Warmth (written for the lj comm 'fanfic100'; pairing is Nami/Sanji; prompt is "lovers"; no spoilers)

One night when he climbs down the rigging from his turn at watch and Robin climbs up it for her turn after him, he goes down the stairs instead of down the hatch, turns the knob of the door very softly and slips into bed beside her. It is something of what he wants and something of what she wants, but even so there are rules he must follow.

They do not lie side by side or face to face. They lie with the heart in his breast beating against the curve of her spine and his nose grazing the crown of her head. It is the only way she allows him in her bed, and anyway the bed is very narrow; it is the only way they will fit.

His hands and mouth do not roam. His lips move only to speak while his fingers are constrained by her own, weaving in and out and around, callused fingers meeting rough knuckle.

Their breathing is composed and quiet and Nami knows that when Robin returns to the room she will politely ignore the extra, broad-shouldered form in the bed. And because Sanji arises without fail before first light to light the kitchen, it will be easy in the morning to feign innocence. And Robin will smile and play along.

"If you try anything," she whispers to the warmth at her back, "I'll kill you."

Sanji makes no answer except to shift ever so slightly. Nami knows she has nothing to fear; she is speaking to test her voice in the dark. She remembers his words at Enies Lobby - even if I die, I'll never hurt a woman - and she knows it is true. If there is any honesty to Sanji underneath the posturing and bluffing and vulgarity, this is it. Sanji will not hurt a woman. Whether he dies from bloodloss or from desire, he will not do anything Nami does not want him to do.

It's important to her, who knows what it is to have everything taken away, to know that Sanji will offer her anything she wants and will take only what is offered. What she has to offer isn't much; what she wants is even less. The warmth of a strong body, free of blood and soot and sweat and the twist of desperation in the stomach. For just a few hours between moonrise and sunrise no dreams; no companions; no round-eyed intensity from a fey-child captain; just two love-wary people in the dark, his arms on her arms, his fingers twined around her fingers resting in the hollow of her breast, his hair in her hair, his eyes full of her and her eyes gazing out at the darkened room.

Nami feels the peculiar pleasure of her hair being stirred and smoothed against his cheek. She imagines what it must look like if the room weren't dark: orange locks mingled with golden ones in perfect imitation of a sunset or tangerine in summer or any other bright thing. It isn't something she wants to see yet.

This is enough. For now, it's enough. Tomorrow he will retreat behind a caricature, terrified of revealing his own true self. Tomorrow she will be bossy and demanding, hiding her great capacity for selflessness under slaps and punches. Fists raised and tongue sharpened, she will wait for him to be honest - she will wait for the real thing that encircles her in the concealing dark to emerge from its glossy-hard shell in the daylight so that she can want more and offer more - lie side by side and face to face and maybe even have a friendly talk.

Sanji's breathing has slowed. It is deep and regular and warm against her hair. He is asleep. Now that he no longer guards it the weight of his body is heavy and sweet, pressing down on her like an anchor; like a blanket; like a weary child.

Nami pulls him closer.

--End--
notes: As is fairly obvious, I ship the good ship Nami/Sanji. I actually don't see this scene happening in my personal fanon, but it's a nice scene that's both sweet and dysfunctional. If I took their relationship in "Another Romantic Dawn" and inserted it back into the canon-verse, it might look something like this, I think. All in all I like the way this one turned out. Feedback is always, always welcome; please leave some ;;