Mikan

[jadeprince.livejournal.com]

Title: Mikan
Pairing: SanjixZoro
Rated: PG
Words: 299

(Note: In case anyone doesn't know, a mikan is a Japanese citrus fruit that is really closer to a tangerine than an orange, despite what some people and some hong kong subs might claim. To be honest, I'm not absolutely positive that the fruit Nami grows is mikan and not oranges --haven't listened that closely to the eps.-- but I figure I've got some creative license, so they're gonna be mikan. So there. ^__^ Hope you enjoy. Oh and this is just for fun, obviously I'm out of the running for this week's competition. ^^)

The missing bottle was annoying. The cork, still lodged in the severed glass neck, raised a curled eyebrow. The spattering of pungent wine at his feet produced a scowl. But it was the bit of mikan peel carelessly tossed on the galley floor that stirred his feet into motion.

He found the swordsman up on deck, legs outstretched, the katana that doubled as a bottle-opener resting near his hip, the wine, nearly gone, propped between his thighs. And sure enough, the stolen fruit, delicate segments pulled roughly apart by calloused hands, one oozing slice already on its way to Zoro's mouth.

"Don't you dare eat that." The cook stepped from the shadows into the dim starlight.

Zoro raised his face, the dripping citrus centimeters from his lips. "And why not?"

Straddling the reclining figure, Sanji eased himself downward til one knee touched the deck and his eyes hovered inches above Zoro's. "Because you didn't ask nicely first."

With a rogue-ish smirk, the swordsman placed the piece of fruit on his tongue, and made as though to swallow it whole, but the hand that swiftly closed around his throat seemed to warn against it.

And then a mouth was upon his, tongue prying his lips and teeth apart, then thrusting with little delicacy, darting in to snake around the fragment of mikan and pull it away, into Sanji's own mouth.

He pulled back then, fingers slipping from Zoro's throat, sucking lightly on his prize. The swordsman coughed, eyes wide and reached with a shaking hand for the burn of liqueur. But as he brought the bottle to his lips, he felt the other man's hip dig into his thigh and the citrus-tinted breath on his cheek.

The cook smirked. "Tsk, tsk. That doesn't belong to you either."