Bad Chibificus. No birthday cake for you.
May. 5th, 2006 03:09 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
chibi_trillianI'm sorry Luffy! This was too good of an idea to pass up. I'll write you something later. T_T
Title: Breath
Series: One Piece.
One Piece: Not mine.
Rating: PG.
Summary: Kind of pre-ZoSan, set right after the Alabasta arc. Lesson One: Chi manipulation is not a toy. Do not use it on random people, even if you are curious.
They were sailing away—away from Alabasta, away from Vivi-chan, away from a great debt of gratitude such as that ancient desert nation had never known before. They’d saved the day, the country, and the princess, and no one who hadn’t actually been there would ever find out about it. It was strangely appropriate, given the way Luffy did things.
But for now, they had a new destination to prepare for, a new crewmember to get to know, and new wounds to lick. Even as Sanji cleaned up quietly after dinner, he moved with the slow, careful grace of someone who doesn’t really want to bend or jar anything between his hips and his chin.
The galley door creaked open behind him, and Sanji half-hoped it would be the lovely and mysterious Robin-chan. He listened, hoping to hear the melodious click of feminine heels on the wooden floor.
No dice. Instead, from the heavy, booted footfalls, it was the shitty swordsman. Damn. He’d better not be after the wine that Vivi-chan had just given to them.
The rasp of a sword coming out of its sheath made Sanji whirl—too fast. The stabbing pain in his chest caught up to him, and for a moment he couldn’t breathe.
And then Zoro was right in his face, crushing him back against the counter, and that goddamn white katana was pressing flat against Sanji’s collarbone, far too close to his neck for comfort.
Sanji did not like the queerly calm look in Zoro’s eyes. That was the look people got right before they either did something suicidal or went crazy. Zoro doing either of those things was likely to force Sanji to kick his skull in, and that wouldn’t do at all.
“The hell?” Not the most eloquent response to Zoro’s weirdness, but it would do.
Zoro’s eyes got more oddly focused, and the blade in his hand started sliding towards Sanji’s neck. Sanji shivered and started to tense one leg, but Zoro’s whisper stopped him.
“Your breath…I can see you breathing.”
Sanji wondered if Zoro had taken a head shot that Chopper had somehow missed. “Yes. Anyone can do that, seeing as I’m not dead. Are you okay upstairs, marimo-head?”
The sword slipped under Sanji’s tie, cut the smooth black silk like paper. “I can feel you breathing.”
And then there was cool, razor-sharp steel pressed against Sanji’s throat. He could feel it, feel how keen the edge was, and yet…it wasn’t piercing his skin. The neatly sliced remains of Sanji’s third-favorite tie slithered down his chest and fell to the floor, and yet he couldn’t seem to get the breath to protest. Zoro’s hips pressed hard against his, trapping Sanji’s legs, and all that was left was hoping that the swordsman hadn’t gone mad.
Sanji’s pulse beat one thin layer of skin away from an edge sharp enough to cut the wind, and still there was no blood, no pain. Only a feeling of increasing warmth, and the vague notion that the sword had a heartbeat of its own.
Then the metal was touching his cheek, stirring the fall of Sanji’s bangs without harming a single hair. The sword felt fever-hot, almost alive. Almost…
…almost like Zoro.
“What…what are you…what weird shit is this?”
Zoro’s eyes burned as the sword stroked Sanji’s cheek in something that bordered on affection. “The blade that cuts nothing.”
And then Zoro’s lips were on him, covering his mouth, practically sucking the life out of him. Fever-hot, just like the sword, and for half a second, Sanji could taste metal and spice thick and molten in his mouth, filling his throat, pushing into his body in an impossibly intimate way. It made him dizzy, killed the pain of his abused body, slid down his spine to curl in his belly, hot and delicious and waiting for more. The rich flavor seemed to be filling something he hadn’t known was empty, and somehow, dimly, he sensed that it was mutual.
Then it was gone, leaving only the faintest of traces on his tongue, and Zoro was pushing away from him, heading for the door.
Sanji cursed his broken ribs for making his breath short and ragged, and opened his mouth to tell that shitty pervert what he really thought of that little stunt.
When a gasp of “Wait!” came out of his mouth instead, Sanji was severely irritated with himself.
Zoro half-turned, sword securely back where it belonged. The swordsman’s back stiffened as Sanji pushed off of the counter and walked towards him. The lingering tang of spice and metal got stronger in Sanji’s mouth with every step, and he swallowed hard, trying to ignore it, trying to focus on his anger.
“Stop.” Zoro’s voice held just the slightest tinge of unsteadiness. Good. Sanji hoped he was regretting what he’d just done, because he was about to regret it a hell of a lot more.
“Why, fucktard? You come in here, molest me with your sword, rape my mouth, and do some funky voodoo shit that messes with my head, and you want me to not kick your ass? That’s rich.” Sanji took a deliberate step towards the swordsman, and suddenly had the tip of a katana in his face. Sensibly, he froze.
“Because if I taste your breath again, I’m not going to be able to walk away.” Zoro sheathed his sword and stepped out the door.
Sanji managed to blame the dull, tugging ache in his chest on his broken ribs.
Title: Breath
Series: One Piece.
One Piece: Not mine.
Rating: PG.
Summary: Kind of pre-ZoSan, set right after the Alabasta arc. Lesson One: Chi manipulation is not a toy. Do not use it on random people, even if you are curious.
They were sailing away—away from Alabasta, away from Vivi-chan, away from a great debt of gratitude such as that ancient desert nation had never known before. They’d saved the day, the country, and the princess, and no one who hadn’t actually been there would ever find out about it. It was strangely appropriate, given the way Luffy did things.
But for now, they had a new destination to prepare for, a new crewmember to get to know, and new wounds to lick. Even as Sanji cleaned up quietly after dinner, he moved with the slow, careful grace of someone who doesn’t really want to bend or jar anything between his hips and his chin.
The galley door creaked open behind him, and Sanji half-hoped it would be the lovely and mysterious Robin-chan. He listened, hoping to hear the melodious click of feminine heels on the wooden floor.
No dice. Instead, from the heavy, booted footfalls, it was the shitty swordsman. Damn. He’d better not be after the wine that Vivi-chan had just given to them.
The rasp of a sword coming out of its sheath made Sanji whirl—too fast. The stabbing pain in his chest caught up to him, and for a moment he couldn’t breathe.
And then Zoro was right in his face, crushing him back against the counter, and that goddamn white katana was pressing flat against Sanji’s collarbone, far too close to his neck for comfort.
Sanji did not like the queerly calm look in Zoro’s eyes. That was the look people got right before they either did something suicidal or went crazy. Zoro doing either of those things was likely to force Sanji to kick his skull in, and that wouldn’t do at all.
“The hell?” Not the most eloquent response to Zoro’s weirdness, but it would do.
Zoro’s eyes got more oddly focused, and the blade in his hand started sliding towards Sanji’s neck. Sanji shivered and started to tense one leg, but Zoro’s whisper stopped him.
“Your breath…I can see you breathing.”
Sanji wondered if Zoro had taken a head shot that Chopper had somehow missed. “Yes. Anyone can do that, seeing as I’m not dead. Are you okay upstairs, marimo-head?”
The sword slipped under Sanji’s tie, cut the smooth black silk like paper. “I can feel you breathing.”
And then there was cool, razor-sharp steel pressed against Sanji’s throat. He could feel it, feel how keen the edge was, and yet…it wasn’t piercing his skin. The neatly sliced remains of Sanji’s third-favorite tie slithered down his chest and fell to the floor, and yet he couldn’t seem to get the breath to protest. Zoro’s hips pressed hard against his, trapping Sanji’s legs, and all that was left was hoping that the swordsman hadn’t gone mad.
Sanji’s pulse beat one thin layer of skin away from an edge sharp enough to cut the wind, and still there was no blood, no pain. Only a feeling of increasing warmth, and the vague notion that the sword had a heartbeat of its own.
Then the metal was touching his cheek, stirring the fall of Sanji’s bangs without harming a single hair. The sword felt fever-hot, almost alive. Almost…
…almost like Zoro.
“What…what are you…what weird shit is this?”
Zoro’s eyes burned as the sword stroked Sanji’s cheek in something that bordered on affection. “The blade that cuts nothing.”
And then Zoro’s lips were on him, covering his mouth, practically sucking the life out of him. Fever-hot, just like the sword, and for half a second, Sanji could taste metal and spice thick and molten in his mouth, filling his throat, pushing into his body in an impossibly intimate way. It made him dizzy, killed the pain of his abused body, slid down his spine to curl in his belly, hot and delicious and waiting for more. The rich flavor seemed to be filling something he hadn’t known was empty, and somehow, dimly, he sensed that it was mutual.
Then it was gone, leaving only the faintest of traces on his tongue, and Zoro was pushing away from him, heading for the door.
Sanji cursed his broken ribs for making his breath short and ragged, and opened his mouth to tell that shitty pervert what he really thought of that little stunt.
When a gasp of “Wait!” came out of his mouth instead, Sanji was severely irritated with himself.
Zoro half-turned, sword securely back where it belonged. The swordsman’s back stiffened as Sanji pushed off of the counter and walked towards him. The lingering tang of spice and metal got stronger in Sanji’s mouth with every step, and he swallowed hard, trying to ignore it, trying to focus on his anger.
“Stop.” Zoro’s voice held just the slightest tinge of unsteadiness. Good. Sanji hoped he was regretting what he’d just done, because he was about to regret it a hell of a lot more.
“Why, fucktard? You come in here, molest me with your sword, rape my mouth, and do some funky voodoo shit that messes with my head, and you want me to not kick your ass? That’s rich.” Sanji took a deliberate step towards the swordsman, and suddenly had the tip of a katana in his face. Sensibly, he froze.
“Because if I taste your breath again, I’m not going to be able to walk away.” Zoro sheathed his sword and stepped out the door.
Sanji managed to blame the dull, tugging ache in his chest on his broken ribs.
