One Piece- "Date"
Title: Date
Universe: One Piece
Rating: PG-13
Pairing/Character/s: ZoroxSanji
Word Count: 2,105
Warning/s: No spoilers I can imagine. Just fluff and oocness. XD
Summary: Fic set in the “Courtship Rituals” universe- A night out together.
Dedication: sherrymarie- I STILL SUCK. I’M SORRY I’M WORKING ON IT I SWEAR.
A/N: So I started writing this like, ages and ages ago but for some reason was never able to finish it. I guess I finished it today, though you can very clearly see the demarcation of where the first half is and where the second half is because I think I diverged from the original purpose of this story (if I ever had one) when I set about finishing it. OH WELL, such is how these things happen sometimes, I guess. Damn my bad memory. Anyway, it’s just silliness so I don’t think it really matters either way.
Sanji sighed to himself for the umpteenth time as the prospect of a semi-normal outing promptly flew out the window, presumably scared off by the mixture of deadly and awkward auras swirling around the restaurant now-the epicenter of which seemed centered around their table.
Zoro scowled (he was trying to smile) and picked at his collar again, which earned him a sharp look from the blond seated across from him. He twitched and wondered if he could figure out how to unknot his stupid froofy girly-man’s necktie and loop it around the love-cook’s own throat-maybe choke the bastard a little.
A suit. Zoro was wearing a suit. Roronoa Zoro was wearing a suit.
It was painfully, painfully awkward. And difficult to scratch his crotch because everything was so, well, well-fitted. Though he supposed if he tried any sort of thing right now, here in this fancy-smanshy restaurant the aho-cook had picked, a sharp kick to the crotch was what he’d actually receive.
Except suddenly Sanji wasn’t watching him anymore-hallelujah- because he was too busy looking tragically morose in the fancy-smanshy candlelight. Zoro took advantage of that opening, hand slipping faster than lightning down towards the waistline of his pants and reaching for…
“I’ll kill you,” Sanji sighed dramatically, and still managed to look as tragically morose as he had a second ago while he threatened the life of one of the world’s most skilled swordsmen.
Zoro twitched and averted his hand, moved it to pat down some of the wrinkles on his slacks in one smooth, almost natural looking movement instead. “Er,” he said, and then, on Sanji’s sideways look, let his mouth snap shut.
One year of this and he was kind of beginning to figure this shit out all for himself.
When Zoro didn’t say anything Sanji sighed again, and glanced over to the side, where a young couple-in which there was a young, beautiful lady-sat and chatted and flirted with one another with their eyes. The blond sighed. Again.
Zoro twitched some more and made an effort to pay attention to whatever the fuck it was his menu said, though he couldn’t really be sure because it all seemed to be in French.
After a while he grunted and gave up, leaning back against his chair and looking at Sanji expectantly. “Oi… I don’t know what this shit is,” he declared. “Just order me something with meat.”
“Fine,” Sanji replied, and sighed again.
Zoro almost sighed in return frustration, but caught himself in time because even if he was married to the bastard like hell he was going to turn into him.
“Tch. Would you cut out the goddamned sighing, stupid love-cook?” Zoro grunted instead, and looked annoyed. “The way you’re going on people are gonna think I beat you or something.”
Sanji sputtered. “Like hell!” he near-shouted, and almost choked on his own spit at the very thought of something so absurd.
Zoro nodded, and figured for once, they were in complete agreement. “Right. I’m not a wife beater.” He fidgeted with his tie.
“I’M NOT YOUR WIFE.” Sigh. “Stop that.”
The swordsman sensed danger, and let his hand drop. “Er… spousal abuser?”
Sanji would have shouted another vehement denial at such a boneheaded concept, except he was too busy being distracted by the fact that Zoro knew how to use a word like “spousal” correctly in a sentence. The chef blinked. “The hell did you learn such a big word, dumbass?”
Zoro’s eyes narrowed. “I already…”
Sanji looked at him skeptically.
Zoro turned his eyes sideways and crossed his arms. “Nami.”
“I should have figured.” Sanji sighed.
Zoro twitched but refrained from saying anything against the devil woman because that would just make things so much worse and was already sick enough of this shit.
To speed things along he ignored propriety for a second and waved over a waiter with an impatient movement of his arm and something that could be constituted as a belligerent stare.
Sanjie glared at him.
But then the waiter was there-admittedly shaking just a little bit-and taking Sanji’s orders as steadily as he could while Zoro menaced at him a little more, for his own entertainment.
When he was finished, the server scurried away and Sanji kicked Zoro under the table.
“Ow. Fuck.”
Sanji didn’t say anything in lieu of sighing again, the cook figuring it might have actually been too much to ask when he thought they could go out alone together and have a semi-pleasant time. He mentally crossed off the possibility of hanging around town and doing stuff after they ate.
Best to take the big moron back to the ship before he spontaneously combusted in his suit or choked the life out of some poor passerby with his tie.
“This is stupid,” Zoro announced after a minute, because it was better than the silence, and the chef’s sighing and the giggles of the flirting girl at the table nearby.
“I agree,” Sanji said, and actually sounded vaguely disappointed.
Zoro, after a year of being married, was beginning to learn that he could be kicked in the balls with just words.
Also, for the record, he hated suits.
He wisely stayed quiet until their food came though, and when the waiter-still shaking-managed to get him his dish without dropping anything on him in the process, Zoro frowned and realized that he had-steak.
If it was fucking steak, why couldn’t they just write that on the goddamned menu?
Sanji ate some froofy looking pasta with mushrooms and the girl at the nearby table continued to giggle in the periphery.
“How is it?” Sanji asked after a moment, and sipped his wine without looking at Zoro.
Zoro grunted, but remembered to swallow what was in his mouth first instead of speaking around it. “’s okay,” he murmured, and sipped wine himself-even though it was too damned frilly for his tastes. “Yours is better,” he added offhandedly, and thought that if they’d just done this on the ship they could’ve not spent a fortune on food Sanji made better as well as forgone the dressing up and gotten straight to getting naked instead.
Sanji paused at Zoro’s words, and his fork actually made a little clattering noise at the raised edge of his plate when he did. “Huh.”
Zoro belatedly realized what he’d said. He turned a little red. “I just like home cooking better is all.” Scowl. “Stop looking at me like that.”
Sanji actually smiled, though not in an entirely nice way. An inexplicable way, more like.
Zoro got a little bit redder on instinct. “Oi. Cut that out.”
Sanji stood then, and motioned their trembling waiter back over. “We’re leaving,” he announced.
Zoro blinked and actually kind of felt a little bit afraid. “Oi…” he said, and almost meant, “I’m sorry” on reflex, for whatever it was he’d just done. It wasn’t like they just had to leave in the middle of the meal or anything. He wasn’t having a terrible time.
But Sanji promptly asked for the check and takeout boxes for the rest of the meal without missing a beat. “Luffy can eat the leftovers,” he explained, and Zoro was still kind of really lost.
It made the chef laugh a little, though not in that smug way that pissed Zoro the hell off most of the time. In an inexplicable way. Zoro wondered if it was the look on his face or the look on his face and the suit.
Either way he was too damned confused to think properly, and when the other man didn’t move to explain what the hell was going on, the swordsman swallowed his pride (or some of it at least) and said, “I’m sorry?”
Sanji ignored him, and once they were paid and boxed, tugged Zoro out of the restaurant.
“Don’t ignore me, bastard!” Zoro said, and his head was beginning to hurt. He didn’t understand what the hell was going on.
Sanji seemed perfectly amused at his confusion-though he supposed the bastard would be. “We’re going back to the ship,” was all the blond said, and Zoro wondered if he was drunk.
“Are you drunk? How much of that damned wine did you have, featherweight?” he questioned as they walked. He really hadn’t seen Sanji like this well-ever.
Pause.
A horrible thought hit him.
“Are you dying?”
That got Sanji to stop, at least.
Though Zoro took the sudden pause as an affirmation. “Oh shit, you’re dying.” Pause. And then, “FUCKER tell people about that kind of shit, don’t just… mmmph.”
Sanji turned around and kissed him suddenly, hard on the mouth in the middle of the street (though it was admittedly empty at the moment), and Zoro was really convinced his husband was terminally ill or something. Either that or trying to get him to shut up before the swordsman had an aneurysm, but Zoro wasn’t quite convinced Sanji would resort to something he loathed as much as PDA to do that.
When they pulled apart Sanji took one look at Zoro’s face and burst out laughing. Zoro just tried to remember how to breathe.
And then the blnd rested his forehead against the swordsman’s shoulder, and if he was in his right mind-which Zoro was convinced he wasn’t-he would have realized that they were in a public place and the blond still had his arms wrapped around Zoro’s waist.
At that, Zoro wondered if maybe he was the one dying. “Uh…Sanji?”
“Zoro.”
No “marimo,” no “dumbass,” no “bastard,” no “idiot dumbass marimo bastard,” even. Just a bag with two Styrofoam containers of meat and pasta in his fist and Sanji’s arms around his waist and his mind trying to figure out which of the two of them exactly, was the one dying.
Because this was too damned weird to be normal and someone had to be dying.
“The hell?” Zoro asked, and tentatively let his free hand come up to cup the back of the chef’s neck in case he was the one who was sick.
“Dumbass,” Sanji murmured then, breath hitting the exposed skin of Zoro’s throat and making him shiver a bit. But the moniker reassured him some, even as he felt stupid and awkward standing in the middle of the street wearing a suit with Sanij’s arms wrapped around him. “It’s our anniversary,” the chef murmured.
Well, he knew that. “I know that. You’re acting weird. You’re not dying, right?”
Sanji sighed, though it wasn’t morose in the slightest this time. “Hey,” he started, and his lips actually touched Zoro’s neck when they moved. “Let’s go back to the ship.”
“Hmm,” Zoro grunted, and wished the fucker would just answer that dying question already, before he went crazy.
“I’ll make you dinner there,” Sanji explained, and pulled himself away from the other man’s body so they could keep walking.
“But…” Zoro held up the bag with the Styrofoam contains full of meat and pasta.
Sanji grinned. “Mine’s better.”
“You’re acting weird.”
Sanji tugged them back towards the dock. “It’s our anniversary.”
Zoro blinked, and didn’t really see how that was neither here nor there. It was always someone’s anniversary, after all.
Sanji rolled his eyes and started speaking slowly, even though he knew Zoro hated that. “I’m actually in a good mood and want to have lots of sex with you tonight,” he explained finally, because Zoro looked like he was about to explode from confusion. “Cherish it, idiot. It doesn’t happen lots.”
Zoro blinked. “What…really?”
Sanji didn’t even bother to answer that-just kept walking.
Zoro jogged a bit to catch up. “You’re not dying?”
“As far as I know.”
“Oh.” Something inside of the swordsman screamed for a more dramatic sort of reaction to the news given the level of relief he was feeling right now, but a bigger part of himself was refocusing on the things Sanji had just said.
Pause.
“Lots of sex?”
That, given all the cook’s protests the times they did have sex, seemed kind of really out of left field.
He wondered if it was the suit. “Is it the suit?”
Sanji thought about how he should answer that. “Yeah, it’s definitely the suit. You should wear them more often.” And then the Strawhat flag was in sight, and Sanji was climbing on board and heading straight for the galley without another backwards glance.
Zoro waited a moment on the pier and looked himself over.
He wondered, vaguely, if maybe he should learn how to knot a tie one of these days.
It didn’t look that hard.
END
EDITS PLZ.
Universe: One Piece
Rating: PG-13
Pairing/Character/s: ZoroxSanji
Word Count: 2,105
Warning/s: No spoilers I can imagine. Just fluff and oocness. XD
Summary: Fic set in the “Courtship Rituals” universe- A night out together.
Dedication: sherrymarie- I STILL SUCK. I’M SORRY I’M WORKING ON IT I SWEAR.
A/N: So I started writing this like, ages and ages ago but for some reason was never able to finish it. I guess I finished it today, though you can very clearly see the demarcation of where the first half is and where the second half is because I think I diverged from the original purpose of this story (if I ever had one) when I set about finishing it. OH WELL, such is how these things happen sometimes, I guess. Damn my bad memory. Anyway, it’s just silliness so I don’t think it really matters either way.
Sanji sighed to himself for the umpteenth time as the prospect of a semi-normal outing promptly flew out the window, presumably scared off by the mixture of deadly and awkward auras swirling around the restaurant now-the epicenter of which seemed centered around their table.
Zoro scowled (he was trying to smile) and picked at his collar again, which earned him a sharp look from the blond seated across from him. He twitched and wondered if he could figure out how to unknot his stupid froofy girly-man’s necktie and loop it around the love-cook’s own throat-maybe choke the bastard a little.
A suit. Zoro was wearing a suit. Roronoa Zoro was wearing a suit.
It was painfully, painfully awkward. And difficult to scratch his crotch because everything was so, well, well-fitted. Though he supposed if he tried any sort of thing right now, here in this fancy-smanshy restaurant the aho-cook had picked, a sharp kick to the crotch was what he’d actually receive.
Except suddenly Sanji wasn’t watching him anymore-hallelujah- because he was too busy looking tragically morose in the fancy-smanshy candlelight. Zoro took advantage of that opening, hand slipping faster than lightning down towards the waistline of his pants and reaching for…
“I’ll kill you,” Sanji sighed dramatically, and still managed to look as tragically morose as he had a second ago while he threatened the life of one of the world’s most skilled swordsmen.
Zoro twitched and averted his hand, moved it to pat down some of the wrinkles on his slacks in one smooth, almost natural looking movement instead. “Er,” he said, and then, on Sanji’s sideways look, let his mouth snap shut.
One year of this and he was kind of beginning to figure this shit out all for himself.
When Zoro didn’t say anything Sanji sighed again, and glanced over to the side, where a young couple-in which there was a young, beautiful lady-sat and chatted and flirted with one another with their eyes. The blond sighed. Again.
Zoro twitched some more and made an effort to pay attention to whatever the fuck it was his menu said, though he couldn’t really be sure because it all seemed to be in French.
After a while he grunted and gave up, leaning back against his chair and looking at Sanji expectantly. “Oi… I don’t know what this shit is,” he declared. “Just order me something with meat.”
“Fine,” Sanji replied, and sighed again.
Zoro almost sighed in return frustration, but caught himself in time because even if he was married to the bastard like hell he was going to turn into him.
“Tch. Would you cut out the goddamned sighing, stupid love-cook?” Zoro grunted instead, and looked annoyed. “The way you’re going on people are gonna think I beat you or something.”
Sanji sputtered. “Like hell!” he near-shouted, and almost choked on his own spit at the very thought of something so absurd.
Zoro nodded, and figured for once, they were in complete agreement. “Right. I’m not a wife beater.” He fidgeted with his tie.
“I’M NOT YOUR WIFE.” Sigh. “Stop that.”
The swordsman sensed danger, and let his hand drop. “Er… spousal abuser?”
Sanji would have shouted another vehement denial at such a boneheaded concept, except he was too busy being distracted by the fact that Zoro knew how to use a word like “spousal” correctly in a sentence. The chef blinked. “The hell did you learn such a big word, dumbass?”
Zoro’s eyes narrowed. “I already…”
Sanji looked at him skeptically.
Zoro turned his eyes sideways and crossed his arms. “Nami.”
“I should have figured.” Sanji sighed.
Zoro twitched but refrained from saying anything against the devil woman because that would just make things so much worse and was already sick enough of this shit.
To speed things along he ignored propriety for a second and waved over a waiter with an impatient movement of his arm and something that could be constituted as a belligerent stare.
Sanjie glared at him.
But then the waiter was there-admittedly shaking just a little bit-and taking Sanji’s orders as steadily as he could while Zoro menaced at him a little more, for his own entertainment.
When he was finished, the server scurried away and Sanji kicked Zoro under the table.
“Ow. Fuck.”
Sanji didn’t say anything in lieu of sighing again, the cook figuring it might have actually been too much to ask when he thought they could go out alone together and have a semi-pleasant time. He mentally crossed off the possibility of hanging around town and doing stuff after they ate.
Best to take the big moron back to the ship before he spontaneously combusted in his suit or choked the life out of some poor passerby with his tie.
“This is stupid,” Zoro announced after a minute, because it was better than the silence, and the chef’s sighing and the giggles of the flirting girl at the table nearby.
“I agree,” Sanji said, and actually sounded vaguely disappointed.
Zoro, after a year of being married, was beginning to learn that he could be kicked in the balls with just words.
Also, for the record, he hated suits.
He wisely stayed quiet until their food came though, and when the waiter-still shaking-managed to get him his dish without dropping anything on him in the process, Zoro frowned and realized that he had-steak.
If it was fucking steak, why couldn’t they just write that on the goddamned menu?
Sanji ate some froofy looking pasta with mushrooms and the girl at the nearby table continued to giggle in the periphery.
“How is it?” Sanji asked after a moment, and sipped his wine without looking at Zoro.
Zoro grunted, but remembered to swallow what was in his mouth first instead of speaking around it. “’s okay,” he murmured, and sipped wine himself-even though it was too damned frilly for his tastes. “Yours is better,” he added offhandedly, and thought that if they’d just done this on the ship they could’ve not spent a fortune on food Sanji made better as well as forgone the dressing up and gotten straight to getting naked instead.
Sanji paused at Zoro’s words, and his fork actually made a little clattering noise at the raised edge of his plate when he did. “Huh.”
Zoro belatedly realized what he’d said. He turned a little red. “I just like home cooking better is all.” Scowl. “Stop looking at me like that.”
Sanji actually smiled, though not in an entirely nice way. An inexplicable way, more like.
Zoro got a little bit redder on instinct. “Oi. Cut that out.”
Sanji stood then, and motioned their trembling waiter back over. “We’re leaving,” he announced.
Zoro blinked and actually kind of felt a little bit afraid. “Oi…” he said, and almost meant, “I’m sorry” on reflex, for whatever it was he’d just done. It wasn’t like they just had to leave in the middle of the meal or anything. He wasn’t having a terrible time.
But Sanji promptly asked for the check and takeout boxes for the rest of the meal without missing a beat. “Luffy can eat the leftovers,” he explained, and Zoro was still kind of really lost.
It made the chef laugh a little, though not in that smug way that pissed Zoro the hell off most of the time. In an inexplicable way. Zoro wondered if it was the look on his face or the look on his face and the suit.
Either way he was too damned confused to think properly, and when the other man didn’t move to explain what the hell was going on, the swordsman swallowed his pride (or some of it at least) and said, “I’m sorry?”
Sanji ignored him, and once they were paid and boxed, tugged Zoro out of the restaurant.
“Don’t ignore me, bastard!” Zoro said, and his head was beginning to hurt. He didn’t understand what the hell was going on.
Sanji seemed perfectly amused at his confusion-though he supposed the bastard would be. “We’re going back to the ship,” was all the blond said, and Zoro wondered if he was drunk.
“Are you drunk? How much of that damned wine did you have, featherweight?” he questioned as they walked. He really hadn’t seen Sanji like this well-ever.
Pause.
A horrible thought hit him.
“Are you dying?”
That got Sanji to stop, at least.
Though Zoro took the sudden pause as an affirmation. “Oh shit, you’re dying.” Pause. And then, “FUCKER tell people about that kind of shit, don’t just… mmmph.”
Sanji turned around and kissed him suddenly, hard on the mouth in the middle of the street (though it was admittedly empty at the moment), and Zoro was really convinced his husband was terminally ill or something. Either that or trying to get him to shut up before the swordsman had an aneurysm, but Zoro wasn’t quite convinced Sanji would resort to something he loathed as much as PDA to do that.
When they pulled apart Sanji took one look at Zoro’s face and burst out laughing. Zoro just tried to remember how to breathe.
And then the blnd rested his forehead against the swordsman’s shoulder, and if he was in his right mind-which Zoro was convinced he wasn’t-he would have realized that they were in a public place and the blond still had his arms wrapped around Zoro’s waist.
At that, Zoro wondered if maybe he was the one dying. “Uh…Sanji?”
“Zoro.”
No “marimo,” no “dumbass,” no “bastard,” no “idiot dumbass marimo bastard,” even. Just a bag with two Styrofoam containers of meat and pasta in his fist and Sanji’s arms around his waist and his mind trying to figure out which of the two of them exactly, was the one dying.
Because this was too damned weird to be normal and someone had to be dying.
“The hell?” Zoro asked, and tentatively let his free hand come up to cup the back of the chef’s neck in case he was the one who was sick.
“Dumbass,” Sanji murmured then, breath hitting the exposed skin of Zoro’s throat and making him shiver a bit. But the moniker reassured him some, even as he felt stupid and awkward standing in the middle of the street wearing a suit with Sanij’s arms wrapped around him. “It’s our anniversary,” the chef murmured.
Well, he knew that. “I know that. You’re acting weird. You’re not dying, right?”
Sanji sighed, though it wasn’t morose in the slightest this time. “Hey,” he started, and his lips actually touched Zoro’s neck when they moved. “Let’s go back to the ship.”
“Hmm,” Zoro grunted, and wished the fucker would just answer that dying question already, before he went crazy.
“I’ll make you dinner there,” Sanji explained, and pulled himself away from the other man’s body so they could keep walking.
“But…” Zoro held up the bag with the Styrofoam contains full of meat and pasta.
Sanji grinned. “Mine’s better.”
“You’re acting weird.”
Sanji tugged them back towards the dock. “It’s our anniversary.”
Zoro blinked, and didn’t really see how that was neither here nor there. It was always someone’s anniversary, after all.
Sanji rolled his eyes and started speaking slowly, even though he knew Zoro hated that. “I’m actually in a good mood and want to have lots of sex with you tonight,” he explained finally, because Zoro looked like he was about to explode from confusion. “Cherish it, idiot. It doesn’t happen lots.”
Zoro blinked. “What…really?”
Sanji didn’t even bother to answer that-just kept walking.
Zoro jogged a bit to catch up. “You’re not dying?”
“As far as I know.”
“Oh.” Something inside of the swordsman screamed for a more dramatic sort of reaction to the news given the level of relief he was feeling right now, but a bigger part of himself was refocusing on the things Sanji had just said.
Pause.
“Lots of sex?”
That, given all the cook’s protests the times they did have sex, seemed kind of really out of left field.
He wondered if it was the suit. “Is it the suit?”
Sanji thought about how he should answer that. “Yeah, it’s definitely the suit. You should wear them more often.” And then the Strawhat flag was in sight, and Sanji was climbing on board and heading straight for the galley without another backwards glance.
Zoro waited a moment on the pier and looked himself over.
He wondered, vaguely, if maybe he should learn how to knot a tie one of these days.
It didn’t look that hard.
END
EDITS PLZ.