15 Reasons to Fall in Love

Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I do not own One Piece

2. Zoro is a sweaty Neanderthal.
Zoro spends all of his time lifting weights and generating sweat. Where does he think that goes? He barely bathes. It's unhygienic, and Sanji won't have it.

Sanji watched from the window of the galley as Zoro practiced sword movements with his weighted barbell on deck. He was banned from practicing them in the crow's nest after he swung the weight over his head and accidentally smashed it through the roof. Franky had lost it on the swordsman, and made it a mandatory rule that any sword stances were to be practiced in an open area, with at least two meters of clearance on all sides.

Sanji had been counting the swordsman's carefully controlled swings, but lost track after five-hundred. Honestly who needs to lift that much? Sanji sighed and tried to focus on the task at hand, making lunch. It was going to be a simple lunch; sandwiches, maybe some pasta salad. Nothing was going to get done, however, if he couldn't keep his eyes from wandering back to the muscled figure on the deck.

Sanji was not checking him out, though it would definitely look that way if anyone happened to catch him. Thankfully, his nakama were preoccupied elsewhere at the moment. No, Sanji wasn't admiring the shitty swordsman's figure. Instead he was fuming over the amount of sweat the bastard could produce.

It was warmer today than it had been the day before, the result of a summer island they were approaching, as the lovely Nami-san had predicted that morning. It was still a pleasant temperature, one that had most of the crew out on deck enjoying the warmer weather. The sun was noticeably warmer though, enough that the boys had all lost their shirts and the ladies were reclining under an umbrella to protect their lovely skin.

Sanji watched as another droplet of sweat ran down Zoro's back, dipping gracefully in and out of the curves of muscle as it went. Typically, such things didn't even register to Sanji. Lunch could have been prepared already, if the marimo bastard hadn't asked for a little of the cook's attention. Now his wish was being granted even against Sanji's will. Sanji sighed again; maybe he'd forgo the pasta salad for today, a regular salad instead perhaps. It'd be easier.

Sanji couldn't blame the marimo entirely. Why did he write the stupid list in the first place? Now every time he looked at the bastard he thought about Zoro and the list, and how if maybe the list didn't apply, Sanji and Zoro could—

"Damn this list," Sanji muttered to himself, shredding a head of lettuce.

The marimo swung the weights, and more sweat rolled down his body. The problem was not the sweat itself, or that Zoro worked himself so hard he was covered in sweat nearly every day. Sanji sort of admired that aspect of Zoro, not that he'd ever admit that out loud. The fact that the man strained his body every day in pursuit of his dream was admirable though, that level of dedication wasn't a common occurrence in people. So no, it was not really the sweat that was the problem. It was the fact that the shitty swordsman worked himself to a sweat nearly every day and hardly ever bathed. Where did Zoro think all that sweat went? Did he think it got magically whisked away by the sweat fairy during one of the moss-head's naps? No. Sweat made you sticky, greasy, and smelly.

With a crew of nine now, and only one washroom between them all, Sanji could accept that maybe a daily bath for all of them was a little ridiculous to imagine. The ladies, of course, bathed daily. He would expect nothing less from two such lovely flowers. He also bathed daily, a habit Zeff pounded into him as a child. No chef should ever enter a kitchen while covered in dirt. They had the responsibility of handling people's food. Who wanted to eat from the kitchen of some unwashed slob? No, daily baths were a must.

The rest of the crew was sure to bathe every few days, in alternating schedules so they didn't clutter up the washroom all day. All the crew, of course, with the exception of Luffy and Zoro. With Luffy at least, it was understandable. He was an idiot, and heaven forbid he have to spend anytime bathing when there were new games to invent and trouble to get into. He was far too simpleminded to comprehend why bathing was important.

Sanji followed another drop of sweat as it raced down from Zoro's temple, followed the defined line of his jaw, met with the sweat already collected there, and fell from his chin. Zoro on the other hand, should know better. He worked himself to a sweat every day. Didn't that feel disgusting? He must smell. That was the worst part of this for Sanji. It wasn't that Zoro sweated, or that he preferred to bathe only when he was forced. The problem was Zoro looked the part of a fearsome god; strong, handsome, and powerful...but he probably smelled like an old sock.

What a turn off.

Sanji shook the thought from his head and made to set the table. Lunch was a half-assed effort on his part today, but maybe he could pass off the light salad and simple sandwiches as something lightweight for the hot day. Big meals didn't sit well when you were too hot, after all. He just hoped they'd trust his judgment as a cook.

With the table set and the meal spread out buffet style, Sanji called the crew to lunch. He waited at the door and watched them file in. Luffy of course wasted not even a second before he barreled in the door, followed immediately by Usopp and Chopper. Robin and Nami followed behind, thanking Sanji for the meal before they even saw it (How gracious they were!). Brook floated casually behind them and Franky not long after, wiping the grease from his hands with a dirty rag. Sanji sincerely hoped Franky didn't set that filthy thing on any surface of his kitchen except maybe the floor, but he had a bigger bone to pick at the moment.

The marimo came not long after Franky, finishing on a nice, even one-thousand reps. He made for the galley, but a long leg barred the doorway and stopped his progress before he could open the door. He followed the leg with an irritated gaze until he made eye contacted with an equally irritated cook.

"No dirty marimos in my kitchen," Sanji ground the cigarette between his teeth. "Bathe first or no lunch."

Zoro raised an eyebrow. "What's the point? I'm just going to get dirty again after lunch," with that, he shoved the cook's leg from the door frame and made for the galley again.

Sanji wasn't having it though. The moment Zoro moved one leg, Sanji quickly spun and lashed out with the other, hitting Zoro square in the ribs. Or he would have, if the shitty swordsman didn't have such damn unbeatable reflexes. Still, the force of Sanji's kick sent Zoro skidding across the lawn.

"What the hell, Shit-cook?!" Zoro called, shaking out the arm he'd let take most of the impact.

Sanji calmly took a drag from his cigarette. "I'm telling you, take a bath first, shitty swordsman."

Zoro fixed him with a heated glare. "I just saw Franky go in there covered in God knows what!" He shouted defensively.

Sanji simply shrugged. "Franky at least bathes more than once a week, Marimo. Bathing is good. It keeps you from stinking like a dirty old sock."

A vein popped up in Zoro's head, he was annoyed now. "Are you telling me I stink, Shit-cook?"

"I believe that's what I'm implying. I'm surprised with you moss-level intelligence you managed to figure that out," Sanji sighed.

"Why you…"

Zoro moved to attack, but Sanji anticipated his actions. They'd been fighting for far too long for Zoro to have any moves Sanji couldn't guess. It was part of the reason they were so evenly matched. Neither had any trick up their sleeve that the other hadn't seen before, nothing to give them the edge in their almost completely even power struggle.

So when Zoro cast on of his swords off to the side, Sanji was completely caught off guard. He followed the movement with his eyes, and had enough time to think, 'what is that bastard doing?' before he was flat on his back on the lawn with a heavy marimo on top of him.

"What the hell?" Sanji demanded.

Zoro smirked devilishly. His face was close enough Sanji could feel the swordsman's breath on his cheek. The last time they'd been this close, Zoro had come just a bit closer and—

Sanji fought the blush that was forcing its way onto his face and tried not to remember exactly how Zoro's lips felt. Instead he glared at the bastard on top of him and struggled to free himself from the pin the marimo had gotten him into.

Zoro leaned just slightly closer and Sanji froze. "Still think I smell bad, Shit-cook?"

Sanji hadn't thought about it, he'd been a little distracted by a few other things. Now though he gave it a moment's consideration. What did Zoro smell like? He didn't want to give the marimo the satisfaction of seeing Sanji smell him. He took a small sniff. Hmm, that's odd. Curiosity getting the better of him, he gave Zoro his way for once and inhaled a little more deeply. Zoro smelled like salt, certainly, but not the rank sweaty kind of salt. He smelled like the sea. Sanji lifted his head to get a little closer, his nose barely skimming the crook of Zoro's neck he inhaled deeply. Metal too, like the swords Zoro spent his entire day with. Also hint of musk that was entirely uniquely Zoro. Sea salt, metal, and musk, the combination was surprisingly mouth watering and Sanji inhaled deeply once more, intoxicated by the scent of Zoro.

"Cook," Zoro spoke, his voice slightly strained. "What are you doing?"

His voice broke the spell Sanji had been under. Sanji's head snapped back so fast he banged it on the ground. Wincing in pain he hoped Zoro wouldn't notice how red his face had become. "Smelling you, shitty swordsman. You don't stink that bad," Sanji mentally added 'or at all,' "I guess you pass. Go get lunch, Marimo."

Zoro looked at him uncertainly for a moment before complying and releasing the cook. Sanji quickly lit a cigarette and took a deep stabilizing drag. From the galley door way, Zoro called back to him, "You coming, Shit-cook?"

Sanji pulled himself up. "Be right there, Idiot-marimo."

Zoro shrugged and joined he others, letting the door swing closed behind him.

Sanji took another long drag on his cigarette. His other hand rested thoughtfully on his pocket, fingers tapping the paper that resided within with some contemplation. Zoro smelled, huh?

"Fuck it," Sanji muttered. "That one's wrong too."

A/N:

Once again, I apologize for any and all spelling and grammar errors, and for any typos. There were a lot in the beginning part (I edited them out) but less towards the end. Now I'm worried maybe I just passed over and didn't see them.

So. This chapter was...hm...I'm not sure how I liked it. I reread it, and it seems okay. But maybe something it missing. This is just my own self analytic reflection, completely unimportant.

Thank you to those who have reviewed thus far! You're reviews have been wonderfully encouraging! I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Until next time!