calling your name, but you've just been standing there hacking up vegetables and muttering to yourself like a lunatic. I went over to tap your shoulder when you slammed into me!"
More silence and more glares. As some degree of sanity slowly started to return, and Sanji started to remember what had him all worked up in the first place, the cook started to feel uncomfortable again in the swordsman's presence, and that lead to anger, because it was far easier to be pissed than uncertain.
He dropped his eyes from the other man's, crossing his arms defensively across his chest. Zoro was sweaty and shirtless from his workout, which was to be expected. Sanji forced his eyes from the impressive scar across the tan chest where they had naturally drifted towards (trying not to remembering how the rough flesh felt against the surface of his cheek) and settled on the recently wounded shoulder. There were still black stitches embedded within the flesh, and the skin around the injury was tinged red due to the strain placed on it during the early morning training.
"You're going to pull your stitches open if you don't take it easy like Nami instructed. Idiot."
The remark was made just to fill the stifling silence, not out of any real concern. Not really.
"Humph. I can handle it. I have complete mastery over my body. It behaves the way I want it to."
Sanji was almost able to stop from rolling his eyes at the boisterous remark. He had the sudden urge to walk up to the other man and jab his finger hard into the wound to see this 'mastery' in action.
There was a pause.
"How's the leg?"
"Its fine. Nami-san took very good care of me." He drawled with a smile.
Zoro's face grew stormy, and he looked to the side. Then, a wicked smirk twisted the corners of his mouth, and he said,
"That's good to hear. I don't blame her for taking extra care with you, with you looking so delicate and all. I mean, I doubt even Nami-san would want to see a grown man cry."
There was an even longer pause where Sanji felt his face go from flushed to drained and back again no less then half a dozen times. Nothing existed to the blonde but anger and its target, the world dimming around him.
He approached the other man slowly, who looked at him warily, overly aware suddenly that he had entered the kitchens without his swords. Sanji entered and pushed past the other man's personal space, and noted with distant satisfaction the almost imperceptible unconscious step back Zoro made. They were practically nose-to-nose, sharing mingled hot breath in the short space that still separated the two men. Eyes locked stubbornly on one another, bonded like the earth and the sky, each waiting to see who would break the contact first. Without a word, without a warning, Sanji lifted his right hand, index finger extended, and dug it hard into patched shoulder.
Zoro was unable to hold back the cry of pain mingled with surprise, and Sanji smiled at the sound, delighted at the sound, and wanted nothing more at that moment to hear it again. He raised his hand again, but this time his wrist was caught in an angry grip, but the cook refused to relent and he threw himself hard onto the other man, determined to extract the rest of his revenge. But Zoro, with all of those ridiculous muscles, matched him with force, and they wound up stumbling around the kitchen in their struggle, until the swordsman used his greater bulk to twist Sanji around, slamming the blonde hard against the wooden wall.
They stood like that, each seething in his own rage, panting with exertion of the struggle, with Zoro holding each of the cook's wrists against the wall in a bruising grip while the rest of his body pressed into Sanji's in an attempt to prevent the blonde from kicking out. The chef strained against the confining body, but knowing that it was a lost cause, since the other man had him beat quite easily when it came to brute strength.
He needed to get away, leave the kitchen, get away from this brain-dead tormentor that just wouldn't seem to ever leave him alone. It wasn't suppose to be like this, his life was not suppose to take on even more complications; he was suppose to find All Blue, and be famous, and be ready for Nami when she finally stopped pretending that she didn't want him, and show that old man back there that it was possible for him to go out and find both of their dreams...
He looked up into Zoro's eyes and it hurt, twisted deep within his gut, to see the complex pool of emotions reflected back at him through those dark eyes, and he broke, couldn't take the contact, and dropped his eyes down to the taller man's throat that was still so close to him. This close, this strained, he could seen a single drop of perspiration snake down the fine cords of the other man's neck. Without thinking, without understanding intention, he leaned close and took the small droplet onto the tip of his tongue.
This was something that he could take in and understand; not the soft gasp of surprise above him, not the shared shudder that ran through both of their bodies. He was a cook, had been ever since he could remember, and he had been trained to understand the complexity of things through their taste.
Flavor of the man exploded on his tongue, and quickly passed onto other regions of his body. There were so many different layers to the salty taste of Zoro's sweat, reflective of the man himself that Sanji struggled to take in barrage of sensation that the single drop of wetness provided. He could only concentrate on that one sense, not noticing that the grip on his wrists had slacked and was no longer painful, not noticing the racing heart hammering from one chest to another, not acknowledging that he was hard, they were both hard, and that things were looking to get a lot more complicated from this point on.
And he was hungry, that sampling of flavor made him feel starved, and he felt that if he didn't lift his head to get more of that taste that he would die from wanting. He lifted his head to seek more, and it was granted swiftly as the other man's head dipped down and an equally starved mouth pressed against his, lips firm against lips, until they parted, gave way, and Sanji's tongue pushed eagerly, instinctively, into the warm cavern.
If he thought he was in danger of death from wanting, now he was in danger from exposure, as he felt mercilessly overwhelmed by the amount of flavor in which he found himself drowning. Nothing had ever tasted like this before, and he doubted that anything would ever taste this exquisite, this perfect, this endless. Not even the legendary taste of elephant tuna would even come close to the way that this man tasted, could never make Sanji feel so satisfied and so starved.
They broke apart for the utterly annoying need for air. They rested, forehead to forehead, each drawing in deep gulps of air. Neither one was ready to stop just yet, and when they felt they were ready, their mouths began to draw together.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
"Breakfast breakfast breakfast!!! Its time for breakfast !! I'm sooooooooooo hungry! I haven't eaten all night – Why can't I smell anything!?! SANJI!"
Luffy's distant but approaching voice intruded and jerked them apart. They both stared at each other in wide-eyed shock, neither seeming to have the facilities left to react.
"Sanji-kun! Where is the special breakfast that you promised me this morning?"
At the sound of Nami's approaching singsong voice, Zoro stepped back from him with a stumble, and Sanji had just enough dignity to stop himself from sliding to the floor at the lost contact. Without a word or a final look back, the swordsman turned and left the now daylight filled kitchen.
In a daze, Sanji pulled himself from the wall, and made his way back to the abandoned ingredients left on the counter. With a final swipe of his tongue against his swollen lower lip, catching the cooling flavor, he tried to compose himself before he was greeted with the rest of the crew.
To be continued...