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An assortment of drabbles and ficlets, ranging from gen to pretty much any possible pairing, comedic to dramatic, rated from G to R. Blanket warnings for non-con, voyeurism, crack, and general inappropriateness.
Warai (100 words)
As a child, Zoro saw little point to laughter. Nothing funny about swords, and that was all that mattered. As he got older he found reasons. A pirate's empty threats, meaningless to him. 'I'll kill you.' The best joke. He enjoyed how their faces changed at his sharp chuckle as he pulled his swords, when they realized that however many of them there were, he wasn't afraid. He always cut it short before the blood fell.
He's never laughed without meaning it. But it's only since he met this pirate king that when he starts, he isn't able to stop.
(2004-05-25, ?/Luffy, for onepieceyaoi100 prompt "pain")
One of Them (243 words)
Tell yourself it doesn't hurt, looking at him.
He's younger, he's smaller, he looks like a goddamn kid, with those eyes so big and dark and wide, and the hair always mussed under the hat.
He's not innocent, you know. You've seen him fight, his blood is red, and you know he could kill if he had to, and would without blinking. Nothing shocks him, not the worst pirate, not the most brutal monster. This wouldn't either. Cover his mouth with yours, press him down and feel him move against you, trap those long limbs under yours and slide yourself against that slender body. Hard and soft, muscle and flesh and bone, not quite like any you've touched before. You know how it feels; you've dragged him from the depths before, and he's thrown an arm around you, leaned against you, casually. He's like that.
He's stronger than you, but you could. He'd let you, if you wanted.
If he knew you wanted.
But then, if it were any of you, he would open those arms as fast. Even now he's grinning with the others, laughing that idiot's laugh. He catches your eye, grinning, and you smile back, because there's no choice, not when he's beaming like that.
Tell yourself it doesn't hurt, to not be the only one to win that smile, to be not him but one of them, and nothing more.
Keep smiling, and you'll even start to believe it.
(2004-05-26, mentions of non-con, for onepieceyaoi100 prompt "pain")
Patience (242 words)
He doesn't want sex; he wants to make love.
Thirteen is old enough that every detail should have been burned into his memory, but all he remembers clearly is the pain. They had been well-behaved, for pirates, hadn't even made faces at the waiters, and when the first mate's hand brushed his hair as he poured their wine, he had thought it was just an accident. Until he'd gone into the bathroom and the man had shoved him against the cold mirror, thick hand wrapped over his mouth so he couldn't breathe, and then all he recalls is how it had hurt, like nothing he'd felt before, not the slow ache of starvation but almost as bad.
The next thing he knew was Zeff's voice, and the realization that he'd never truly seen Zeff angry before, and the splash as Patty threw the man off the Baratie. The pirate's crew dragged him out before the sharks came to the blood in the water; the ship never came back, so he never found out if the man ever...walked...again.
That's all he remembers, but it's enough, that when he looks into a woman's eyes he can see the hurt there, and then it's just a matter of finding what it takes to make it go away. One day, he knows, he'll look and see more than the absence of pain, see what's in his own heart returned. Until he does, he'll wait.
Duty (222 words)
There's an old adage—or is it a warning?—save a man's life, and you become his protector; ever afterwards his life is your responsibility.
Apparently one corollary to this is: fish a man out of the ocean, and ever afterwards it's your obligation to save him from drowning.
Simply logic, really; he is the best swimmer of all of them, can dive the deepest and fastest. That's not pride or talent, just the natural legacy of growing up on ships, and all those years that he pushed himself, made sure no one would ever have to save him from the deadly waves again. And his legs are damn strong.
It isn't all the time. If Luffy just happens to fall off the ship—as he does, often enough—then it's whoever's closer, or whoever draws the short straw, depending on the direness of the situation.
But when they've all gone overboard, when it's an escape or an attack or a storm, when there's no time to debate or decide, it's his job, and they all know it, don't question it, take care of themselves and other concerns and trust him to get Luffy out.
He thinks sometimes that maybe he should mind it, but he doesn't. It's just one of the duties of a cook. At least on this pirate ship.
(2004-06-03, for the onepieceyaoi100 prompt "laundry")
100% Cotton (243 words)
"Oi, Usopp, you done with my shirt yet?"
"Yeah, here, Zoro."
They all have their chores, and Usopp's chemistry knowledge comes in handy for more than making shooting stars. He figured out how to get tabasco stains out of his overalls long ago, but that's nothing compared to the challenges the crew presents.
"Hey, Usopp, thanks!"
Not only do most of Nami's clothes require special treatment, but there's ink spots to deal with. Or grease stains on Sanji's suits—what kind of idiot cooks in silk? And no one could possibly imagine what Luffy manages to get on his clothes. Much less how.
"By the way, Long-nose, good job with the laundry."
Zoro's shirts, however, take extra particular care, beyond the vinegar and ammonia concoction he's developed to get blood out. But he's got it down by now. Boiling water, then use the pedal-operated tumbler to whip it dry, though he has to be careful not to overdo it; Nami charges for mending tears.
"Thank you for doing the laundry, Usopp. It came out great."
As an artist, he understands the importance of aesthetics in maintaining good spirits. And as resident storyteller, he considers it his responsibility to keep up the ship's morale.
So if Zoro's going to cover himself with a shirt, the least Usopp can do is make sure it's a size too small. Or two or three.
Now if only he could figure out what to do about the pants.
Before Dawn (300 words)
His head didn't raise as the boy entered, his eyes hidden under the thick hair, but his gruff growl, low and amused, sounded through the bars. "Back again? Aren't you young for a crush, boy? I must be older than your father."
"I've been told."
"You aren't going to escape?"
"Are you here to free me?"
"A strange thing, then. What's the punishment for a thief who breaks back into jail?"
"I'm no thief!"
"Of course not. You only stole because you were hungry. Need always excuses crime. Unlike me, who has no excuse."
"You could break out. The guards are lazy..."
"You'd like me to escape. Why? To catch me yourself?"
"Why won't you?"
"Why are you here, boy?"
"I don't have to tell you."
"Then why should I tell you?"
"...You're different. From all of them. Everything you've done...no one man could have. Just stories, I thought. But now..."
"You'll be there tomorrow, right, boy?"
"Then you'll understand. For now, here."
"Something I picked up there. A souvenir. It's your choice, boy. But if you're serious about becoming a marine, your criminal record won't matter, with that. Devil fruit eaters are automatically officers."
"Those stories are true, too. If you ever want to swim again, don't eat. But otherwise, swallow every bite."
"Because you're here. Because you're asking. You'll need to be strong."
"Watch carefully," and finally his eyes raised to the boy. "Tomorrow, it will be a new age, boy. And you'll be part of it. You thought I was a legend, but the real legends are about to begin. Eat the moku moku fruit, or don't eat it. Either way, after tomorrow, neither you nor anything in this world will ever be the same..."
(2004-06-16, for the onepieceyaoi100 prompt "exhaustion")
Wake-up Call (298 words)
He couldn't move, which wasn't something he ever enjoyed; not in action, he wasn't him. But everything was so heavy, heavier than being under a mountain, and he didn't know how to fight that weight, couldn't even open his eyes under it, couldn't even breathe.
Like sleep but deeper, and he knew this feeling, this tiredness, he'd felt it before, but he was too exhausted to remember. He didn't care anyway. When you're tired, you rest, and things would be better when you woke up; they always were. Nothing else really mattered, as long as he could sleep.
Except he couldn't. It wasn't the noise; even right in his ear he could ignore that. The shaking didn't matter, nor that pounding on his chest.
But Zoro sounded scared, and nothing scares Zoro. There was a rasp to his shout, where usually there's anger, but this time his voice was hoarse, stretched so thin it sounded like it might snap, like one of Usopp's rubber bands.
And he needed to know what enemy there possibly could be, who could scare Zoro. To see that marvel, as tired as he was, he forced his eyes open. Then he was coughing, was roughly yanked up and whacked on the back until he had choked up all the salt water filling his lungs, and Zoro—not scared at all—was grumbling, how could you just fall off like that, and look at this damn island, and the ship's not in sight, and what the hell do we do now—
It didn't seem like a bad island, really, there were palm trees, with coconuts. Though he had looked forward to beating up the monster that had scared Zoro so badly, and was disappointed, when he looked around, to see no sign of it.
Cataloguing (143 words)
"Zoro's got that look."
"Mm. Number 56."
"'My captain is the dumbest captain on the whole Grand Line.'"
"Not to be mistaken with Number 57, 'My captain is the dumbest captain on the entire planet.'"
"Yes, the eyebrow is a little high for Number 57. Though with the quirking lip, he's dangerously close to Variation C of Number 56."
"'My captain is the dumbest captain on the whole Grand Line, but I'll still follow him to the ends of the earth'?"
"Has to be his silliest look."
"Cracks me up every time."
"I should take a picture, I'd have blackmail material for the rest of his life."
"Not that we'd ever look that dumb."
"And even if we did, it wouldn't be that..."
"Hopeless. Of course not."
"...It's always been one of my favorites."
"You know what? Mine, too."
(2004-07-02, for onepieceyaoi100 prompt "dressing up")
Overcooked (264 words)
Sanji undid his tie, tossed it over one hook of his hammock, unbuttoned his collar and considered for hardly a second before pulling off the shirt as well. Even that exertion was enough to raise a sweat; the cabin was sweltering in this recently summer climate. He wiped his brow. "Ah, I'm too fucking hot."
"Yeah, you are. Want to?"
The cook stared at Zoro so long whole seasons could have gone by. "What?" Zoro finally asked, irritably. "Haven't you ever been propositioned before, you shit cook?"
"Not—not by a guy!"
Now Zoro stared, until Sanji's ears went mauve. "Well, not by a girl, either—but it's bound to happen someday!"
"Unless you're gay."
"Right, unless I'm—I'm not gay!"
"I never said you were."
"I am, though. You game?"
"You can't just—just ask it like that," Sanji said, desperately, and a little breathless, what with the broiling temperatures, and Zoro's tongue flicking against his neck. "Where's your sense of style? That's not a proposition. Not even a pick-up line?"
"Uh." Zoro pulled back enough to look him up and down. "Nice shoes. Wanna fuck?"
"Show you how to pick-up," Zoro growled, and proceeded to.
"B-but—" Difficult to properly articulate anything in this...heat. And all.
"Y'know," Zoro stopped long enough to say, "girls love the gay boys."
"Oh yeah. You ever looked at Nami's magazines? Not the newspapers, the ones she keeps under her bed."
"Well...in that case..." After all, there wasn't really anything you could do about the weather. "Maybe a little bit..."
Truths (299 words)
Loving Luffy is easy. It's harder not to love Luffy, not if he likes you enough to smile at you. It will just happen, unless you're trying not to. Probably even if you are.
Loving Sanji, on the other hand, is hard, because the guy's an asshole. At least he tries his damnedest to be, but that's failing now, so late the sky's lightening with dawn, and the cook's had enough of this island's strong spirits that he's unsteady on those long legs. He spent most of the night helping in the barbecue pit, no reason, except to show off. Or maybe because he saw that one boy gazing longfully at that black-haired girl as he worked. Zoro saw the two kissing later; Sanji noticed, too, and winked at Zoro. His cheeks were flushed with heat and wine by then; no jealousy, for all his earlier flirting with the girl.
But that's the thing about Sanji, which only is obvious when his guard is down, how much he likes to make someone happy. Anyone, not just a pretty lady.
He stumbles against Zoro as they walk back to the ship; without thinking, Zoro slings an arm around him, and Sanji leans into it.
"Good party. Good wedding."
"They looked good together, huh." He could mean the bride and groom or the boy and girl. Either way Zoro grunts agreement. Sanji's gangly height is warm, drooping against him, softer than all those sharp-angled limbs should be. He smells of charcoal from the barbecue pit, spicier scent than the usual tobacco.
Sanji turns his head, warm wine-breath stirring Zoro's earrings. "If you want..."
Zoro pushes him away, so the steadying hand on his shoulder is their only contact. "You're drunk," he says, which is true. "And I don't." Which isn't.
(2004-07-23, onepieceyaoi100 prompt "jealousy")
Umai (100 words)
Can a father envy his child, or an artist his own painting?
But it's not only the way Luffy takes it into his mouth, almost its entirety at once. Nor how his lips close around it, just so tight, and his throat works, the juices winding a shining trail over the curve of his chin, down his neck. It's the pleasure in his half-closed eyes, that moment he's motionless, transfixed, entirely given to it. Then he swallows, every bit, that agile tongue sweeping up those last drops.
And Sanji decides that he's never making chocolate-covered bananas for dessert ever again.
(2004-08-03) Two matched drabbles, both following chapter 331, during Water 7.Until It Passes (300 words)
For all that he worked most of his life in crowded kitchens, Sanji prefers to cook undisturbed. Not that the crew always respects this, but if there's no rain imminent Zoro prefers to nap in the sun. He's not here now to grab a snack, though; instead he sits at the table.
Turning the heat down to let the sauce simmer, Sanji looks back to find the swordsman has his white katana out and is polishing the already-shining blade, studiously, not looking up when Sanji coughs in barely mannered irritation. Can't you do that outside? he might say, or, You better not get oil on the table we eat on, or, subtlety not being Zoro's strength, Get the hell out, stupid. But when he opens his mouth he says, "Where's Nami-san?"
Zoro, head still bent over the sword, replies, "In the main cabin, with Chopper."
"Robin-chan's still not back."
Luffy, he knows, is on the figurehead, maybe his final moments on that seat. And their last crewmate—he doesn't ask; Zoro doesn't know where he ran, either.
Sanji lights a cigarette. His hands are steady but the glowing embers blur; he blinks and they burn clear again.
Zoro draws his black katana, giving it the same careful attention. He won't be done anytime soon. The pan on the stove burbles and Sanji turns back.
"Tonight," Zoro says, "we should go find Robin."
You can go look now, he could reply. The swordsman doesn't have a meal to make.
But Zoro gets lost so easily. Here in the kitchen, with the sword metal clinking noisily against the table's wood and that sharp oil scent overpowering the sauce's flavor, at least Sanji knows where he is.
"After dinner," he says, and doesn't repeat the 'we', because Zoro already knows they'll go together.
On the Figurehead (246 words)
The sun is bright on the water, and he tips his hat down so the glitter doesn't blind. He's warm, sitting here, comfortable on the painted wood, and every scratch and gouge his fingers run over is familiar.
It aches, so he can almost feel it himself, broken, every creak of the abused hull a faint whimper that he didn't hear before.
If he listens hard enough to the waves, they'll carry the sound of Vivi's laughter to him still, soft and sweet and so happy, for all he knows she cries some nights, looking up at the same moon they watch. Those tears taste of the same salt as seawater, but she's laughing more, in her kingdom that is saved.
Usopp's laugh is different, louder and sillier but no less true. But wherever Usopp is now, he can't hear it, no matter how hard he listens to the wind.
Between the carved curling horns, Luffy wraps his arms around his legs, rests his forehead on his knees. In the shelter of his arms all he can see is the dim sunlight filtering through the hat's straw weave, playing on his faded jeans. All of him smells of saltwater, so strong it burns his nose, his eyes. With his arms muffling his ears he can't hear the sea, or the wind, or the hurting of the hull; nothing at all but the constant steady rush, in and out and in and out, of his own breathing.
(2004-08-09, UsoLu, Hackers AU, for onepieceyaoi100 prompt "pornography")
(Un)virtuous Reality (300 words)
He'd left the door unlocked again—for a guy voted most paranoid by his sixth grade class, he'd done that a lot lately—so of course Luffy had let himself in. And of course Luffy was on his computer. There wasn't a security system programmed he couldn't crack without trying; a few passwords were not so much protection as an open invitation. But when he saw the game Luffy was playing Usopp was—mildly surprised. Except for the mild part. And the part desperately hoping that Luffy hadn't stumbled across that special birthday mod from Sanji.
He hadn't, but he'd gotten far enough that Usopp blushed.
As the lock clicked Luffy glanced back, grinned unashamedly. "Welcome home!"
"Uh...yeah, hi." Usopp tore his eyes away from the bodies writhing in 1600x1200 32-bit color animation. He'd already seen it. Several times; this was second option, third cut scene, one of the easier scores. Though usually that smaller, lither figure had a different face. "You like the, uh, game?"
Luffy wrinkled his nose. "It's boring."
Something in Usopp broke. He was fairly certain it wasn't his heart. "Maybe when you're older—"
"I mean, you just chose a few things, and then you watch that. Would be more fun if you got to do something."
"Good," Luffy said, and kissed him.
Some unknown time later Usopp gasped, "Where'd you learn—"
"Sanji showed me."
Usopp wondered how ethical it was to murder one's best friend if one had justifiable cause.
"He gave me one of those," Luffy pointed a toe at the game case, his hands otherwise occupied. "So I played it. All endings. Didn't look too hard. But this is better!"
Well, of course, Usopp thought hazily, the hidden endings always were the best, after all...
Mature (300 words)
She is elegance itself, one of the most beautiful women he's ever seen, and he's seen many. Through the tumult of their winter camp around her, she sits reading quietly by the fire, eye of their storm, unfazed by the cold, or the snowballs and shrieks Luffy and Usopp are throwing. They're such kids; she's years beyond such idiocy.
Sanji adds the final touch, chocolate shavings sprinkled over the cream, gives himself a final lookover before picking up the tray. Suit pressed, tie tied, cufflinks in place. He may be young, too, but not by much. Maturity is in the details, the effort to make every element perfect.
"Robin-chan," he calls, and she looks up from her book, even that simple motion graceful. Gratitude in her small smile—such a refined and adult smile, he almost fancies it's to a peer. He wishes he better understood how to please those mysterious, complex tastes. "Pour vous—"
At which point a snowball hurtles into him, and all that saves the tray is a quick pair of arms reaching from the snow. Robin takes the cup, appreciatively inhales the coffee's rich steam. "Why, thank you."
But the cook doesn't hear, being too busy hollering, "You idiots!" as he plunges after Usopp and Luffy, who bolt, crying over their shoulders, "But we didn't—!" Their protests are futile, however, and soon the snowballs are flying thicker than ever, propelled by wild kicks.
Robin puts down her book. Snatching a stray missile out of the air, she tosses it back into the fray, and winks when Usopp catches it. Usopp, who saw whose hand threw that other snowball, grins back.
And if Sanji's suit is soaked and his tie undone and his cufflinks lost under the snow, he's laughing too hard to care.
(2004-09-22, onepieceyaoi100 prompt "close calls"; set before/during ch.332, the Water 7 Usopp-Luffy battle.)
Sabotage (296 words)
It comes to him as he's inspecting the dials, making sure none have cracked, rattling around with the junk in his bag. Luffy's not immune to everything; the burst of an impact dial will knock him far, when it's mass, not strength, that matters. Usopp will have to brace himself against the ground, and the damage of the backlash—he'll endure it. This is a man's duel and he'll do all he can to win. If he can get Luffy where he wants him, in the traps—
Or beyond them, he realizes, and it's like he was blind, but now all he can see in his head is that bay, with the sea all around. Send Luffy flying a little farther, and in the confusion of the dust he wouldn't have time to act before he hits the water. And then the battle is won, as easy as that, you think you're so strong, Luffy, but you can't even—
His face would be blue when they pulled him out, or else he wouldn't be at all, if they're too slow. It's not the thought of what the others would do, Zoro and everyone else; Usopp knows they must hate him already. Nor that it would be cheating; they're pirates, and the only fair fight is the one you win. And this would win. But in his head Usopp can see the cold waves, black in the night; can see himself diving into them, and finding nothing, no matter how long and hard he searches. He wants to throw up, wraps his arms around his shaking body and sits still for a while, before getting out paper to plot the dials' placement, calculating the right distance from the sea to make sure there are no close calls.
One more star in the sky; one more wave on the sea (219 words)
"I'm doing this for my own dream. For All Blue." He can't help but remember, when he said he would come and join this crazy ship, how Luffy had danced, that wild grin wider than almost he ever saw it before or since. He can't help but recall that joy, when he was new and exciting and wanted—and such a preciously strange thing, that nothing was wanted of him but what he was already, that he could make someone so happy just by being.
You'd think he would miss it, that uniqueness, that importance, when every kick he threw was unpredicted and every dish he served was a surprise and his cigarettes hadn't yet darkened the kitchen curtains and his shoes hadn't yet scuffed the floor. There are newer crewmates now, and he's just one of the crew; the cook, as all ships have a cook, an ordinary, expected fixture.
You'd think he would miss it, but then Luffy leans back from the table, empty bowls piled high around him, throws up his fists and shouts to the twilight sky, "I've got the best cook in the world!" And it doesn't matter if it's true; doesn't matter if the stars are listening, or the waves, when it's loud enough for them to hear it all the same.
(2004-10-06, SanLu+, sort of pre-orgyverse)
As These Things Happen (400 words)
This, he wants to say, was not really his choice; it happened, as these things happen, on a cold night, and a lonely watch, gazing out over the dark water with only the smoky ghosts of his cigarettes for company. Then Luffy was there, not asking for food, just his warmth, leaning sleepily against his shoulder.
And then it was more. And how did that happen, because he knows he likes girls, and Luffy likes practically everybody, or nobody, depending on your point of view. But his mouth doesn't taste like rubber; it's sea-salty but somehow sweet too, and he's laughing at Sanji's face. No one laughs like Luffy, that totally heartfelt. For all that purity of joy, it's not a child's laugh; these aren't a child's hands and this isn't a child's body. Dimly he knows why this isn't new to Luffy, why Luffy can be as sure in this as he is in everything he does—but he doesn't think about it, the last thing he wants to think of now is that damn swordsman—
Who's here, up in the crow's nest, and Sanji chokes in shock. They're under the blanket but it might as well be transparent, the way Zoro's eyes trace over them, their matched curves under the covers. Sanji feels sick to his stomach—not with fear, but like a trespasser who barely noticed he was trampling sacred ground. As long as he's known this crew, from the very beginning, it was always Zoro and Luffy, and even if he's never known he's always guessed.
The sky's gray with the coming sunrise and they should have been more—careful, only Zoro would have seen anyway, he realizes now. I didn't want— he tries to say, but the lie of it sticks in his throat. There's no anger in Zoro's expression; maybe it's something beyond anger, maybe even that same sick broken feeling, and it is truth that this he never wanted—
Luffy beside him uncurls, blinks hazily at his swordsman in the predawn silence.
Then grins, the same grin as ever, no apology, no guilt. "Zoro," he says, and lifts the blanket, so the wind chills their bare skin, "it'll be lots warmer with you!"
And Zoro sighs, and crawls under, on Sanji's other side.
And maybe there's nothing he needs to say, because Luffy, as usual, is right. It's much warmer, like this.
(2004-10-19, onepieceyaoi100 prompt "time".)
Between Moments (300 words)
Two hours past midnight, two hours before dawn, nothing happens; everything is so still time might be stopped. The Going Merry is anchored, sails furled, and her captain keeping watch in the crow's nest. Though they haven't spotted any ships for days, one might appear. Maybe Marines, a fun battle. He'd have to wake Zoro, so he wouldn't miss the sword practice. And Chopper afterwards, if they got cut.
But there's no sails, no cannon thunder, just deliberately audible footsteps on the deck below. Luffy rockets down to grin at Robin. "You're early."
Robin nods. "If you'd like I can take over now."
"You like having watch."
"I enjoy the peace, for reading." There's a book tucked under her arm, like always. "But you, Captain, does it bore you, not having enough crew to man the ship through the night?"
Unlike the others' insults, he never quite can tell when Robin's teasing him. He shrugs. "Nami's asleep anyway." It's true he has more crew to find, but the Grand Line can't be traversed without a navigator's genius.
For a silent moment they watch the sea together. Beside the ship floats a raft of sleeping albatrosses, heads tucked under wings, gray bobbing specks in the moonlight. If they're around tomorrow Usopp could shoot a couple down; Sanji's been worrying about their dwindling supplies.
"You don't find it lonely, at night?" Robin asks, quiet as the lapping waves.
He'd be certain she is teasing, but when he touches her shoulder it's stiff like wood. "A while ago, when I first set out. Never now. How can you be lonely, when you're not alone?"
One Piece is out there to find, and those crewmates he has still to meet, and he can't wait. But now it's enough, to see his newest nakama's smile.
(2004-10-21, ZoSan, onepieceyaoi100 prompt "separation")
Separation Anxiety (300 words)
He didn't realize how much he would miss them until they were gone. He had been this alone before, but that had been a while ago; it wasn't until he was walking back to the ship that it fully hit him, how accustomed he had become to their presence. Their weight at his hip, the scabbards' polished lacquer...with only Wadou Ichimonji he felt naked.
And in no mood for company. Especially a smirking cook who fell into stride beside him to remark, too cheerfully, "Wrong way, the local bar's behind you."
Sanji removed his arm from around Zoro's shoulders, but the smirk remained. "And I was going to pay, too." He paused. "Hmm, don't you usually have three swords?"
"They're at the blacksmith's. Getting sharpened."
"Oh-h-h. Missing your boys?" Sanji shrugged. "Well, there's no one to fight on an island this small anyway."
Almost no one, Zoro reminded him, with a roundhouse kick swift enough to trip his crewmate. Sanji cursed and clutched at him, tumbling them both into the ditch beside the dirt road. Before the blond could scramble up Zoro grabbed his leg, broad hand spanning his thigh, forcing him down as he growled, "How'd you feel without your weapons?"
"Touchy," Sanji breathed. "But you still have a sword, right?" He slipped his fingers around Wadou's hilt, began to slide the katana from its sheath. Zoro clapped his other hand over Sanji's.
The blond bastard didn't even try to squirm free. "How long before you get your others back?"
Zoro glared down at his face, those teasing lips and half-lidded eyes. "A couple hours."
"Well," Sanji said, "if you need three swords that badly..." and he curved his free hand around Zoro's skull to draw his head down, "until then, how about you borrow mine?"
(2004-11-08, ZoSan, onepieceyaoi100 prompt "night")
A Puzzlement (125 words)
Really, it's a mystery to him, why Zoro insists. True, an hour past midnight is the darkest, quietest hour on the ship, but it's not like it stays quiet in the kitchen (or crow's nest, or bilges, or....) And even if their crewmates would mind, which they wouldn't, it's not like Zoro ever notices what anyone thinks, much less cares.
Besides, that private darkness brings its own troubles.
"Oh...ah...mm...Zo—ZORO! Wait! What bottle is that? I told you, top shelf, behind the flour! Not that oil! That's the hot pepper oil!—No, not that either, that's my best virgin olive oil! Geeze, if you want something done... You bend over the table, I'll handle this!"
One of these nights Sanji will figure it out.
(2004-11-16, onepieceyaoi100 prompt "special moments".)
Soon (100 words)
It hasn't happened. Yet. They don't see it in the shipwright's eyes, that particular epiphany, that brilliant stunning realization that no enemy is undefeatable, that no dream is impossible; that he will follow to death, and farther.
The shipwright says no now and means it, though their captain laughs like he's joking. The rest of them don't laugh; they're waiting. They know it will be soon, that moment of clarity kept in all their hearts with their most precious memories; know that when they leave this island, he will sail with them, to the ends of the earth, and farther.
Thirst (135 words)
A sea cook knows better than to drink seawater, no matter how long you're caught dry on the ocean. Ironic dehydration; the more you swallow the quicker you die of thirst.
Usopp's skin tastes of salt, sweat-salt and sea-salt, but now there's a different taste, and when he raises his head to look, the tears in his crewmate's eyes are spilling down his face, more than he can wipe away.
"I didn't—I didn't think you'd—not after I...it was so lonely, on the ship, without—without any of you. I didn't know it could be so lonely..."
"Missed you," Sanji says, and kisses him. Bitter salt, stronger than the sea on his lips, but he swallows anyway; that's the danger of drinking saltwater, that once you're thirsty enough to start, you'll never stop.
(2004-11-24, ZoSan, onepieceyaoi100 prompt "debts"; unauthorized sequel to Peroxidepest17's "Selling Yourself".)
Deeper in Debt (265 words)
That Luffy, despite having recently complained of being hungry, was on the deck playing cards with Chopper instead of in the kitchen, was Usopp's first clue. The various noises faintly audible through the galley door were his second. "Another photoshoot?" he asked, but before his crewmates could reply the door swung open and Nami popped out, gently pushed by Robin.
"We should give them some privacy," Robin said.
"Why?" Nami twisted around to look back into the kitchen. "It's not like they'll notice."
No, Usopp concluded, craning his neck to peer past the women's heads, it didn't look like they would.
"But you've shot your whole roll, right, Navigator-san? It was what he owed you."
Nami glanced down at her camera. "I guess I should develop these, make sure they came out. The lighting inside's not great."
Usopp watched her go. "What's up with this, anyway? I mean, with Sanji, Nami just has to ask, but I thought the day before yesterday's session finally paid back Zoro's debt."
"For the new boots," Robin said. "This was for the tailor's fees for mending the haramaki, I believe."
"And before that it was a haircut. And before that the metal polish, and then there was the Goldschlager..." Which Zoro didn't like the taste of anyway, expensive as it was—Usopp frowned. "Hey, you don't suppose..."
The crashing thud of a bench tipping and an almost inaudible moan was the only answer from the galley. Robin simply shrugged and smiled her sphinx smile, eyes closed, except for the one on the icebox door which wouldn't be noticed anyway.
(2004-11-26, Fullbody/Jango (FuJa? JanFu?), for onepieceyaoi100 prompt "minor characters".)
Roleplay (294 words)
"So what do you want tonight?"
Usually they flipped coins or played jankenpon when the arguments got too hot. It worked best when they both agreed; if they were chanting the wrong names it tended to break the spell too soon, but as neither of them ever wanted to be a girl...well, that worked out better than he would have thought. He used to believe Marines were ramrod straight in every way, those he had met before, certainly...but really it was as common as among pirates, apparently. What was the policy? "Show, don't tell," or somesuch. You needed to pass long nights on the cold sea somehow.
But tonight was Fullbody's birthday, so whatever he wanted went. "You could be Kuro," Jango suggested; Fullbody enjoyed that one as much as he did. "Or I'll be that blond waiter," which was also fun, if they were in the mood for rough. "Or how about an admiral, catching Gold Roger? What's your pleasure? Anything."
Fullbody frowned, scarred cheek twisting. "Anything..."
Jango sighed. It was his birthday, after all. "Okay. All right. I'll be Lady Hina. And I won't cover my eyes. Would that work?" He raised the ring, set it swinging and fixed his gaze on that glittering, entrancing arc. "When I say 'one, two, jango', you'll be Admiral Fullbody, and I'll be—"
Fullbody caught the ring in his hand, stopping its swing. "Actually," he said, brass knuckles clinking against the metal blade, "if it's my choice, how about this. I'll be Lieutenant Fullbody, and you be Lieutenant Jango. Just for tonight."
Jango swallowed. Something in his partner's eyes, fixed on him and not the charm, was more mesmerizing even than that shining circle. "If that's...what you want," he said, and dropped the ring.
(2004-12-02, Smoker at the end of ep 109 in Arabasta)
The Price of Things (298 words)
Pirates have tried to negotiate with him before. "If I tell you where to find my captain, you won't hang me?" or "I surrendered when I could've killed half your men, isn't that worth something?" And maybe it is, but that kind of pathetic, sniggering bribe is not even a dint in the price of justice. Still, he's repaid every debt he's ever owed. Every debt but one, in his thirty years.
There is something that may supersede justice; there is honesty to one's self, to where one owes one's honor. But that's a debt can never be bought or bargained for; never be demanded, never be connived. Never be repaid, not to a man long dead, who made him everything that he is; but what he is now, he is sure to never earn another.
Or was sure, but now he should be dead and instead he's coughing up water, furious, because the price of his life is a high thing, one he shouldn't spend so casually. Better to drown, than to owe these wild young monsters. What recompense will they demand, what further humiliation—
"Just his whim," the swordsman says. "Forget it."
Impossible; no pirate takes less than everything he can grasp. But then the captain is awake, ready for battle, and in his eyes no acknowledgment at all, no expectation, no demand. He's immature and imprudent and quite mad, but he knows too well the price of things.
He lets them go, but it's too little, too late, not enough to settle the score. Far too high a price—that which is priceless cannot be bought, but can be owed all the same. Two debts on him now, and staring into the setting sun he wonders if he'll ever manage to repay this pirate king.
(2004-12-06, SanZo, onepieceyaoi100 prompt "seme Sanji")
Three Things (218 words)
These are three things about Zoro that Sanji might be the only one to know.
That Zoro likes chocolate, and usually he doesn't admit to liking anything to eat, much less childish sweet things, but the only desserts he bothers fighting Luffy for the seconds are the mousses and the cakes and the bars. As a cook, he noticed; the chocolate liquor proved it. Zoro said thank you, then.
That her name is Kuina. He won't say it in his sleep, and won't awake, but in between, dizzy enough, drunk or wounded enough, if he's asked, and Sanji did, because he always wants to know a woman's name. He doesn't know if Zoro realizes he knows; he's never bothered to mention it.
And that sound he makes, Zoro, who falls without a cry when his chest is opened by a blade, but Sanji heard the moan, thrusting into him, deep in his throat and all through that hard-worked body. That was the most difficult to learn; if Sanji's honest with himself in the darkness, half-asleep and half on top of him and raspy snores deafening his ear, that's the only one he cares about. Of all secrets, that's the one he's sure no one else has heard, the only one that's his and no one else's to keep.
(2004-12-08, SanLu, for onepieceyaoi100 prompt "seme Sanji")
His Very Best (211 words)
Like his cooking, it's a matter of pride, his skill at seduction, and even if it's not the first time, he still takes it seriously. His technique must be perfect, by the demands of his ego; even if a slip might be forgiven by his partner, it would still be as embarrassing as mistaking a tablespoon of sugar for one of salt.
But it's an art he's mastering, with practice. His captain's body shudders under the sure play of his fingers over that supple flesh. Eyes closed and head thrown back, abandoned to his touch, even the straw hat fallen from the tangled black locks, forgotten. He slips open the red vest's buttons, one by one, bares the temptation of that tautly muscled chest.
Luffy whimpers, shaking syllables on his lips. "Sa—San—that—ahh—no—" Too breathless to even shape his whole name, as he glides his nails over the surprisingly chiseled contours of his abs.
"San—Sanji!" It comes all at once, as a shriek, bursting from Luffy's throat as the blond leans over him. "S-sanji, s-s-top—that—hah—that—hahah—t-t-tickles!"
Sanji grins, clamps his hands over his arms to hold that squirming, giggling rubber body down, and applies his very best raspberry to his captain's belly.
(2004-12-10; UxK non-con; for onepieceyaoi100 prompt "seme Usopp")
Unexpected (300 words)
He has many reasons to return to East Blue. This had never been one of them. The deepest fantasies in darkest night, dreaming of finally becoming a great warrior, astounding everyone with his power—not even then.
He wasn't expecting to find him here, not this backwater island, this sleepy little town, so far from the Grand Line that they've barely heard of the Pirate King. Almost doubted it could be him. Not as tall as he remembered, not quite as feline-lean.
But the blades are still sharp, polished to mirrors reflecting starlight, lethal points against his throat. "You shouldn't have come. You won't ruin it for me again."
Once he would have trembled, but he's a warrior now. And those feet are not as fast as he remembered, those limbs not as strong; a twist of his arm brings him to his knees on the dirt road, bladed gloves ripped off.
It hasn't been that long, really; no silver in the black hair, sliding silkenly under his fingers as he forces his head down. "This wasn't why I came."
"Still a liar." Futile rasp, fruitless struggles; it's so easy to hold him down. He's almost as strong now as he used to say he was.
"Yeah, sometimes." He's no coward anymore, but the blood pounding in his ears is deafening. "But not now."
His lip curls, even as he pants, glasses cracked and cheek pressed to the dirt. "What are you now?"
"Now," and he leans over him, "now I'm a pirate, like my father. Like my captain." The wiry form under him bucks to throw him off, and this wasn't why he came, but he bears down, until he feels those hoarse gasps heave against his chest, whispers into the straight black hair, "Like you could never be."
(2004-12-15, and the sequel, for the same prompt, UsoSan)
Unaccepted (300 words)
Sanji noticed something wrong, meeting Usopp on the ship's deck. Alone together in the cabin, it's still wrong, the urgency, bruising pressure against his mouth, against his groin, wrong, but it's pleasure, too. If this is the fondness absence makes for, then maybe his crewmate should visit East Blue more often, and he groans under it.
But Usopp jerks back, shoves him away to stumble to the washroom.
Sanji follows, asks, demands. The answer is unexpected, but he remembers the name. His reply is angrier than he intends, scared fury fueled by the gut-aching chill in his crewmate's eyes. "What'd he do to you?"
"Nothing." Usopp's gulping, empty laugh is the boy's he was, not the voice of the man he is now. "Nothing, not to me."
When Sanji grips his shoulders, they're shaking, not with fear. Dry eyes, but the words spill like tears, until he's wrung dry, slumped against the wall.
"I'm not that kind of man," but after all these years he's still a terrible liar, if he can't believe himself what he's saying. "I wouldn't—" His hands are knotted in his sash, as if the merest brush of Sanji's skin would scald. "Even if I'm a pirate, even if I'm strong—I won't, I'd never—"
Sanji pushes against him, flesh to flesh, and Usopp shudders but there's no room for him to pull away from that heat. "I'm a pirate, too," Sanji reminds, "and you might be strong, but you're not stronger. So even if you would," and he takes those big hands, pries open the fists and molds them to the nude angles of his hips, "you never could, unless I wanted it."
"Never?" The tremours are finally ceasing, burned away.
"Never," he repeats, leans in and opens his mouth to the kiss.
(2004-12-13, UsoZo, part of the orgyverse, onepieceyaoi100 prompt "seme Usopp")
Taking Turns (300 words)
Drowsing in the hold, Zoro awoke to hands against his chest, tracing pleasing patterns as they slowly, sweetly drifted down—
He realized that sure touch was unfamiliar at exactly the same time the hands did, freezing over the scar and jerking back with a muffled curse.
Zoro blinked in the dark. "Usopp?"
A distinct, loud gulp answered. "Z-zoro?"
"What are you doing?"
"I thought—er—we'd—that is, Luffy—"
"Luffy's grocery shopping with the cook." Hence the hold, for when Sanji came to restock.
Zoro waited, but only heard Usopp's boots, clumping in the wrong direction. "Where you going?"
"Since they're not back yet, we could make do."
"Er—not that I—but I was ready—" Usopp's face was generally too tan to blush, but Zoro could hear his blood rising in the darkness. "Tonightwasmyturnontop."
Zoro inserted the proper spaces into that mumble, and frowned. "So what's the problem?"
A pause followed.
"Wait, you and Luffy—"
"Wait, you and Sanji—"
"He really enjoys it either way," Usopp said, finally. "So we switch."
"What's it like?"
"I didn't know. That he liked it. Like that."
"Oh. It's...he's...it's something. But you—er—Sanji...you really let him, too?"
"Let him?" Zoro frowned. "He's good at it."
"But don't tell the stupid cook. So, you going to?"
"—Going to?" Usopp stumbled in the dark.
"Show me what the captain really enjoys." Finally his crewmate was close enough to grab a fistful of overalls and drag him further in.
"Uh—they'll get back soon—" But that voiced hesitation was directly contradicted by the certainty of those large artist's hands against his skin again.
"So?" Zoro grinned, arching his back so that touch slid lower. "I'm sure they can entertain themselves."
(2005-01-10, HelZo, for onepieceyaoi100 prompt "bondage")
Fit to Be (400 words)
There'd be no doubts after tonight. After this night even his father couldn't deny he was a man. Just capturing the pirate hunter hadn't been enough, but this would show him.
In confident darkness he made his uneven way across the yard. Then Roronoa's head came up, open eyes obsidian shards glittering in the moonlight, and most of the liquid courage from his father's whiskey evaporated out his ears. Really, this late, after four days with no food, the man could have the decency to be asleep—
He gathered the last dribbles of bravado. Awake, maybe, but still captured. Beaten, the bruises black splotches, his three swords out of reach, and his arms tightly lashed to the post. In four days he'd been unable to free himself from those cords.
"I still could kick," Roronoa pointed out, quietly, quite casually.
Helmeppo jumped, then drew himself up. "You know what'll happen to that lady barkeep if you do." He smirked nastily, before he lost his nerve stepped close enough to feel the heat radiating from those tensed, taut muscles. "Don't worry, you'll survive." He grabbed the swordsman's rough chin, wrenched his head down. "One month, right?"
Roronoa didn't try to kick, just rumbled, thoughtfully, "Hmm, but will you survive it?"
"I told you—"
"I mean, the embarassment, when the shrieking starts, and your men shine a spotlight on your pink ass, poking up in the air?"
"T-there won't be any shrieking. I'll gag you!"
"I wasn't talking about me," and Roronoa—didn't kick, didn't move his legs, just his—hips, so that wasn't his—boot—
The squeak from his tight throat echoed across the courtyard.
"Besides," Roronoa said, and—moved—again, but Helmeppo jumped out of range in time, "you've got me tied the wrong way round for...that."
He glanced up at the watchtower. No signs of an alert yet...
"Unless," Roronoa suggested, quietly, "one side's untied," and he—twisted his—body, against his—bonds—it occurred to him that as Roronoa hadn't tried to free himself before, those cords hadn't actually been tested yet. Though it was difficult to see if the swordsman had gotten loose, what with the dark, and the need to watch the ground so he wouldn't trip while sprinting.
Being hungover next morning, he didn't pay his prisoner the usual visit. He did order the ropes tripled, however. For the sake of his men's—safety.
(2005-03-09, ZoSan with a side order of RoNa, onepieceyaoi100 prompt "voyeurism")
Convenience (182 words)
Robin's eyes can see anywhere on the ship. She doesn't abuse her power, but it's convenient, nonetheless.
"They're at it again."
The galley is next to the girls' cabin. Conveniently. "Who this time?" Nami opens the closet doors, kneels to put her eye to the knothole in the wall.
"Swordsmaster-san and Cook-san."
"Ah, a classic." Like great works of literature, some things never get old.
The cook's back is to the wall, his splayed hands to his crewmate's chest, pushing away, while his long legs wrap around the swordsman's waist to pull him closer. Zoro's face is set in such perfect concentration he might be fighting, sweat shining on his bare shoulders, the rhythmic swell of muscles under tanned skin.
"Oh," the navigator whispers in the same rhythm, tiny and breathless. Robin withdraws her eye from the kitchen corner to focus all vision on the red-headed girl before her, half-lidded eyes and parted lips and a hand risen to her breast. Robin cups her own over it, and Nami gasps again, warm curves arching back into Robin's taller frame.
Very conveniently indeed.
(2005-06-03, UsoLu-ish, onepieceyaoi100 prompt "dancing")
Beginner Lesson (300 words)
Usopp hoped someone found them before Sanji came to the kitchen to make dinner. Hopefully Zoro. Zoro was good at knots, and he wouldn't ask. Or Chopper, Chopper would believe a more reasonable (less embarrassing) explanation than the truth.
Looking back, perhaps it hadn't been the best idea. Luffy had all kinds of unexpected talents, but it was unlikely something as sophisticated as dancing would be one of them, no matter how much he liked music, or his impressive coordination when fighting. But Luffy had been bored enough to ask—to beg, once Usopp had let it slip he knew a couple steps—and it was too good an opportunity to pass up. Imagine the awesome moves a rubber man could pull off!
In hindsight...at least he should have picked another dance. Something simpler for a beginner. Maybe a polka. Or the Mocktown Two-Step. Another opportunity not to be missed, that Luffy didn't mind (or hadn't realized he was) taking the girl's part. But it was difficult to instruct and dance simultaneously.
A shadow fell over them and Usopp looked up to see Sanji flail to catch his cigarette as it dropped from his open mouth. Restoring the cig to its proper place, the cook raised a curly eyebrow. "Do I want to know?"
Should have just gone with the Twist.
"No," Usopp grated. It wasn't that he so greatly minded getting tangled in his captain's limbs, but after half an hour working at Luffy's arms he still hadn't gotten his elbows untied, and he couldn't even reach his legs. Sanji could help, rather than just make snide comments. "You really don't—"
But Luffy already was answering, quite cheerfully, if a bit strangely pitched from the stretching of his neck around Usopp's boot, "Usopp's teaching me the tango!"
(2005-06-13, ZoSan, onepieceyaoi100 prompt "hidden talents")
The Cure (300 words)
"Here's a special treat, Nami-swaaa~~n!" Sanji caroled, for the millionth time, which happened to be one more time than Zoro's nerves could take of that particular pleading whine.
"All right, that's it," he said, and setting his swords on the deck he marched over to the cook proffering the brownies and hooked his arm around his neck. "Be a minute," he told his startled crewmates, and dragged Sanji into the cabin, threw him down across the couch and locked the door.
It actually took closer to twenty-five, between the cook's cursing, finding the oil, getting his pants down with him kicking like that, more breathless cursing, loosening him up enough that it wouldn't hurt him more than he'd enjoy, and still more cursing, which ultimately dropped into a low, gasping moan of pleasure. And another five minutes appreciating that sound.
Afterwards Sanji lay on his back on the couch, staring hazily up at the ceiling with a cigarette trailing smoke dangling from the corner of his mouth.
"See?" Zoro said. "That's all you've been missing. Not that big a deal."
"Have you..." Sanji tried to prop himself up on one elbow, flopped back bonelessly instead. "Have you...always been able to do that?"
"Natural talent," Zoro said, briefly. "So now that you know what it's like, you gonna lay off the girls? A little?"
"Of—of course," Sanji murmured. "Whatever you say."
Zoro eyed him suspiciously. Something horribly...familiar in his tone...
"After all, I've wasted so much effort already!" Sanji cried, suddenly energized, bouncing off the couch toward the ladder. Looking back over his shoulder, he trilled, "What do you most want for a treat, Zoro-swan?"
Zoro took one look at the scarlet heart throbbing where the cook's eye should be, groaned, and thumped his head hard against the mast.
(2005-06-22, ZULS (LUZS? SLUZS?) more orgyverse)
Bottoms Up (300 words)
Men on the high seas, sailing with only their shipmates for weeks at a time, will get up to all manner of things, sooner or later. It was anyone's guess how this particular topic had arisen, however, since Nami hadn't even been with them in the galley.
"Maybe not in the world. But on this ship, damn straight!" Sanji said, flicking ash emphatically.
"How would you even know?" Zoro demanded. "It's not like you can test yourself."
"Process of elimination. I know I'm better than you, shit swordsman. Just lying there, not lifting a finger—a little resistance spices things up, you know. It'd be more fun sticking it in an actual cabbage!
"And Luffy—not to say that rubber doesn't have its uses, but one can be overly flexible. Too stretchy."
"Don't say Chopper. Too furry."
"Did someone mention Captain Usopp?" Usopp interjected, swaggering into the galley.
"There's no contest."
"How come you say that like you know?" Sanji asked suspiciously.
"Of course there's no contest! Best in the world! Pirates used to come to me from miles around, just to experience it for themselves! ...What are we talking about, again?"
For all their bickering, when called for Sanji and Zoro could act in perfect synchronization, moving like extensions of the same body. "Only one way to decide this," Sanji declared.
Zoro nodded and grabbed Usopp.
"I'll get Luffy," and Sanji headed out the door.
"Zoro?" Usopp asked, trying to extricate himself, unsuccessfully. Zoro knew exactly how much force was needed to keep him in place without hurting him. Which wasn't, in truth, that much; if Zoro only needed one hand to hold him, it left the other free...
"Don't worry," Zoro rumbled in his ear. "You'll come out of this with bragging rights, guaranteed."
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