Sanji's been caught out. The swordsman didn't know why the cook was staring all the time but he's just figured it out.
Zoro could tell Sanji that he feels the same way: he could give the cook a nice coming out party and then screw his brains out - but where would be the fun in that? Aside from the screwing part. That sounded ok.
He didn't really want to play with Sanji and mess with him sexually… but it was just so easy.
And did I mention fun? Lots of fun.

-xxx-

Zoro looked at himself in the mirror.

Sexy.

He had to look sexy.

Hmmm.

He was wearing nothing but a pair of black pants and, of course, his beloved swords.

His skin glowed in the morning light, which was streaming through the windows and drenching the boards of the cabin floor.

He looked at his body with detached calm, his eyes wandering across the familiar frame. His favourite parts – the broad shoulders, the thick wrists, the defined forearms and his least favourite – his hips, which were just a bit too narrow to be the perfect solid base for winding multiple sword attacks.

He had marked this body with his life and truly made it his. Aside from the earrings and the swords - which were his adornments - it was scarred and bulky with muscle, showing the long years he had spent becoming stronger. His body gave out all the right signals. He saw it as practical, not beautiful (whatever the hell that meant). It was a body that worked for him and suited him…

...but sexy?

He knew he had nice muscles and a good solid bone structure. That had to be good.

Ummm...

Zoro peered into the dark eyes that scowled back at him through the looking glass.

Maybe if he looked at himself in the same way that he looked at other men; the way the idiot cook looked at women.

Until now.

Zoro sniggered. The Zoro in the mirror looked equally smug.

Ok. Here goes nothing.

He peered into the glass again and imagined that he was looking at another man – a man that he was wondering if he would like to fuck.

Nice skin – dark and healthy looking. Stocky, so he wouldn't pass out in bed… but too heavy for Zoro's tastes. The guy in the mirror looked like a broody thug. He wasn't ugly, but his face was overly masculine and his body was just… not right. He preferred long, elegant lines. Not soft men, that was for sure – just lean and toned. The man in the mirror had too much muscle. He was also too serious, his strong brows knitting together in a pensive, concentrated glare. Strangely enough, the swordsman was always attracted to the outgoing, bold ones - merry lovers and fighters both.

For a second he was startled into stillness by the gruff apparition, but then he smiled and the hardened features melted.

Well, that was strange, but it didn't really help much.

Zoro blinked and re-focussed on the hulking, tanned presence in the mirror. He saw his own body again and re-assessed it. Not enough muscle, by far. He had a long way to go before he could deal the blows that would fell Mihawk.

So...

His best bits were the muscles and strong lines of bone and looking rough was his thing, so… the less he wore the sexier he would look.

Easy.

Zoro grabbed a blue singlet from his clean clothes pile and threw it over his head. He tousled his hair a bit and then grabbed a pair of boots to finish off his look.

He cast one last glance at his retreating figure as he left the room. Shoulders, pectorals and forearms displayed to perfection. That ought to do it.

Whatever happened today, it was going to be weird.

-xxx-

Zoro trained until he started to get just a little sweaty and then went to the kitchen to get something to eat. He knew from experience that there was something magical about that sheen of moisture on dark, coffee-rich skin and his plan was to start on the cook early.

As he strode across the deck toward the galley, Chopper bounded up beside him.

"Morning Zoro! Did you sleep well?"

"Hmmf," Zoro replied, patting the little doctor on the head.

"Good!" Chopper beamed, running ahead to get the door. A cloud of steam rolled out behind him and Zoro was made even damper by the wave of moist air as he stepped inside.

The kitchen was hung with all manner of herbs and spices from Boydstold Island, a place that seemed (from Sanji's jumping up and down) to have more herbs and spices than all the rest of the Grand Line put together. The mist seemed to be coming from a large bamboo steamer with many towering layers. Sanji was juggling several and unloading dumplings, sweet buns and steamed rice balls.

It took a little while for Sanji to see him through the haze, but when he did, there was a reaction. He didn't gasp or stand there like a stunned mullet but there was a reaction; a subtle alteration in his course across the kitchen, a little flutter of his eyelids and a slight parting of his lips. It was enough.

Zoro slid down onto a bench and arranged himself in a nice comfy sleeping position.

"Oi, wake me when breakfast is ready," he said, to anyone who was listening.

Not that this was really necessary; Luffy made sure everyone knew when meals were served. "Follow the screaming and chewing noises," seemed to work most of the time. The steam continued to dampen his clothes and create beads of moisture on his skin. After a while he could feel someone looking at him and he opened one eye just a crack.

The cook was standing at the sink with a dishtowel tucked into his belt just staring at the swordsman.

Heh.

Zoro stretched and opened his eyes,

"What ero-cook?"

Sanji blinked and turned away, back to the chaos of the fifteen separate dishes he seemed to be preparing at once. It was at that moment that Luffy realised that breakfast was on the way and from then the meal was a blur. A hearty crew of Straw Hats piled in to the room, ate, thanked Sanji and poured back out again leaving the cook and the swordsman alone in the suddenly quiet and humid room.

Zoro adjusted his sword belt slowly and deliberately then lay back down, stretching out across the bench seat.

"You going to help me or what?" Sanji huffed from the other side of the room.

"What?" Zoro said, suppressing a grin.

"Get drying shithead," Sanji responded, just a little tension beginning to show in his voice.

Zoro allowed the wet tea towel to land on him and then slowly got up. He strode over to Sanji and took a dish and began to dry.

Sanji gaped for a full minute and then finally went back to washing up. His rolled up sleeves were slowly becoming soaked but he didn't stop to push them back up.

Zoro leaned against the bench and studiously created a pile of dry dishes. Once he was finished, he walked towards the door,

"Oi, Marimo," Sanji called out, just as Zoro was about to leave the room.

"What?" Zoro turned, once he had controlled the twitching smile that made his lips itch.

"Can you roll my sleeves up?" Sanji asked, still facing the sink of water.

"They're wet anyway, why don't you roll them up?" Zoro teased, sensing the cook's blush through his curtain of hair.

"Fine!" Sanji snapped, but before he could move his arms out of the soapy water, Zoro was standing behind him. He chuckled breathily in the cook's ear and reached his arms around the slighter man to meet in front of his waist. He rolled up one of the cook's sleeves and then the other, stopping only once to blow a few fine strands of golden hair away from his face. Sanji stood completely still, it seemed as if he had stopped breathing.

"Better?" Zoro asked softly.

"Yes," Sanji replied, barely audible.

Zoro chuckled and moved his arms away, stepping back and giving Sanji room to breathe. Sanji sagged just a tiny bit and then took an unnecessarily long drag on his cigarette.

"Later, ero," Zoro called out, leaving a lightly pink and ever so slightly wobbly cook to finish his smoke and contemplate what the hell *exactly* was going on.

-xxx-