A/N: I couldn't resist writing a second part to this story, so here it is – the same scene, but from Sanji's perspective! I had SO much fun with this, so I hope you guys like it. Love and ho-yay/foe-yay to all my readers. If you don't get that reference, look up those terms on TV Tropes. Only then will you understand what I mean. ;)

I'm entertaining the notion of continuing this story. I kind of like leaving it open-ended, but there's potential for a couple more chapters, too. I just posted a poll about that on my profile page. Thanks for reading - please review and vote!

The galley door swings open and I can immediately tell who my visitor is. He has all the grace of a herd of cattle. You can hear him tromping around a mile away.

"What do you want, Moss-For-Brains?" I don't bother turning away from my lunch preparations as I ask the question.

A tanned hand enters my periphery and steals a kiwi wedge. This will not stand.

"Oi!" I castigate the bastard, shooing him away. "Don't touch food while it's being prepared, stupid Marimo… it is highly unsanitary."

His eyes flick from mine to the floor where the kiwi slice has landed. He picks it up and throws it into the air. It arcs impeccably into his waiting mouth. He clenches the fruit between inexplicably white teeth that I alternate between wanting to kick in and wanting to taste.

"That. Is. Disgusting," I say, aghast.

"Five second rule," the jackass responds. He even has the audacity to lick his fingertips after touching the germ-ridden floor. I have given him just the reaction he wanted, if the shit-eating grin on his face is any indication.

Though I am truly appalled by the sight of someone eating food from the floor, I am exaggerating it a little bit for the audience. Besides that, as gross as it is, it's kind of sexy when Zoro does it.

I am generally attracted to fine, delicate features in women, but I like my men big, dirty and dumb. The more stomach-churningly male, the better. This sword-obsessed freak fits that bill perfectly. He drips with testosterone… crass, unctuous, boiling hot testosterone.

"You're one to talk about 'unsanitary' and 'disgusting,' shitty cook. Smoking is a pretty nasty habit."

I can tell he's really trying to goad me now as he bravely thieves another morsel from my work space.

Far be it from me to deny him his entertainment. I put on my best sulking expression and a whiny voice that would put a hungry Luffy to shame.

"Shut up, idiot swordsman… and stop ruining my food with your tainted hands!"

I continue to play along when he takes a seat at the counter, laughing.

"Just what the hell is so funny, you Neanderthal?"

"Oh, nothing," the dope guffaws. "Just you… actin' like a little bitch boy."

I administer my familiar standby when dealing with Zoro, the Death Glare. "I'll show you 'bitch boy,' you uncouth moron… we can take this outside whenever you want."

I hold my gaze for a few seconds and then quickly turn back to my work in my time-perfected "flustered" stance. He's eating this up.

Nobody else on the ship seems to pick up on this, but Zoro wants to do all sorts of unsanitary, disgusting things with me on the counter where he sits… and anywhere else he could have me. The poor man is so repressed, he doesn't have the guts to just come out and tell me so. I can see it in his eyes, though, especially when he flashes that cocky smirk at me. This repartee we share is his backward, schoolyard way of flirting with me. If I had pigtails, he would pull them. It's so infantile.

I find it very funny (and maybe a little bit insulting) that he thinks I can't see what the jeers and jabs really mean. I may be blond and pretty, but I'm not an airhead. I follow his lead in these exchanges as an experiment. I'm intrigued to see where this "rivalry" will go next. The banter is usually pretty predictable, but he surprises me on occasion.

He thinks he's really working me into a froth with this nonsense, but in truth, I enjoy it a little. I guess I'm a bit of a masochist. Maybe it makes me feel special that I'm the only one the foolish lug does this with. Regardless, it's a pretty cruel game I'm playing with him. It's too much fun to stop, though. Perhaps after enough of this he'll grow a pair and admit he's attracted to me.

I chance a look over my shoulder after a minute or two of silence from the moss-headed jerk.

My God. Is he seriously checking out my ass right now? This is irrefutable proof he's lusting after me.

I don't blame him, of course. I have a great ass. I've worked hard on it and I admire it in the mirror myself every morning, but Mr. Obvious isn't even trying to be slick about it! I can't resist letting him know he's been caught.

"Yo, ero Marimo… My eyes are up here!"

His jaw muscles twitch when he looks up. I know before he even opens his mouth that he's lying.

"I wasn't lookin' at you, dumbass. I saw a roach on the floor over there."

Wow. What a lame excuse. But if that's the best he can come up with on the fly…

"No, you did not!" I squeal accordingly, retreating from the area of the room the King of Improv has indicated. The imbecile is laughing again. I switch from girlish fear to rage before he can blink.

"Get out of my kitchen, you stupid, moss-brained dickhead," I growl in a deadly tone, tangling my fingers in the front of his shirt. I have to admit that keeping my composure is difficult for a moment. Heat is radiating from his body and I have to release him before I give into the urge to bite his jutting lower lip.

He turns toward the door and I'm a little disappointed until he deadpans, "Fine… I don't want your gross lunch anyway. That fruit tasted like crap."

I knew he wouldn't let me have the last word if he could help it. I waste no time.

"Maybe if you'd stop eating from the floor like an animal," I fire back, returning to my cutting board, "your dining experience would be more pleasant."

"Maybe acting like animals isn't always a bad thing," his voice rumbles in my ear. He's suddenly much closer to me than he was before.

It's a bold and unexpected move on his part (see what I mean?), and it sends a jolt of electricity up my spine.

Well, color me surprised. The bumbling clod can actually be stealthy when he wants to be... and his voice can be downright erotic when he's not being obnoxious... I have to make a concerted effort to concentrate on the moment rather than slipping into fantasies about the things I'd like to hear that voice say.

I lean back slightly against him with my lovingly crafted "swooning but trying (and failing) to fight it" sigh. I've used it a few times now and I think he might be (slowly) getting the hint. He braces himself to hold my weight and I can tell my proximity alone is getting to him. Checkmate, bitch.

I don't hold this position long before it's time to switch from "flirty" back to "hard-to-get." I straighten my back again, pushing the seductive motherfucker away.

"You heard me, damn it. OUT."

"As you wish," he mocks me, backing off.

I say nothing, sending him off with a righteously indignant huff.

I know full well that he's up to something. He thinks he's playing me. Maybe he is a little bit, but I'm playing him harder and he's clueless.

I'll keep going along with this little cat-and-mouse charade and see where it leads. Preferably it will eventually enable me to make him mine once and for all. That stupid-ass Marimo-cat doesn't know the kind of mouse he's messing with.