Summary: Despite their differences, Sanji and Zoro could both finally agree on one thing. They both absolutely despised Trafalgar Law's devil fruit abilities... (Body swap, eventual Sanji x Zoro)
Disclaimer: One Piece belongs to Oda, not me, but I'm sure that you already knew that.
Warnings: Language, and eventual Sanji x Zoro.
Authors Note: I've never attempted a One Piece fan fiction before, but after discovering Trafalgar Law and his abilities, I just couldn't resist writing this. Thanks for taking the time to stop by and read. I'm not exactly a die hard fan of the show, however from what I have seen, I can't help but love the crew.
For what seemed like, and probably had been several hours, Sanji was slumped lazily against the door to the entrance of the men's quarters, knees drawn to his broad chest whilst he released yet another sigh, his head hanging low in defeat. Upon arriving back at the ship the cook had headed straight for the first floor without so much as looking back, hauling himself through the door without a second thought. He'd ended up standing there for a few dazed moments, his back against the hard wood until he eventually slid to the floor with an audible thud. Since then, he hadn't moved much at all. On a few occasions he'd almost forgotten himself, taking a large calloused hand to brush the blonde hair from his eyes until he remembered that in fact the soft strands were gone.
Raising his head, he held out his right hand and examined it curiously under the soft light, tracing the tanned skin with his fingers- Zoro's skin.
The calloused hands were much larger and rougher than his own and it was only after really examining them for himself that he realised how different a mere hand could be from person to person. Clenching the hand into a tight fist, Sanji wondered how easy it would be for him to squeeze the life out of someone with the limb, using such brute force that this body was accustomed to. He could feel Zoro's arm tense from the movement, the mass of muscle rippling impressively beneath the warm skin. With a large hand, Sanji pushed the green sleeve to the elbow, eyeing the bulk of muscle in awe.
Sure he'd seen the green haired swordsman's impressive muscles before- whilst he was training on deck without a shirt, the sweat glistening in the strenuous heat and when he slept on the deck during the warm summer weather, in his bunk during the cool nights, oblivious to the world- Sanji had certainly seen what the marimo had to offer. In battle, one couldn't help but admire such brute strength, the way he could simply destroy a man with his bare hands without even touching his precious swords. His strength had hardly remained unnoticed, however it was only now that Sanji was beginning to notice the simpler things that had remained undiscovered to his curious blue eyes during normal circumstances; he hadn't noticed the scar on the palm of Roronoa's right hand, or the way the swordsman's muscles rippled with even the smallest gesture.
He'd never realised how damn heavy the man was compared to his own skinny frame.
Seeing from another's perspective was certainly one thing; feeling was an entirely different matter.
Although the blonde hated to admit it and had certainly tried to deny it for the past few hours, he was struggling to cope with the sheer bulk of the swordsman. Sanji was struggling to manoeuvre the muscular build. He felt sluggish, tired- heavy, and it made him feel weak.
He felt pathetic.
There he was, moping around in the dingy, confined space like a teenage girl that had been dumped by her boyfriend. He wasn't quite sure what he was so damn upset about- when Trafalgar was recovered, he'd soon be able to return to his body, however it was uncertain how long he'd have to wait. It could be weeks until the bastard became fully conscious...
With yet another sullen sigh, Sanji pushed himself to his feet, grimacing at the foreign feeling of three earrings swinging delicately in his left ear. It was almost funny how he was picking up on even the most minor details; it wasn't as if they were uncomfortable, however it just felt... unusual.
The men's quarters were located on the first floor of the ship, and there was a small room located between two doors; crew mates had to pass through this small room in order to enter the main space containing their lockers and bunks. The small room consisted of nothing but a sink, mirror, and small cabinet perched upon the wall. The ships washing facilities and toilets were located on the level above the men's quarters, which seemed like a long distance when you had to stumble through the ships halls in the middle of the night in complete darkness...
The cook approached the sink, almost wincing at the sound of his heavy footsteps as the swordsman's black boots sounded against the cold floor. He grasped the sink with both hands, squeezing tightly as he mentally prepared himself for the task ahead of him, ignoring the irritating dripping of the tap.
He knew that he was being stupid- this was without a doubt Zoro's body; however Sanji was determined to see for himself what his reflection had in store for him. He was curious, nervous- hell he wasn't sure what was killing him more, the nervousness crawling in the pit of his stomach or the irritating curiosity gnawing away at the back of his head. Whatever it was, he wanted it gone.
Taking a deep breath in anticipation, the cook slowly rose his head, averting his gaze to the mirror; when he was met with the sight of a piercing dark eye, he was unable to restrain a gasp, overwhelmed by the entire situation. Observing the green haired man that was his reflection, Sanji couldn't help but feel weak at the knees. The sight of the handsome face staring back at him was almost too much for him to handle, and as he inched closer, he could see the warm puff of air cloud the mirror as he breathed.
Tracing the glass with a hand, he could already feel the warm blush tinting his cheeks. Only one person could do this to him, could make him feel so weak, and it was embarrassing. How could the shitty muscle head so this to him? He saw the man all the damn time, and yet he'd never provoked this kind of reaction.
Taking Zoro's right hand from the glass, he began tracing his cheek- the finely chiselled features that made the man so daunting and yet so incredibly handsome. Slowly, he began to touch- his lips at first, and then his cheeks, the cold earrings through his left ear, and finally, almost hesitantly he paused as he reached the swordsman's left eye; touching it gently with his fingertips, he restrained a flinch. It felt wrong as he traced the fine scar, pausing hesitantly as he touched the closed eyelid.
There was no use in avoiding it- the cook knew that it was a matter of time until he succumbed to the curiosity welling up inside of him. Every since he'd first set eyes on Zoro and his new interesting scar he'd wanted to know what lay beneath the scarred eyelid. Of course, he would never of dreamed of asking the green haired man himself, because it was practically unspeakable for the blond cook to ask the marimo any kind of personal question. The man probably wouldn't have told him if he'd asked- how else was he supposed to know?
Now, he had a chance to make the desired discovery.
Wearily, he slowly opened Zoro's left eye, unfazed by the sight that greeted him in his reflection. Sanji glanced back at the pair of mismatched eyes in the mirror, hardly surprised that the left eye seemed to sit motionless in its socket, lighter in colour and unfocused- the swordsman was blind.
He tried so hard not to feel pity for Zoro, but there was just no denying the ounce of sympathy lurking in the pit of his stomach at the lack of sight in the lifeless orb. The marimo certainly was coping fine without it, however there was no way of knowing for certain what he was really thinking. The swordsman had never really opened up to anyone on the ship about his feelings and even most intimate of thoughts- not even Luffy. He was private man, and this worried the cook. He wondered if it was healthy for the man to keep bottling things up like he did. Surely even Zoro needed someone to confide in? Sanji realised that he was just making assumptions. He had no way of really knowing what the swordsman did, no way of really knowing if he was pouring his heart out to anyone in ultimate secrecy.
If only things were different between them, then perhaps Sanji could be Zoro's shoulder to lean on- he was more than willing to listen, if only he knew how to fix the apparent rift between them...
Perhaps, he thought, the entire situation was a mere figment of his imagination.
Perhaps the distance between them wasn't as large as it seemed, and he was just being stupid.
Perhaps there was more hope for them than he'd initially thought- he highly doubted it.
Gazing once more at the handsome face in the mirror, Sanji Blackleg realised in dismal realisation that no matter how much his relationship with Zoro improved or changed, he'd never be as close to the man as he'd like to be.
They'd always be nakama- nothing more.
He wanted something beyond his reach, and the current situation he found himself in was purely torturous. The body he'd longed to touch for so long was suddenly within his immediate grasp- as he ran a hand over the swordsman's exposed chest, he struggled to suppress a heated moan. He'd dreamed of touching this body, exploring the tanned skin with a pair of curious slender hands whilst the swordsman savoured his touch, tilting his head back in ecstasy while the cook ravished his exposed throat-
Suddenly, Sanji found himself splashing his face repeatedly with cold water in an attempt to clear his thoughts. It did little to ease his conscience, nor did it purge his mind of his perverted fantasies.
The water wasn't cold enough, he decided dismally.
It didn't help in the slightest that Zoro's attire seemed to exclude concealing his impressive chest. He wasn't blind to the fact that he was attractive- the bastard was flaunting it in the most torturous way possible, whether he was aware of it or not.
Glancing back at the mirror with a depressed sigh, the cook knew that he was in for a bumpy ride. The next few days were going to be long, tedious, and almost certainly torturous.
At last, the cook decided that it was time to leave the confines of the men's quarters and return to the comfort of his own territory- the kitchen. Perhaps it would make him feel better if he could just loose himself in his cooking for a few hours...
Sanji grasped the handle tightly with his right hand, taking a deep breath before opening the door. As he reluctantly emerged from the dingy room, there was only one thought occupying his mind.
He was going to kill Trafalgar Law.
Taking another swig from the glass in his right hand, Roronoa Zoro grimaced at the bitter taste violating his taste buds, suppressing an obvious shiver of discontent. The cheap liquor he'd pinched from the cook's cabinet tasted vile, lingering on his lips and the back of his throat with a fiery burn. Drinking was a past time that the swordsman could enjoy in a wide variety of situations, when he was happy, sad, angry- however, it appeared that in his current predicament, it did little to soothe him.
Of all of the bodies he could have ended up in, it had to have been Sanji's. It was almost funny- and Zoro would have perhaps laughed if he wasn't still recovering from the inevitable shock.
He'd always known that the cook was skinny, however he couldn't believe how light the man was. Sanji's lithe frame was a far cry from his own, almost seeming fragile in comparison. The way his long slender fingers curled around the cold glass was almost effeminate in a way. Zoro knew that Sanji was no girl, however he'd never seen anyone with such delicate pale skin or soft blond hair before- the man managed to prevail in balancing his androgynous features almost perfectly. The way he moved- it was almost graceful.
Averting his gaze to the three swords that rested on the kitchen table, the swordsman examined them under the light with a feeling of thorough discontent. The absent weight from his hip felt unnatural to him- it was almost as if he'd lost a limb. Although he wasn't one for caring about appearances, the green haired man had to admit that he'd look rather ridiculous if he continued wearing his swords. It wouldn't suit Sanji in the slightest.
He wondered if he'd be able to use them the same way in the blonde's body; after all, Sanji's strength in battle lay in the use of his legs, unlike Zoro, who needed upper body strength in order to use his swords to their full ability. He had no doubt that the cook was strong, however the swordsman doubted that he'd be able to fight to his usual standard- being placed in another body was like wearing a pair of shoes that didn't fit. He couldn't move in the same way, the way he flexed his hands, walked or talked- he could feel it, this feeling of not belonging in the cook's slender frame. It was almost as if he was being rejected from the vessel of Sanji's body, except he couldn't just leave when he wanted to.
He only wished it could be as simple as that.
He was at the mercy of Trafalgar Law.
The green haired swordsman had yet to study himself in the mirror; after all, he knew what Sanji looked like. He'd studied the cook from afar, absorbing each and every detail, from the way he walked to the number of cigarettes he smoked each day.
It wasn't unusual for Zoro to sit in the kitchen while Sanji was busy preparing food for the crew, nursing an alcoholic drink in his hand whilst he watched contently with a pair of dark, curious eyes. He knew nothing about cooking, nor did he have any skill in the matter, however he was always mesmerised by the cooks passion and confidence in the kitchen. He wouldn't be surprised if the cook could make a three course meal in his sleep.
There was nothing more hypnotising than watching Sanji Blackleg in his own territory. Despite the frequent arguing between the two, Zoro felt almost privileged that the cook allowed him to sit whilst he worked, while others like Luffy and Ussop were often evicted from the room when Sanji was busy. The repetitive thud of the knife against the chopping board was oddly soothing for the swordsman at times.
As Roronoa Zoro raked a hand through Sanji's soft blond hair with a small sigh, he ears were greeted only with the ominous sound of silence. The cook hadn't set foot in the kitchen for what had probably been several hours, an unusual occurrence. Since the crew had arrived back at the ship, Sanji had disappeared silently below deck, and Zoro had humorously headed straight for the liquor cabinet. The rest of the crew hadn't made any attempt to disturb them, giving both men some much needed space to think. In honesty, the green haired swordsman probably hadn't done enough thinking given the circumstances. It was a rare opportunity to be faced with peace and quiet on such a usually loud and flamboyant ship; however, he just couldn't seem to process his current predicament.
He was stuck in the body of Sanji Blackleg, and it felt just as bizarre as it sounded.
Zoro was yet to completely grasp the fact that somewhere on the ship, his own body was wondering around freely without him. It was insane. When the pair had first swapped bodies, the process had been suspiciously quick and painless. At the time, they had been far too preoccupied to do any real thinking or panicking. The first thing that Zoro had noticed was that his swords had been missing from his hip. In a worried frenzy, he'd instinctively lowered his hand to his hip, only to find that he was in fact wearing a pair of black trousers that most certainly didn't belong to him. Reaching a hand reluctantly into one of the pockets, his suspicions had been confirmed when he'd pulled out a half empty cigarette packet.
Sanji's smart attire was just too constricting for Zoro's personal tastes-there were too many goddamn buttons. The long sleeved and stiff collared shirt made him feel like an imposter. He couldn't have described the feeling if someone had asked him to. He just knew that it felt wrong.
There was no escaping the smell of tobacco that lingered in his nostrils. It wasn't particularly nauseating, however it was irritating. Zoro found himself resisting the urge to get up and walk away from the smell aggravating his sinuses. The swordsman considered himself to be fortunate that this was a minor 'problem' that could be dealt with, however there was only really one thing the was beginning to irritate him about being in Sanji's body- his hair. The way that his blond fringe hung limply in his face, covering a single eye- Zoro constantly had to fight the urge to push it back. He'd tried to push the hair from the cook's eye, only to find that it annoyingly fell instantly back into place.
It was going to take some getting used to.
Glancing languidly at his three swords resting on the hard oak table, the swordsman was so very tempted to cut Sanji's hair. It took every ounce of his strength to restrain himself from ridding the cook of his lovely blonde locks- 'Lovely?' he thought with a grimace, a frown forming on his face. He was unsure what had come over him, hoping sincerely that being absent from his finely chiselled form wasn't going to have any instant effect on his masculinity. He wondered idly how the blond was coping; it couldn't have been easy on him, being stuck in the body of someone he loathed- the shitty marimo headed swordsman.
There had always been a tension that existed between the two men, ever since Sanji had joined Luffy's crew. At first, it had almost appeared to be petty bickering amongst the stubborn nakama. However now, Zoro just wasn't so sure. There was just something there, and what this something was, he just couldn't put his finger on it. What the green headed swordsman felt for the stubborn cook was not entirely pure irritation; the feeling he got when the cook reacted to his jibes was something that made him feel radiant inside and out. It could have been suggested that Zoro gained a significant amount of twisted pleasure from watching the blonde narrow his eyes in anger, spitting insults mercilessly in his direction whilst proceeding to try and kick him with a well toned and skinny leg-
Zoro just loved seeing the cook irritated. He looked fucking sexy.
'Sexy,' the swordsman thought to himself blankly, arching the cooks back as he yawned, stretching like a sleepy feline. Glancing at the pair of slender hands that rested on the cold table top, Zoro decided that thinking about the flexible blond was giving his brain a strenuous work out.
'Shit. Doing it again,' he sighed, rubbing his temples with a slight frown. 'Flexible... I wonder if he's flexible in all the right places-'
"What are you doing here?"
The sound of a deep voice emerging from the doorway interrupted the swordsman from his thoughts sharply; he could recognise that gruff tone from anywhere. It was the sound of his own voice.
Without averting his gaze from the dull tabletop, the swordsman merely responded with a dull tone.
"I live on this ship, remember?"
There was a short silence before Sanji attempted a response. "I- " He began, running a hand through the swordsman's hair. When the cook was often in awkward situations like this, he had a tendency of running a hand through his blond hair. Since his usual long fringe was currently missing, he tried to substitute the soft golden strands for Zoro's short green ones, however it did little to relieve him. It just didn't feel the same. "Do you have to sit in here?"
"What the fuck have I-"
"Nothing. I just- It's... Fuck. Its fucking weird trying to talk to you with my own face looking back at me..."
Almost as soon as the swordsman raised the cold glass to his lips, he hesitated, placing it back upon the table top almost delicately with the cook's slender right hand. He turned his head, averting his gaze to the very familiar green haired figure that stood in the doorway, leaning against the doorframe wearily. He could see the cook's gaze shift once the man realised that he was looking- his- Zoro's dark eyes shifting to the floor almost uncomfortably. Sanji suppressed a shiver as he felt the swordsman admire his own body almost critically. He could feel the swordsman watching with a warm gaze, examining the well toned bare chest with what could have only been pride.
Zoro could feel a small smile tug at his lips. He could see the cook try not to squirm, pinned by his gaze.
Sanji glared, "You're an asshole."
"What's the matter Princess? I'm just admiring the view..."
"Bastard..." The cook muttered, approaching the kitchen counter as he tried to ignore the heat gathering in his cheeks. He wondered longingly how it would feel for the swordsman to sweep his gaze appreciatively over his skinny frame like that, wondering if it would still produce the same tingling sensation in the pit of his stomach-
'Stop fantasising dammit,' the blond scolded himself, averting his thoughts to the task of preparing dinner. As he reached for a knife to peal a potato from the counter, he frowned at how odd it felt as he held the familiar sharp appliance in his hand. As he attempted to slice the vegetable, he could hardly watch as he held the blade almost awkwardly in Zoro's calloused hand, being weary of the his fingers.
The sound of the knife against the thick chopping board wasn't as fluent and graceful as it should have been,and even Zoro was beginning to notice that the cook's cutting skills were a little off; however the swordsman chose to remain silent. He wasn't in much of a mood for being on the receiving end of one of the blonds' mood swings; all he wanted to do was to finish the rest of the bottle, crawl into his hammock, and fall into an alcohol induced slumber. There was nothing he liked better than to sleep, especially after numbing himself with drink. Glancing at the remaining amber coloured contents of the tall glass bottle, it became apparent that there were perhaps two glassfuls left- although unusually he didn't particularly fancy any more, the swordsman poured himself another glass. It was almost a tradition- Zoro always felt compelled to finish the entire bottle.
As the glass hit the table with an audible thud, the sound caught the cook's attention. Sanji paused with the knife in his hand and glanced over his shoulder, eyeing the bottle's label critically with a narrowed dark eye.
"I see the change didn't do anything to enhance your taste in alcohol. Are you even using my taste buds at all?"
Zoro took one glance into his own dark, piercing eye, and looked down at the drink in Sanji's hand. He shrugged, taking another mouthful of the ominous amber liquid, restraining a shiver as the foul tasting substance crawled down the back of his throat with a fiery burn in its path, a bitter taste lingering on his lips.
"Yeah. They're telling me that this stuff tastes of shit."
"Why are you drinking it then moron?!" Sanji asked with a frown, averting his gaze back to the knife in his hand as he resumed his chopping, the blade thudding against the cutting board with a repetitive thud.
"A drink is a drink. They all do the shame shit. I don't care what they taste like."
"Don't pollute me with that shit," Sanji added almost inaudibly, making no attempt to remove the glass from Zoro's hand.
The next few minutes passed quietly, the swordsman watching his own body prepare dinner whilst nursing the last mouthful of drink in the cook's hand. Seeing himself in the kitchen, moving stiffly across the room and lingering around the stove- it was surreal. He'd never been one to spend hours in front of the mirror, only really taking a glance at his own reflection when he took a shave. He'd never once wondered what it would be like to observe himself from another perspective. Now that he was really looking, he realised just how much he'd changed. Despite the obvious change of attire and the addition of his new scar, Zoro could see that his hair was slightly longer. It was funny how he hadn't really noticed until now. ..
Although the cook currently had his back to him at the stove, the swordsman could sense that Sanji was struggling to concentrate. The chopping sounds he'd heard earlier had been much more irregular and stressed, a far cry from the blonde's usual quick and confident pace- the knife had seemed like a foreign object in his hands. Zoro had almost offered to help- almost. He'd decided against the idea, because Sanji Blackleg disliked people in his territory whilst he was working. The way the man paced back and forth between the counter and the stove- he was like a caged lion, and the swordsman wasn't prepared to put his hand in the cage. Usually, he enjoyed an excuse to bicker and argue with the cook, however he could see that the man was having trouble concentrating enough as it was, without him interrupting.
Kicking the oven door shut with a scowl, Sanji headed over to the wine rack and then the kitchen table with the bottle in one hand and a tall glass in the other.
He took a seat beside the drinking swordsman, ignoring the man's questioning gaze and began to pour, watching the liquid fizz with an inward sigh. He tended to avoid drinking when he was in a bad mood, and for the past hour he'd done his best to resist the temptation to crack open a bottle and drink desperately like a barbarian. He drank from the glass solemnly, glancing reluctantly at the swordsman, only to find that the man was smiling at him.
A flicker or irritation flared within him, and the cook scowled, a fitting expression for the swordsman's face.
"What are you smiling at?" Sanji asked gloomily, the sounds of the swordsman's voice emerging from his throat in a mellow tone.
"Never thought I'd see myself drinking wine. I look stupid."
"You always look stupid, shit head..."
Zoro resisted the urge to grin. It was nice to see that the cook hadn't lost his sense of humour. When the Sanji had come and sat willingly beside him, he'd almost pinched himself for the second time that day.
"Whatever you say cook."
The swordsman grasped the neck of the bottle and proceeded to drain it brutishly of its remaining contents, drinking the rest of the liquid in a single mouthful. Placing it back on the table, he began to pick at the label idly, whilst ignoring the minor ache beginning to emerge in his temples. He frowned. It wasn't like him to get a headache from drinking, however he soon realised that really, at that particular moment in time, he wasn't like himself at all. Perhaps Sanji's body just wasn't used to draining an entire bottle in one sitting...
He resisted the urge to groan. He could already feel Sanji's head beginning to pound with a dull ache. Drinking was supposed to make him feel numb and sleepy. It wasn't supposed to make him feel like this- shitty and sore headed.
He buried his head in his hands with a small moan; he could almost feel the cook watching him, smiling.
"What's the matter marimo? Can't handle a drink?"
"Fuck you," the swordsman replied weakly, closing Sanji's blue eyes tightly shut in an attempt to block out the bright artificial lights of the kitchen. "Screw you and your pansy ass..."
"Such a foul mouth," the cook replied, his mood improving slightly. Watching the swordsman pollute his body with cheap booze had irritated him slightly; however upon seeing the man suffer the consequences, he couldn't help but smile. "If you want to drink yourself into a coma, do it in your own body arsehole. I don't want you fucking up my liver too- I can already feel yours dissolving."
Zoro removed the head from his hands and sluggishly left the table. Upon reaching the door, he paused. Without taking so much as a glance at the cook's green haired form, he ignored the pounding in his head for a brief second, feeling the corner of his mouth tug into a small smile.
"Bitch at me all you want cook. This doesn't change the fact that you can't handle a drink..."
Sanji glared daggers at the back of his own blonde head. The distraction was enough to make him forget temporarily about the change- he forgot about the toned, tanned body he was currently trapped in, and the way that the mirror had teased him with his handsome reflection and mysterious dark eyed gaze. All he could think about was how wonderful it would be to kick the swordsman's head in. The green haired man just knew how to press his buttons.
"We're not all alcoholics like you shithead. I can handle a drink as much as the next man; I'm just not greedy like you."
"Whatever Princess, I could feel you getting tipsy off of the fumes-"
"GET OUT OF MY KITCHEN SHIT HEAD!"
"Something I said?"
"I SAID OUT!"
The Strawhat's dinner was an unusually silent affair, and was perhaps the quietest mealtime that had ever occurred in the ships history.
After Sanji's usual announcement that the food was ready, the crewmates had gradually strolled through the kitchen door one by one. The ladies arrived in their usual fashion, graceful and quiet, Nami sinking into her seat calmly whilst Robin emerged from her reading; this was followed by Brook's almost inaudible footsteps, the rushed arrival of a 'starving' Luffy, Usopp, an exhausted Chopper, Zoro, and finally, the booming footsteps of cyborg Franky in all of his mechanical glory.
At times, Sanji often compared feeding the crew to providing for a small army. On some occasions they could certainly make enough noise to rival an army. That particular evening however, the only sounds emerging from the kitchen table was the occasional clang of cutlery and the growls of the Captains noisy and demanding stomach. It wasn't quite silent enough to hear a pin drop, however the quietness was still rather nerving.
It was an odd sight indeed to see the ships cook sitting at the table in Roronoa Zoro's usual seat, whilst the swordsman himself stood leaning against the kitchen counter, ready to tend to the crews needs with a tired frown. Of course really, the two nakama hadn't switched places at all- the body was merely a vessel for the soul, however it quickly became apparent to Sanji that adjusting to the new 'situation' was going to be much more difficult than he originally anticipated, not just for him and Zoro, but also for the crew.
Running a hand through his green hair, Sanji glanced over to the swordsman with a piercing dark eye. It was apparent to him that the marimo was feeling uncomfortable, not just from the headache but the odd glances he was receiving from the rest of the crew. To his credit, it appeared that he was trying his best not to look irritated or uncomfortable, yet the cook could still sense the tenseness emerging from him- the man's discomfort was clearly visible in his stiff posture. He was sitting slouched in his seat more so than usual, propping Sanji's blond head in his left hand whilst he proceeded to prod languidly at the food on his plate with an empty, blue eyed stare.
Sanji felt a pang of sympathy for the swordsman, resisting the urge to walk over to the table and rest a hand on his shoulder in concern- it felt odd watching himself being so miserable. He decided rather promptly that the look simply didn't suit him in the slightest. The way Zoro sat with his head lowered and the long blond fringe obscuring a blue eye- it was apparent that his mind was elsewhere. Whatever the man was thinking about, it certainly wasn't the cuisine in front of him.
"Are you ok Zoro?" Luffy asked in concern, interrupting the silence rather unexpectedly. The Captain was watching his first mate with an increasing sense of unease through a pair of narrowed dark eyes, almost as if he were trying to see what was troubling Zoro with his dark orbs. It was just like Luffy to be so blunt, and just one of the many reasons why Zoro adored his Captain. He liked it when people were honest.
Interrupted from his dazed thoughts, the swordsman glanced over to the raven haired pirate, responding simply, and almost dismally.
"Fine Captain," he replied quietly, restraining a small sigh. He could feel their eyes upon him; they'd been glancing occasionally in his direction ever since he'd sat down. Although it looked as if he wasn't paying attention, he couldn't ignore the feeling of being watched. He hated it. He couldn't concentrate when he knew that someone was watching him- he was the same during meditation and training. In the private confines of the crow's nest, he could be guaranteed privacy and peace on the busy ship. There was always something going on the Sunny, whether it was Luffy, Usopp and Chopper up to their usual sneaky antics, or Franky working on some kind of new magnificent invention below deck. On the odd occasion when Sanji Blackleg wasn't swooning over his precious female crew mates, he could be heard dropping something in the kitchen, the sound of breaking glass followed by a string of heated curses.
Glancing at the cook briefly before averting his gaze back to his full plate, the green haired swordsman wished that the cook could use the same level of passion to do other things besides his cooking- preferably something involving the two of them...
He could imagine the skinny blonde trailing his fingers across his muscular chest seductively, toying with the cold jewellery in his ear with a wet and skilful tongue. He tried to imagine what it would feel like to be touched by those talented hands and those tempting lips-
"You're not feeling sick are you Zoro? Maybe I should check your temperature, you're looking a little flushed-" the concerned reindeer said, the exhaustion present on his face.
'Fuck,' Zoro thought, trying to ignore the perverted visions of Sanji that continued to bleed through his mind. As he tried to tell Chopper that he was feeling fine, he found that the words didn't quite leave his throat- Sanji's throat. Licking his dry lips, his imagination began to dominate his attention again. All he could think about was how it would feel to be ravished by those lips- he could already imagine the cook trailing wet kisses down his neck, teasing his collar bone-
Chopper placed a hoof on the swordsman's head and frowned.
"You're feeling warm Zoro, perhaps you should lay down-"
"I'm fine-" he replied rather quickly, too quickly perhaps. He could see the reindeer narrow his gaze, examining him with his eyes. "Don't waste your concern on me."
"At least let me take your-"
"I'm fine," Zoro replied firmly. "You should get some sleep, you're probably exhausted."
"I should be going. I need to watch him-"
"I'll do it," Franky interrupted, leaving his seat promptly. Pressing his nose, strands of neon blue hair sprouted from his scalp into a familiar and full head of hair. He proceeded to run his hand through his brightly coloured locks, a small smile present on his face as he watched Luffy and Usopp gazing at him in awe.
"I'll never get bored of watching you do that," Usopp said honestly.
"I have the coolest crew ever!" Luffy exclaimed with a satisfied smirk. "I can proudly say that I am the only Captain in the world to have a cyborg with nipple lights!"
"Luffy!" Usopp frowned. "Don't encourage him!"
"I think that Franky's abilities are quite fascinating, however peculiar they might be," Robin added with a smile, taking another sip of wine as she watched Luffy continue to stare at the cyborgs hair in pure amazement.
"Come on Usopp bro," Franky said in amusement. "Show my nipples some love!"
"Keep them away from me!" Usopp shrieked, shielding the man from view by hiding behind his hyperactive captain.
"Come on Usopp," Luffy laughed. "Don't you have nipples too?"
"Don't be stupid Luffy," Nami frowned.
"That's right idiot," Usopp said, "we all do-"
"Even you Brook?" the Captain asked in astonishment, averting his gaze to the skeletal musician seated opposite him. "Wow! I didn't know that skeletons had-"
"I am all bones!" Brook replied, tapping his foot against the floor contently, placing his cup back upon the saucer with a small clink. "With the exception of my afro of course- isn't it amazing?!"
"Idiots," Nami muttered, raking a hand through her orange locks with an irritated sigh.
Stifling a tired yawn, Franky glanced languidly at the cook's current muscular and green haired form, which was currently leaning contently against the hard kitchen counter with a wine glass in his right hand; Sanji was watching the red substance as it swirled in the fine glass, feeling his eye's grow heavy- the motion was simply hypnotising.
The thought of having to clear the entire table and wash up before bed was enough to make him release a small groan of despair. He could feel himself falling asleep, and wasn't entirely certain that he had the energy to complete such tedious chores. He was ever so tempted to leave the clearing up until morning- he wouldn't take much persuading. Despite his reluctance, he proceeded to ignore the lazy suggestions emerging in his head and eyed the liquor cabinet longingly. Taking another sip of wine, he quickly abandoned his drink on the kitchen counter with a small grimace. Usually, a glass of red wine in the evening was enough to keep the exhaustion at bay, however Sanji had discovered quite dismally that the swordsman's palette barely even registered the crimson liquid.
He felt as if he hadn't drunk a thing.
"Sanji, can I have cola?" the cyborg asked, beginning to feel rather sluggish. Rather comically, as soon as the words had left his lips, Franky's flamboyant blue hair became limp and lifeless, lacking its usual shine and impressive volume.
"Of course," the green haired cook replied. He approached the fridge and glanced at the keypad on the door, glancing over to his Captain who remained sat at the table. "Turn around Luffy," he demanded, ignoring the raven's protests.
"As if I could see from here!" Luffy replied sulkily as Usopp covered his eyes with a pair of hands.
Satisfied that no one was peeking, the cook entered the four digits into the keypad and opened the large door, retrieving a cold bottle and handing it to Franky, who nodded in thanks. There were only three individuals that were aware of the combination, obviously Sanji himself and also Nami and Robin. Luffy glanced over to Nami with a watery eyed gaze, eyeing the orange haired female with puppy dog eyes.
"Namiiiii, tell me the code!"
"It'll cost you," she replied. Upon hearing this, Zoro resisted the urge to roll his eyes. It was just like Nami to try and make money from situations like this. He wondered if she ever thought of anything else.
"Three million beli."
"Hey Franky!" Luffy called to the cyborg enthusiastically, not in the slightest put off by Nami's ridiculously demanding figures.
"Can I borrow three million beli-OW!" He hissed as Nami proceeded to extend a hand and smack him on the back of his head.
"Don't demand things like that idiot!"
"Why not?! I'm the captain of this ship. Sanji, give me the code, captains orders!"
"In your dreams," the cook muttered as he approached the liquor cabinet, the swordsman's heavy footsteps sounding against the wooden floor as he walked. Opening the stiffly hinged door's, he glanced wearily at the array of bottles before him, narrowing his dark eyes as he observed the faint labels with curiosity. Scanning the contents of the cabinet, he reached in and took hold of a bottle of whiskey, grasping it tightly in one hand and he returned to his familiar spot beside the counter, reaching for a glass.
"Are you ok bro?" Franky asked, his voice slightly tinged with concern.
"I'm fine," Sanji replied mechanically in the swordsman's low voice, offering the cyborg a weak smile as he began to pour himself a drink.
Although he remained unconvinced by the response, Franky didn't push the matter any further, retraining himself from frowning. He replaced the empty bottle in the compartment of his stomach with a fresh, ice cold bottle and almost immediately, the drink began to take effect; his hair was restored to its usual vitality, and the lingering exhaustion that had begun to plague him quickly disappeared.
"I guess we're all a little tired hm? It's been a long day!" Franky glanced over to the exhausted looking reindeer who appeared to be almost falling asleep in his seat. "Get some sleep Chopper bro," he said, his heavy footsteps disappearing down the echoing hallway as he headed for the sick bay.
It wasn't long until the crew began to gradually disperse from the kitchen one by one, thanking Sanji in their usual fashion before heading off contently to bed. One of the last to leave had been Chopper, who had practically dragged himself from his seat and trotted sleepily to bed. Zoro couldn't deny the fact that he had a soft spot for the reindeer; when he'd watched the doctor disappear through the kitchen door, rubbing his eyes with a yawn, he'd had to resist the urge to smile. Although it pained him a little to use such a word, he had to admit that Chopper looked adorable, and dare he suggest it, cute. Of course, he'd never admit this aloud, because Sanji would never let him hear the end of it, teasing him mercilessly, or at least more than what he did already.
Gazing across the room through Sanji's glittering blue eyes, the swordsman was greeted by the sight of the empty table. It was just him and Sanji- him and the perverted love cook.
Usually, Zoro didn't tend to hang around after dinner, often being one of the first to leave. That particular evening however, he didn't feel particularly obliged to rush from his seat. His presence didn't remain unnoticed by the cook, who glanced briefly over his broad shoulder from the kitchen sink with a single cloudy, dark eyed gaze.
"If you've got time to sit my ass, you can help me do the washing up, shithead."
To Sanji's suprise, the swordsman didn't protest. Instead he wondered languidly over to the sink, Sanji's black polished shoes scuffing the floor.
Taking a place beside his own green haired form, Zoro took the dishcloth from the counter and began to dry the dishes without a single word of complaint as the cook handed them to him, watching as his hands disappeared beneath the soapy water.
Tiredly, the two crewmates continued to clean up in a crippling silence, the only sounds to be heard was the splash of water and the occasional squeak as Zoro dried the large white plates using the cook's slender pale hands. His former headache had now subsided, and had been reduced to a minor ache that made his temples twinge occasionally in minor discomfort.
Compared to all of the wounds Zoro had received over the years, a headache was nothing.
He'd tried to sleep it off before dinner by sprawling lazily across the deck as he often did in his usual laid back fashion. Folding his arms under the cook's head, he'd closed the man's eyes and had tried to slip into a light slumber; he'd tried to ignore the pounding within Sanji's skull, however his efforts had been useless, because he'd found that he was unable to get comfortable. Eventually after running out of patience, he'd opted for leaning over the rail of the ship, gazing boredly at the repetitive ebbing of the turquoise tide through a curtain of soft blond hair.
Zoro's attention shifted to the shallow glass of murky liquid situated on the counter.
"You don't drink whiskey," he said, reaching for a wet bowl being offered to him by his own dripping, calloused right hand.
"Wine isn't cutting it for me tonight," Sanji replied honestly in the swordsman's voice. "To your barbarian palette, it's like drinking water."
"Looks like we're both feeling shitty tonight love cook," he muttered, glancing at his own form with a single blue eye, watching as Sanji struggled to keep Zoro's dark eye open.
The former blonde gave a sigh in response, biting the swordsman's lip in a bid to keep himself awake. He could feel the threat of those heavy eyelids. At that moment, he wanted nothing more than to retire to bed and fall into a peaceful slumber, where he could forget temporarily about the dirty dishes, Trafalgar law, and most importantly, the taunting face in the mirror. Every time his attention drained, he could still perfectly picture that piercing dark eye staring back at him- he could still feel the finely chisled chest beneath his fingertips, and the wall of muscle ripple beneath the warm, tanned skin-
Sanji knew that he was unlikely to get much sleep that night, and if he was lucky enough to slip into a peaceful slumber, he'd probably be dreaming of the shit head.
Zoro found his focus slipping, trying to concentrate on the painfully simple task at hand. He watched as he used Sanji's delicate hands to dry the dish in front of him, flexing the man's fingers beneath the artificial lights of the cook's beloved kitchen.
Slipping into the depths of his dangerously egger and vivid imagination, he could picture the blond softly tracing the hard wall of his muscular chest and the large ominous scar that disfigured his torso like a brand, exploring his warn skin with gentle fingers and a devilish tongue- 'Fuck,' he thought, trying to ignore the sudden warmth that began to wreath in his abdomen, creeping gradually lower and lower, reaching very dangerous territory.
The swordsman was interrupted from his thoughts by a large and dripping calloused hand being waved in front of his face, obscuring his vision, followed by the sound of his own voice.
"So you're deaf as well as stupid now?"
"Shut up... Shitty swordsman," Zoro replied teasingly, rather impressed by his imitation of the cook. "You're dripping water on my counter asshole!"
"Real funny muscle head," Sanji said with a frown of disapproval, completely unimpressed by the man's antics. "Carry on and I'll show you just what this asshole can do."
"Whatever you say Princess-"
"Don't call me that shithead!"
"Jeez, someone's on their period-"
Zoro narrowly avoided being injured by a large fist by dodging, ducking to his left away from the counter and the pissed cook; before he could release a heated curse, he felt the white dish slip from his grasp, slipping from his fingers and shattering into several pieces as it hit the hard floor with an audible smash. If his wry comment hadn't set the man on edge already, the broken glass on the kitchen floor was certainly going to be enough to ignite the cook's temper. Sanji always got pissed when things were broken, especially in his haven, the kitchen-
"I'll make you pay for that you clumsy prick! That was one of my best pieces of-"
"You tried to hit me, what did you think was going to happen?!" Zoro replied heatedly, grasping his own body by the collar of his green coat, glaring into his single dark eye with irritation. The cook merely scowled in response, trying to pry his fingers from the green material, and doing his best not to squirm in the swordsman's grasp.
"Let go asshole!"
The swordsman held the man in a vice grip, smirking as he watched Sanji try desperately free himself. Watching his own green haired form through certain of blond hair, Zoro noticed rather humorously that the cook was still reluctant to look him the eye, averting his gaze to the floor. Zoro released the man when he felt a kick to his shin, re-coiling his hand and rubbing at the cook's thin leg with a hiss. Dismissing the small throb in Sanji's shin, he didn't hesitate to cease the man again, much to the cook's displeasure. This time, without warning, he ceased him with both hands, pinning him against the hard kitchen counter.
With a single dark eyed gaze, Sanji looked into his own cloudy blue eye, and found that this time; he was unable to protest against the man's grasp. He'd forgotten how to use the swordsman's limbs; glancing reluctantly at his own features, he found the entire experience rather creepy. It was like looking into a mirror; accept his reflection was no longer within his control, like some kind of twisted nightmare. As the swordsman held him with such force, Sanji began to feel nervous, feeling Zoro's legs grow unsteady in response.
"Let go!" Sanji protested. The stern tone of Zoro's voice remained unconvincing, causing the swordsman's smirk to broaden in satisfaction.
"Maybe I will when you learn some manners."
"That's rich coming from a brute like you-"
"We're both not in the mood for this, cook. As much as I'd like to kick your ass into oblivion right now, it just isn't the same kicking my own head in..."
"As if that would stop you!"
"Whatever," the swordsman replied, releasing the cook promptly. "I'm going to bed."
Releasing his own green haired form, Zoro spun on the cooks heels, ignoring the crunch beneath the blond's feet as he trod on the broken shards of glass. Disappearing through the doorway, he could hear the cook call after him in irritation, gracing a small smile at the man's obvious displeasure.
"What about this broken glass asshole?!"
"Clean it yourself. I wouldn't want to cut up your pretty little fingers now, would I Princess?"
"I should slice off your fingers, you jerk!"