Title: Happy Birthday!
Word count: 391
Rating: PG 13
Warning: contains swearing and yaoi references - Oh, it's pure crack. You have been warned!
Disclaimer: I don't own One Piece or Zoro, or Sanji, and I don't make any money from writing this story - I just do it for the LOLs.
Summary: Zoro gives Sanji a Birthday Present, well… almost.
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"Look, I did NOT do it deliberately!" Zoro shifted his weight slightly to his back foot to alleviate the pressure of the perfectly polished dress shoe on his Adam's apple.
"You expect me to believe that they hired a person to ice cakes at a bakery who couldn't spell a FOUR-LETTER WORD?" Sanji raged. The foot pressed dangerously hard on his throat and then snapped back as the cook executed a perfect miffed pirouette, and marched off with a theatre grade huff.
The swordsman sighed. He knew from experience that this question fell into the rhetorical category. Of course he wouldn't believe it. Every cook in the Grand Line is fucking Shakespeare after-all. Why was it that every time he tried to do something nice for the idiot, it backfired so spectacularly?
When he'd made Sanji breakfast in bed, he'd complained that he'd ruined every non-stick dish in the galley.
When he'd given the cook a back rub to get out all the knots in his shoulders - from too much time on his knees, Zoro smirked - he'd complained that he couldn't cut up food properly for a week.
When he'd learned how to carve the blonde's name out of paper as it sailed on the breeze, Sanji had screamed at him for wasting Nami's map-manuscript.
He was starting to think that there wasn't a romantic bone in Sanji's body as far as the swordsman was concerned.
He lifted the lid of the gorgeous cream and silver box which he had carried painstakingly back the three miles from the bakery, without so much as a speck of dirt landing on the ridiculous curls of ribbon. The cake was still there. Fat lot it was going to do him. He couldn't even share it with the girls… Sanji's temper would go from nuclear to post-apocalyptic if the ladies ever saw any trace of their 'relationship'. The swordsman sighed and resigned himself to eating an entire cake. Despite Sanji's derision, he knew if he let a single crumb go to waste, the blonde would practically kill him.
Before sitting the lid back down and sneaking off to the hold he admired the perfect pink swirling letters once more. The guy really had a nice pen-stroke, even if he couldn't spell. The gorgeous sweeping cursive, so deceptively innocent.
"Happy Birthday Love-Cock!"
Fucking typical.
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