Scent
His hand, raw and wet, pushed open the door to the cabin allowing the rain- battered cook to stumble into the dry safety within. He pulled the door closed with the last of his strength, feeling the resistance of the still raging winds, and he stumbled into the dimly -lit room, not stopping until his body was flush against a far wall. The rain was like little violent bullets beating with vengeful insistence against the surface of the ship; the rapid pounding matched the hidden pulse within his slender chest. The echo of the storm, although slower than it had been for the last few hours, was the only sound accompanying his ragged breathing.
Sanji had spent the last few hours on deck side by side the rest of the crew defending The Going Merry against the storm's hold over the angry sea. And it was madness, the few of them against the elements of sky and water; the same madness that lead them to the Grand Line, the same madness that through history had pulled man from the safety of the shores and into the temperamental clutch of the sea.
His body simmered with tension, stretched and burning with the relief of temporary survival. It was a rush pumping deep within his core, an energy trying to escape through the tight span of his pores. With an almost distant interest, he felt himself slide to the floor as the strength in his legs fled and weariness found its voice. But his heart still beat in synch with the tempo of the rain, and the howling wind that screamed through the wooden ship seemed to be reaching with greedy fingers down his throat trying to steal his breath.
He knew he had to move, that this reduction of nature's violence was merely its eye, and there was still much to get through before he could truly rest. But he found that he had no control over his body, and he could only lay his heavy rain-soaked head against the rough wood of the wall that he was slumped against.
The door across from him slammed open admitting a dripping Zoro. At first, the immobile cook remained unobserved, blending into the shadows of the dark room. His tired eyes were riveted on the swordsman, quietly observing the other whose movements seemed quicker than his normal gait. The rain was beginning to pick its pace back up beyond the walls, but Sanji still managed to detect the harsh and hurried breaths coming from the other man. He was looking around, still unaware that Sanji was with him, his movements tight and contained, but soon, his sharp, slightly wild gaze fell into the shadows to see the cook.
"What the hell are you doing there?"
The other had neither strength nor inclination to answer. Speech seemed impossible, inconsequential, to the power of the open storm, so he merely stared at the green-haired man before him.
His lack of response seemed to agitate the already cagey swordsman. The dark eyes narrowed , fixed on the chef, with unreasonable anger brimming deep, deep; a twin storm raging within the sharp gaze while its brother howled beyond the walls.
A few quick steps and Zoro had moved from the center of the room and into the shadows to stand above Sanji's slumped body. What little light managed to sneak past the shadowed barrier of the corner cast lightly against the hard form of Zoro, creating an oddly gentle outline of tight muscle and simmering violence.
"Are you a fucking moron? Get up. We're not even close to being through this, yet. We need to get ready before it picks back up."
Again, he remained silent; this man before him and the storm beyond the walls seemed unreal to him, like hidden whispers from a waking dream.
Before the blonde's eyes registered movement, Zoro's hands were wrapped tightly into the front of his shirt, jerking Sanji roughly to his feet. His back slammed against the smooth wood behind him, and then again. The swordsman's face loomed close to his, and he thought that he tasted the other's elements on the surface of his dry lips, as they were brushed by harsh breath. His tongue slipped out without his will, and savored strength, adrenaline, and storms.
The numbness that had invaded his weary body began to seep slowly away bringing discovered sensation. He began to feel the nearness of the man holding him, could feel the pattern of bruises forming on his chest where hard-fisted knuckles pressed. Zoro was waking him up, returning lost energy stolen by his battle with the violent storm, bringing his body back to the moment.
And as they stood there, closer than the two of them had been since that interrupted morning in the kitchens two days ago, Sanji felt the violent trembling of the other man lessen, the breathes even somewhat, the tension ease enough to allow the swordsman's taunt body to bend. The shoulders dropped from their unreasonable bunch, and as his eyelids slipped shut, the green-haired man leaned forward until his forehead rested gently against Sanji's.
The cook's arms lifted with renewed strength, twining around Zoro's waist. Underneath them, the waves rolled the ship through its choppy water, but they were still and unmoving, not knowing which one was holding the other up.
Sanji shifted his head slightly, and felt their faces slide wetly together until he was nestled into the juncture of Zoro's neck and shoulder, and Zoro in his. He tightened his grip, and breathed deeply, pulling the other man's musky scent deep into his body.
He smelled like welcome and threat, like purpose and distraction. Sanji inhaled again, wanting to imprint the scent onto his very soul, knowing that this was the reason that man took on the impossible challenge of the sea. Because the best things in life are like the calling of the tide; you don't know how badly you want it as you stand on shore, watching as it rolls in, but you feel it pulling you back with it, so very dangerous in its seduction. Knowing that man was not meant to walk on water you follow, unable to turn back to the safety of the land once you have taken that first step, both driven and repulsed with fear.
"What's going to happen next?" Sanji whispered, not talking about the storm, moving his mouth against the damp skin like a make-believe kiss. Then, giving into impulse, he wordlessly pressed them there and then again, making the motion real.
He felt Zoro shudder at the movement; a different motion then the earlier over-adrenalized trembles that had racked the swordsman's body.
"We're going to get through this." was the answer spoken close to his ear, whispered like a shy erotic secret.
"Zoro."
The swordsman's breathing grew ragged once again, and Sanji supposed that the other man had liked the breathy way in which he had spoken his name. Thunder rolled in the distance, and the cook knew that there wasn't much time before they were past the eye and once again fully emerged into the temper of the storm. But the sly smile would not stop itself from forming, and he leaned up slightly, making sure that his now -moist lips were pressed shamelessly against the rim of Zoro's ear. When he spoke, it was almost without sound, but he knew that he would be heard just the same.
".why do you keep throwing me against walls?"
There was a pause, and Sanji could feel the slight tensing of surprise in the other man's body. For a second, he was afraid that he had ruined the moment, until he felt the chest pressed against his begin to shake, and heard the rich sound of laughter filling-up the corners of the dark cabin. Sanji joined him, soon feeling warm moisture forming at the corner of his eyes as he laughed with abandon.
So there they were, two idiots in the middle of the most violent sea storm of their lives, cracking-up like a pair of giddy schoolgir---boys.
As if on cue, the ship gave a violent lurch, and the two of them stumbled back a few steps away from the wall. The laughter quieted, but the smiles were still there. Zoro's arms were now around Sanji's shoulders, while his own were still clutched around the solid waist.
Sanji was a man, no one could dispute that fact. And Zoro, well, no one could dispute his masculinity to his face without soon finding him or herself several inches shorter. So, they were both men, indisputably, and now they were indisputably hugging the hell at of each other with the stupidest of grins on their manly faces. Sanji supposed that he could deal with that.
Hell, he seemed to be dealing with it just fine.
With another lurch, reality reinstated itself fully, and they finally pulled apart. Zoro's smile had turned to wistfulness as he stood for just a moment longer looking at the cook before starting to turn away to go and help the rest of the crew through the final stage of the storm.
"We need to talk."
Sanji was startled at the sound of his own voice, and even more startled at his words. Because, what man ever wanted to willingly talk? But, he went ahead and blamed it on the call of the tide, and just figured that if this thing between them was going to work, certain points in his manly-life were going to have to be re-negotiated.
Zoro looked back, and his expression was a little nervous, but determined and softened with affection.
"We will."
Then, the corner of his mouth lifted, and he nodded at the door and the increasing storm beyond.
"Unless we drown first, of course."
Sanji rolled his eyes and chuckled lightly, jogging after the retreating man.
"You're not getting out of this that easily, buddy."
His hand, raw and wet, pushed open the door to the cabin allowing the rain- battered cook to stumble into the dry safety within. He pulled the door closed with the last of his strength, feeling the resistance of the still raging winds, and he stumbled into the dimly -lit room, not stopping until his body was flush against a far wall. The rain was like little violent bullets beating with vengeful insistence against the surface of the ship; the rapid pounding matched the hidden pulse within his slender chest. The echo of the storm, although slower than it had been for the last few hours, was the only sound accompanying his ragged breathing.
Sanji had spent the last few hours on deck side by side the rest of the crew defending The Going Merry against the storm's hold over the angry sea. And it was madness, the few of them against the elements of sky and water; the same madness that lead them to the Grand Line, the same madness that through history had pulled man from the safety of the shores and into the temperamental clutch of the sea.
His body simmered with tension, stretched and burning with the relief of temporary survival. It was a rush pumping deep within his core, an energy trying to escape through the tight span of his pores. With an almost distant interest, he felt himself slide to the floor as the strength in his legs fled and weariness found its voice. But his heart still beat in synch with the tempo of the rain, and the howling wind that screamed through the wooden ship seemed to be reaching with greedy fingers down his throat trying to steal his breath.
He knew he had to move, that this reduction of nature's violence was merely its eye, and there was still much to get through before he could truly rest. But he found that he had no control over his body, and he could only lay his heavy rain-soaked head against the rough wood of the wall that he was slumped against.
The door across from him slammed open admitting a dripping Zoro. At first, the immobile cook remained unobserved, blending into the shadows of the dark room. His tired eyes were riveted on the swordsman, quietly observing the other whose movements seemed quicker than his normal gait. The rain was beginning to pick its pace back up beyond the walls, but Sanji still managed to detect the harsh and hurried breaths coming from the other man. He was looking around, still unaware that Sanji was with him, his movements tight and contained, but soon, his sharp, slightly wild gaze fell into the shadows to see the cook.
"What the hell are you doing there?"
The other had neither strength nor inclination to answer. Speech seemed impossible, inconsequential, to the power of the open storm, so he merely stared at the green-haired man before him.
His lack of response seemed to agitate the already cagey swordsman. The dark eyes narrowed , fixed on the chef, with unreasonable anger brimming deep, deep; a twin storm raging within the sharp gaze while its brother howled beyond the walls.
A few quick steps and Zoro had moved from the center of the room and into the shadows to stand above Sanji's slumped body. What little light managed to sneak past the shadowed barrier of the corner cast lightly against the hard form of Zoro, creating an oddly gentle outline of tight muscle and simmering violence.
"Are you a fucking moron? Get up. We're not even close to being through this, yet. We need to get ready before it picks back up."
Again, he remained silent; this man before him and the storm beyond the walls seemed unreal to him, like hidden whispers from a waking dream.
Before the blonde's eyes registered movement, Zoro's hands were wrapped tightly into the front of his shirt, jerking Sanji roughly to his feet. His back slammed against the smooth wood behind him, and then again. The swordsman's face loomed close to his, and he thought that he tasted the other's elements on the surface of his dry lips, as they were brushed by harsh breath. His tongue slipped out without his will, and savored strength, adrenaline, and storms.
The numbness that had invaded his weary body began to seep slowly away bringing discovered sensation. He began to feel the nearness of the man holding him, could feel the pattern of bruises forming on his chest where hard-fisted knuckles pressed. Zoro was waking him up, returning lost energy stolen by his battle with the violent storm, bringing his body back to the moment.
And as they stood there, closer than the two of them had been since that interrupted morning in the kitchens two days ago, Sanji felt the violent trembling of the other man lessen, the breathes even somewhat, the tension ease enough to allow the swordsman's taunt body to bend. The shoulders dropped from their unreasonable bunch, and as his eyelids slipped shut, the green-haired man leaned forward until his forehead rested gently against Sanji's.
The cook's arms lifted with renewed strength, twining around Zoro's waist. Underneath them, the waves rolled the ship through its choppy water, but they were still and unmoving, not knowing which one was holding the other up.
Sanji shifted his head slightly, and felt their faces slide wetly together until he was nestled into the juncture of Zoro's neck and shoulder, and Zoro in his. He tightened his grip, and breathed deeply, pulling the other man's musky scent deep into his body.
He smelled like welcome and threat, like purpose and distraction. Sanji inhaled again, wanting to imprint the scent onto his very soul, knowing that this was the reason that man took on the impossible challenge of the sea. Because the best things in life are like the calling of the tide; you don't know how badly you want it as you stand on shore, watching as it rolls in, but you feel it pulling you back with it, so very dangerous in its seduction. Knowing that man was not meant to walk on water you follow, unable to turn back to the safety of the land once you have taken that first step, both driven and repulsed with fear.
"What's going to happen next?" Sanji whispered, not talking about the storm, moving his mouth against the damp skin like a make-believe kiss. Then, giving into impulse, he wordlessly pressed them there and then again, making the motion real.
He felt Zoro shudder at the movement; a different motion then the earlier over-adrenalized trembles that had racked the swordsman's body.
"We're going to get through this." was the answer spoken close to his ear, whispered like a shy erotic secret.
"Zoro."
The swordsman's breathing grew ragged once again, and Sanji supposed that the other man had liked the breathy way in which he had spoken his name. Thunder rolled in the distance, and the cook knew that there wasn't much time before they were past the eye and once again fully emerged into the temper of the storm. But the sly smile would not stop itself from forming, and he leaned up slightly, making sure that his now -moist lips were pressed shamelessly against the rim of Zoro's ear. When he spoke, it was almost without sound, but he knew that he would be heard just the same.
".why do you keep throwing me against walls?"
There was a pause, and Sanji could feel the slight tensing of surprise in the other man's body. For a second, he was afraid that he had ruined the moment, until he felt the chest pressed against his begin to shake, and heard the rich sound of laughter filling-up the corners of the dark cabin. Sanji joined him, soon feeling warm moisture forming at the corner of his eyes as he laughed with abandon.
So there they were, two idiots in the middle of the most violent sea storm of their lives, cracking-up like a pair of giddy schoolgir---boys.
As if on cue, the ship gave a violent lurch, and the two of them stumbled back a few steps away from the wall. The laughter quieted, but the smiles were still there. Zoro's arms were now around Sanji's shoulders, while his own were still clutched around the solid waist.
Sanji was a man, no one could dispute that fact. And Zoro, well, no one could dispute his masculinity to his face without soon finding him or herself several inches shorter. So, they were both men, indisputably, and now they were indisputably hugging the hell at of each other with the stupidest of grins on their manly faces. Sanji supposed that he could deal with that.
Hell, he seemed to be dealing with it just fine.
With another lurch, reality reinstated itself fully, and they finally pulled apart. Zoro's smile had turned to wistfulness as he stood for just a moment longer looking at the cook before starting to turn away to go and help the rest of the crew through the final stage of the storm.
"We need to talk."
Sanji was startled at the sound of his own voice, and even more startled at his words. Because, what man ever wanted to willingly talk? But, he went ahead and blamed it on the call of the tide, and just figured that if this thing between them was going to work, certain points in his manly-life were going to have to be re-negotiated.
Zoro looked back, and his expression was a little nervous, but determined and softened with affection.
"We will."
Then, the corner of his mouth lifted, and he nodded at the door and the increasing storm beyond.
"Unless we drown first, of course."
Sanji rolled his eyes and chuckled lightly, jogging after the retreating man.
"You're not getting out of this that easily, buddy."