Hello, reader(s)! I hope you're doing well today. So, this is actually the third One Piece story I've published here, but the other two were taken down for some refining. This one was written in a night, and inspired by Hell's Kitchen, which I was watching while I wrote this. I am a proud ZoSan shipper, and I figured it was high time for me to write some ZoSan of my own. There are hints of FrankyxRobin in here, as well as LuffyxNami. I certainly hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.
Disclaimer: I only own the plot. All the names and places mentioned in this story are the sole property of Eiichiro Oda, who is the creator of One Piece.
"Good evening. I'm Zoro and... I'll be your waiter tonight."
The scarily beefy man at the table with his cowlick of shiny blue hair peered at the waiter beside his table after placing his black sunglasses on the table. The gold chain around his neck glinted as he turned his head to face the employee, his small, dark eyes studying the man's profile.
The customer cracked a toothy grin. "That your real hair colour, Zoro?"
Zoro bit the inside of his bottom lip. It seemed he was stuck with one of the mouthy, supposedly punny guests. He answered thickly. "Yes."
"You remind me of one of those runt teenagers. You know, in those movies. Especially with your earrings," The blue-haired man noted, his weirdly shaped chin jutting out as his grin expanded. "Where'd you get that loony idea?"
The waiter could feel his lip start to bleed, the familiar taste of steel flooding onto his tongue. "That's not important."
"No need to get upset, Zoro - I'm just wondering. Also, about your name... isn't that from a movie? You know, the guy with a little black mask, sword, the cape?"
"Can I start you two off with something to drink? A bit of windshield fluid, perhaps? How about some bleach for you?" Zoro snapped with harsh eyes and a near manic grin.
The woman at the table - tan skin; bright, wide blue eyes; shining black hair that both covered her forehead and reached her shoulders; clad in a purple dress and cowboy hat - frowned slightly, her hard features becoming visibly bothered by Zoro's rudeness. "I'll have a water."
Zoro grinned, satisfied at the rouse he'd gotten out of the pair. He took out his notepad and began to scribble on it with a black pen. "A water for the lady. And you, sir?"
The visibly annoyed male narrowed his eyes. He took a deep breath, his chest heaving momentarily beneath his white shirt. "A beer. Surprise me."
"Oh, you'll be surprised..." The employee mumbled, scribbling on the notepad. spit in Cyborg Clusterfuck's beer. "I should be back in a moment. Let me know when you're ready to order."
The mosshead departed from the table with a grimace, knowing that the couple would probably do one of three things: "forget" to tip him, request a new waiter, or complain to the owner. Zoro had almost gotten canned once for being so monotonous and unkind to even the friendliest of customers. The only reason he was able to keep his job was because of his undeniable efficiency when it came to taking and distributing orders. If it weren't for that, Zoro's job as a waiter at the Baratie would have been long gone.
Often, Zoro found himself cursing the day he decided to turn a resume in at the grand restaurant, three blocks and a half down from his apartment in East Blue. Even so, it wasn't as if he had too much of a choice; being a personal trainer surely helped with the rent, but, it was always nice to have a little something extra to contribute to his enthusiasm for swordsmanship. It wasn't a job that paid nearly as well as he thought it would, especially with the lack of tips, nor was it enjoyable.
Despite dreading working at the restaurant every weekend, there was a certain blue-eyed variable that made Zoro want to come back on Saturday and Sunday night. This variable happened to be the head chef of the Baratie, Sanji Black.
Zoro hadn't exactly seen Mr. Black out and about in the restaurant too often, with him being in the kitchen giving orders. When the waiter had the opportunity to bring a ticket over to the kitchen, he found himself staring at and listening to the blond in the white chef's jacket. There was something to be said and desired about regarding the way Sanji Black handled his job: the way his voice barked out the orders from the tickets just after glancing at them once; how he walked around the kitchen to supervise the different stations and cut in at some points to save someone from drowning, figuratively; how the black pants he wore shaped and complimented his ass...
Mmm... Zoro's discreet and lustful stares, unfortunately for him, never lasted long, as he had tables to tend to. Still, it didn't stop Zoro from daydreaming about his several fantasies regarding the chef. His particular favourite, he thought as he filled one glass with water and the other with his ultimately least favourite beer, involved cornering the blond somewhere the kitchen and showing him just what he thought Sanji Black deserved at the end of a long, difficult week at work. It was easier to stare at the busy blond while imagining this, since the drink station directly faced the kitchen. Fuck, how Zoro loved that strong jaw, that bizarre swirly eyebrow, those long legs...
It wasn't until the freezing cold water started to spill over the dreamer's right hand and the glass slipped out of his grip, shattering on the hardwood floor that Zoro realized that he'd gotten carried away yet again. He sighed as he grabbed the broom and pushed the pieces into a glistening pile.
"Damn that cook. Distracting me..." The waiter grumbled, kicking a wet floor sign into place where the spill had occurred.
Zoro managed to get both drinks back to the Cyborg Clusterfuck's table, taking their dinner orders with minimal lip from the beefy male. He appreciated this - it was less time to waste battling the man and more time to get to the chef. The mosshead found himself getting nervous as he approached the kitchen, the ticket placed atop the tray. Zoro bounced up to the counter, ready to say those four little words instead of leaving the ticket there and rushing away awkwardly. "Order for table six." Just four words.
That was when he turned around. Where he was equal to the blond-haired, blue-eyed beauty. Thin, pink lips parted from recently calling out an order. That sparkling sea blue eye staring him down. Pale cheeks flushed from the heat of the kitchen. It was just what he looked like in Zoro's fantasy after a quick spell of fooling around. It drove Zoro crazy just thinking about it.
"Zoro? Oi, Zoro?"
Was that Sanji Black calling my name? God, how I'd love to hear him say it again... moan it, maybe? Zoro's heart pounded while he snapped out of the trance. He slipped the tray onto the counter. "Uh... moaning- I mean meat. I... what? I-"
Sanji's crooked grin appeared along with the deepening blush in Zoro's tanned cheeks. He looked down at the ticket. "Table six?"
"Yes," Zoro breathed, rubbing his chest. "Yes, order for table six."
The blond smiled sweetly. "Silly marimo."
The waiter frowned. He was nauseous and embarrassed. His first time actually speaking with the Sanji Black, and he had managed to completely embarrass himself. He needed to redeem himself. Even so, Zoro got Sanji Black - the Sanji Black, the chef of his dreams - to say his name, and even grace the waiter with a nickname. The Silly Marimo. He got chills just thinking about it.
That night, after dinner service - lousy in the tip department, save for a lanky, big-eyed boy in an obnoxious straw hat who gave him a ten dollar tip, probably because he wanted to look generous in front of the orange-haired girl there with him - Zoro sat at a table, staring intently at the kitchen. He'd been observing Sanji Black's actions over a certain time period: he'd stay for ten or so minutes after all the customers had gone, listening to his iPod and tapping the table at which he sat to the rhythm of the song, and take the 23 bus home. Today, Zoro would keep him company.
The tall, thin figure emerged from the kitchen. Zoro tensed, his eyes darting to the window. He was attempting to look mysterious, possibly alluring. He wasn't too sure if it was working.
"You're in my spot, Zoro."
That velvet smooth voice made Zoro's head turn slowly. The very man he was looking to converse with was sitting across from him, the chef's cheek resting on his hand as he smiled at his co-worker. The waiter's mouth went dry. "I didn't realize it had your name on it."
Very smooth, Zoro, the mosshead praised mentally. Sanji Black's grin grew wider, amused. The blond leaned forward, placing his elbows on the table. "That's fair. As long as you're willing to keep me company."
Of course, Sanji Black. "Why not?"
The blond pursed his lips. "What's your zodiac sign, Zoro?"
"Is that how you start all of your conversations?" The greenhead inquired, folding his muscular arms and leaning back, trying his hardest to ease into the conversation with the attractive male.
"I'm a Pisces," Sanji Black knit his fingers together, resting his chin on the net he'd made. "March 2nd."
Zoro sighed. "I'm a Scorpio. I think. My birthday's November 11th."
The blond smiled. "We're super compatible, Zoro."
The chef was already driving Zoro crazy. He shifted in his seat. "Are we, Sanji Black?"
"Mmhmm. We both have our elements in water. However, I can't assume that you're a flaming homosexual like myself... are you, Zoro?"
He gulped. It was getting harder to resist this Sanji Black. "I'm bi."
"Mmm... that's hot." Sanji Black bit down on his lower lip, eying a flustered and sexually frustrated Zoro intently.
"So... how'd you end up working here, Mr. Black?"
"Please, call me Sanji," the blond waved a hand at his coworker. "And the owner - you know, Zeff - looked after me as a kid. My parents were big travelers."
"Cool, cool," Zoro commented. "I'm just here to get a little cash on the side for a hobby of mine."
"What hobby would that be, marimo?"
That nickname… "I'm a bit of a sword fanatic. I'm a Santoryu fighter, myself."
Sanji nodded. "Three sword style, huh? Impressive. I have noticed that you're good with your hands."
Zoro swallowed. You don't know the half of it, Sanji Black. "How about you? Any hobbies?"
Again, the blond's lips were pursed. "I like to cook, obviously. I'm also a bit of a dancer. I used to strip at the club down the street - y'know, the Amazon Lily. They used to call me Mr. Prince."
Fuck… Zoro could feel the arousal building up in his core. "Is that so?"
"Yeah. It was a darker time in my life, but, it was fun. My upper body strength is pretty terrible, so I was never good at all the pole dancing. Lap dances, though - I always got the most money from those."
Glittery, royal blue booty shorts would look good on the chef, Zoro thought, with an elegant crown adorned in jewels of all kinds atop his blond locks to taste. Perhaps a pair of golden suspenders, as well. "Interesting."
Sanji Black's lips adopted a sly grin. "Would you like a lap dance, Zoro? They're my specialty. I might be a bit rusty, but I can guarantee a good time..."
Holy fuck. Images flashed in Zoro's mind, one after another - that nice, round ass belonging to Sanji Black being shoved into his face, diving down to his crotch, teasing his manhood as the former stripper moved his hips - as he stammered, "I-I mean.. if... if you want... to... now, just what the hell are you laughing at?"
Sanji Black was laughing. His blue eye closed as he bowed his head, his shoulders shaking with laughter. "Oh, my God. Zoro, I was kidding. Silly marimo."
Second embarrassment of the day. Zoro blushed. "Oh... well, it's not funny, so stop it!"
The blond's laughter calmed down to a soft panting. He studied the man before him. "You know, marimo... you're kind of cute."
There he goes again - being so goddamn charming. "I could say the same about you... Mr. Prince."
The blond let out a seductive little chuckle. He looked out the window and stood. "My bus should be here soon. I'll see you tomorrow, I hope?"
Zoro stood as well. "Let me, uh... let me drive you home. To your place, I mean. Not mine."
"I'm a big boy, marimo." Sanji Black said, slipping past Zoro and looking back. "I won't talk to strangers, if it makes you feel better."
"You gave lap dances to strangers sometime back - not talking to them would just be nonsensical." Zoro countered, tossing a grin to the chef.
The Pisces grinned, his eye flickering from the table to the Scorpio. "Goodnight, Zoro."
"Yeah..." Zoro whispered. He didn't realize how jelly-like his legs felt until he plopped back into the chair, his heart racing. I have just successfully flirted with the head chef of the Baratie, he thought. This is a milestone.
Zoro looked over at the side of the table at which his object of affection was seated. There, he noticed a slip of paper with something scribbled on it in blue ink. Curiously, he held the paper, discovering that it was the table six ticket from earlier that evening. On the back was a sequence of numbers, with some writing beneath it.
Call me sometime, silly marimo.
Let me just say that writing the banter between them was the most fun I've had writing in a long, long time. I just adore Sanji's character here. If you liked this story, please review. Any praise and/or constructive criticism is greatly appreciated. Thanks for reading!