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“Oi, Chef!”
“What is it, marimo-head?”
It was silent after that. Hmm…That was weird. Sanji turned, startled to find Zolo staring at him. Right at him. Sanji felt his stomach clench, and that was even weirder. He was forced to see that crap swordsman everyday, and he never backed down from a stare off. Why should he care about another dirty look or two? But perhaps the weirdest thing, was the way Zolo was staring, because it wasn’t a dirty look. Not angry, not aggressive, not bored, not half asleep, none of the status quo Zolo faces. There was no defined emotion on his face, just soft blankness, touched with the slightest bit of thoughtfulness.
Zolo cocked his head, ever so slightly, regarding Sanji with that strange un-Zolo look. He sat in the middle of the stairs, propped carelessly up by his elbows resting on the step behind him, staring. Just staring at Sanji. Sanji blinked, and watched as a tiny, tiny little tug brought a corner of his lips up. Just staring at him, with that cool, collected looked and a tiny, tiny little playful smile….
A warm tingling starting to pool in Sanji’s hands, which suddenly felt a little funny, and the back of his knees were feeling awfully warm….and crap, but had his mouth been this dry all day? Couldn’t have been, couldn’t have been…why was Zolo smiling at him?
“Well?” he snapped, trying to sound impatient and only managing anxious. With maybe a touch of confused.
“I’m hungry.”
Sanji’s curly eyebrow drew down over his eye. Figures. If there was one thing that Sanji heard eight thousand times a day….He opened his mouth, but snapped it shut again, because his face somehow got stuck on Zolo’s, and the insult somehow got stuck in his throat.
“Um,” he paused a moment, then turned with a nonchalant shrug to finish gathering the cups off the girls lounge chairs. “Well, dinner’s a few hours away,” Sanji heard his voice, heard the cautious tone, inside considering this bizarre moment in awe. Zolo staring, knees burning, fidgeting with cups as an excuse to avoid eye contact, was that…was that a pleasant answer coming out of his mouth? “…so, if you really can’t wait, I might be able to work up something. Maybe some bread and grog.” Did he just offer to make Zolo a fucking appetizer? Off schedule? The hell was going on with his life these last five minutes?
“Nah,” the deep voice rolled down the stairs and up Sanji’s spine. “Don’t think that’ll do it.”
Sanji paused, and hid the annoyed face before looking at Zolo. To be turned down for an offer of food, by this lug? With a quick sigh, he picked up the tray which he’d been unloading and reloading with the same two cups, and turned around.
“Well then, what kind of foo-” Sanji had strong enough reflexes not to gasp, or drop the platter, but it was a close call as his turn brought him right into Zolo. Startled, wide eyed, and confused (when the hell had the bastard moved?) he stared up at the swordsman, whose hands had dashed out to grab his elbows upon their collision, perhaps trying to brace him from shattering the glasses.
Sanji knew he was gaping, heart still pounding from the surprise, mind still reeling from the weirdest fucking afternoon of his life. He swallowed, about to attempt some kind of recovery, and slip away from this very close proximity, when, with the slightest tug on his arms, Zolo brought Sanji up against his tall body.
“Who said anything about wanting food?”
“Wha-?” Sanji blinked, but any reply, or attempt at making sense of his world, was completely shattered by Zolo’s lips covering his own. “Mmm-mmm!” He gasped against the gentle press of Zolo’s kiss, eyes flying wide as the shattering of glass filled the air. Zolo pulled back, hovering just a few inches from Sanji’s pale, stunned face.
“There! That hits the spot.”
Sanji’s cheeks flamed. “Gah!” he cried, as Zolo’s hands released his elbows. That strange smile still playing at his lips, Zolo brought strong, muscular arms to wrap around Sanji’s hips, and then it was happening again. Sanji gasped against the swordsman’s lips, eyes still wide as plates. He pulled his mouth away, but Zolo’s body was warm against his, and Sanji’s stomach felt like it was boiling, and somehow he found himself staring into the crap swordsman’s eyes and blushing even more. He opened his mouth, hoping to say something, (anything really!) but he was so flustered and lost, and then Zolo, eyes never leaving Sanji’s until their noses brushed, brought his mouth down and kissed him again. Sanji’s eyes closed too, and, faintly, he kissed him back.
They stayed frozen liked that another minute, Sanji being held by strong hands and kissing back, just a little, and then Zolo brushed one of those strong hands up his ass and a shiver shot up his spine, making him feel hot and distant. Then he recognized the hot bulge pressed up again his stomach, making him feel plain light headed. Zolo pulled away then, and walked just as casual as could be, tented trousers and everything, across the deck to the door. He paused, an arm slug comfortably down over his swords, and looked over his shoulder nonchalantly at the pole-shocked cook.
“So,” the gruff voice drawled, “you coming down here with me or what?”
Sanji swallowed once, twice, then, still wondering about the un-Zolo look and how it had lead to the growing hardness in his own pants, he felt his feet began moving forward. Zolo flashed a little grin, turning and heading down the stairs as Sanji began across the deck to follow with wobbly legs, and those warm, warm knees.