TITLE: The Way to a Man's Heart
AUTHOR: endsoftime
PAIRING: ZoroxSanji
RATING: R, but it is highly highly suggestive, just so's ya know. Plus it's Sanji, which means naughty language x)
SUMMARY: Now it's Sanji's turn to muse, and Christ is he ever nuts!
NOTES: I do not own One Piece, I love Oda, blah blah blah. I don't know how long this thing is gonna be, but these next chapters are doozies.
Chapter One — A Cook's Wrath: A Treatise on Good Sex, Dumb Swordsmen, and Bad Relationships
He was cutting him off.
He was cutting him off. The bastard was cutting him off!
Roronoa Zoro was cutting Sanji the Black Leg off from sex!
On what fucking planet did that make sense? What kind of bullshit was this? And where the hell had it come from all of a sudden? One minute everything was fine; Sanji was getting regular sex, feeling better than ever, he had a spring in his step, and his cooking had been superb the last few weeks. Oh, and Zoro liked it, too. But now. Now!
What the hell was going on?
Fuck!
And it wasn't like the shitty marimo even gave him an explanation! No reason, no logic; just a "no." Sanji's brain shut down whenever he contemplated the pure "what-the-fuckery" of it all. Not like he thought about it all the time, but it was sort of annoying. This was the unthinkable. This had never happened before. It wasn't supposed to happen! Zoro had always been willing; to the point that Sanji honestly wondered how the muscle-brained moron managed to get by before they started screwing. This little spat they were having was probably taking a heavy toll on him as well, and the thought of the perpetually frustrated Zoro did serve to make Sanji feel better. A little. But not as much as a good fuck would. Every now and then Sanji seriously considered just forcing the bastard regardless of what he felt like!
But no, the blonde thought with a sigh. He couldn't really do that.
He hated the marimo, without a doubt. But he didn't hate him enough to do that to him. However big of a dumbass he was — little more than a mannerless, unrefined brute, in Sanji's humble opinion — he was still nakama. Whatever the hell that meant. Sanji wasn't even sure, but he knew it meant something.
But he couldn't deny the tugging, nagging edge that had seen fit to arrest his brain recently. It wasn't anything big, though. Okay, so his hands shook a bit when he chopped vegetables for dinner. So his voice had developed a mind of its own, and started lashing out viciously and indiscriminately at the other male crew members without Sanji being aware of it, like terehtz. So his Noodle-Dance-of-Love that he dutifully performed while delivering dainties to the two dazzling females always stuttered and fell apart with splayed limbs and a sore backside if Sanji even thought he glimpsed the tan, muscular man working out on the other side of the ship. So fucking what? It wasn't that big of a deal. Nothing Sanji couldn't handle….
…..six days...
Six fucking days.
Six fucking, never-ending, eternally frustrating, why-the-fuck-was-this-happening-to him, what-almighty-vengeful-god-had-he-royally-pissed-off, days!
Shit!
Come on, Sanji! he checked himself. Just shake it off. I had an eight-month-long dry spell before we started fucking. I can handle a few days. Just until the thick-skulled asshole wakes the fuck up and quits acting like a little bitch!
He lit perhaps his fifth, or thirty-fifth cigarette since being lucid that morning, and very briskly (jerkily?) went about preparing breakfast. He'd just pour himself into his greatest love, and forget the swordsman, forget the sex, forget how much he wanted to kick that bastard's goddamn green head in. Yes, that's exactly what he'd do; he'd just cook himself into a frenzy. He'd whip up some lovely, intricate delight for Nami-san and Robin-chan, like eggs Benedict, and maybe even give the guys some extra sausage for once. Except not that asshole; he wasn't getting extra anything! He should count himself lucky that Sanji was willing to give him anything at all! He should be on his knees thanking god that Sanji even deigned to consider the swordsman worth his while. Feh, taking sex away from Sanji, the White Knight of Love; like that green-haired asshole knew anything about love anyway!
Damn swordsman.
How dare he be so good in bed. Made Sanji want to snap his spine in half. Although, to do that he'd need the other man between his legs, first, and then by that point Sanji might start getting other ideas, and after all this fucking celibacy, he was beginning to think he'd rather fuck the bastard and then kill him later, but then if he killed him he couldn't fuck him ever again, and that left a sort of funny, hollow feeling in his gut, and he figured he —
Breakfast! Just focus on the breakfast! No more dumb thoughts of dumb swordsmen and the dumb things he did that were just...dumb! Think of how delighted Nami-san will be when she sees how hard he worked to make her the heavenly, gourmet meal that only she as a goddess of beauty deserved! She'd see all his love whipped into every fluffy inch of perfectly cooked egg, every swirl of cream in her fine hazlenut and cinnamon coffee. Think of the admiring smile that would grace Robin-chan's dignified, perfectly rendered face when she beheld the feast of love that he would offer her. Perhaps the two goddesses would finally realize the power of his adoration, and bestow on him their undying affection, as he was the only mortal man who even came close to being worthy of it.
Certainly no one else on this ship was, especially not slow, monosyllabic meat-heads with green hair that spend their entire day training, dreaming about training, or thinking about new and better ways to train. And stealing sake from Sanji's private store.
Asshole.
Yes, just focus on breakfast. Such a lot that needed to be prepared; so much that had to be absolutely perfect for his twin angels! Surely it would take such a very long time! How he hoped his lovely ladies wouldn't have to wait! But with all the food he was going to make, it would understandably require a large sum of the day. Oh, so much lovely breakfast. Soooooo much breakfast! Soooooooo...
Sanji looked at the galley table and realized, to his horror and crushing disappointment, that he was already done preparing the food. And it had only taken thirty minutes. No one would even be up for another hour or so! He'd been so focused on focusing, he hadn't realized how quickly he was throwing breakfast together. Hopefully it turned all right; he wasn't totally sure all of what went into the bread dough. He prayed it wasn't anything dangerous.
Unless the marimo took a piece, and then he hoped a cyanide pill accidentally fell in. But knowing Chopper, the little expert doctor/emergency food supply would cure him so fast Sanji wouldn't even get a chance to admire the funny colors the other's face would turn, and watch as his body twitched around, sweating, kind of how he looked when Sanji rolled his hips faster, grinning, waiting, demanding Zoro's release...
Shit.
It wasn't supposed to be this way. It was just a distraction. Just a way to keep the edge off.
Like a cigarette.
A really fucking good cigarette. A cigarette that could light a flash furnace in Sanji's gut with a mere glance. A cigarette that trailed rough, strong fingers over his trembling stomach with deceptive gentleness. A cigarette whose scent spiraled in Sanji's brain, making his breath catch and his muscles jerk. A cigarette with a hot tongue and even hotter mouth that would travel to places Sanji wouldn't even show Chopper in a medical exam. A cigarette that could leave him a sweating, quivering, panting mess of pulsing nerves and swarming emotions. A cigarette with short, green hair that felt oddly soft when Sanji twined his long fingers in it and pulled that unbelievable mouth towards his...
No.
Absolutely not.
He was not obsessed with that goddamned marimo. He did not need the sex with him. He was not addicted. It was just a distraction. Just a stress reliever. That's all it was, nothing more, and it never would be anything else, no matter how much Sanji...
He shook his head for the millionth time that morning.
"Why are you being so uncooperative?" He wasn't sure if he was asking his brain that, or the marimo. In any event, neither were around to answer. The asshole was probably still asleep, and his brain hadn't been awake from the start. It was still down in the boy's quarters, staring at that lump of lethargy like it actually gave a damn.
This is so fucked up, he thought, leaning against the kitchen counter, staring morosely at his hurried meal. When did this start? Why did I even decide to screw him in the first place? I guess I just reached my breaking point, and he seemed the most likely candidate.
Sanji frowned just then. But...why all of a sudden did my breaking point turn up? Three months ago, I was totally fine; I just waited 'til we got to port and settled matters at the nearest brothel. Not once had it ever gotten so bad that I thought about doing it with one of the crew...okay, except for Nami-san and Robin-chan, but not too seriously. Why had the idea to do it with nakama — and him, besides — even occurred to me?
And then it came to him: that night in Pandina.