onepieceyaoi100 | (no subject)

My first fic-post here. You have my apologies.

Title: Sanji, Master Pick-Up Artist
Topic: Justice
Word Count: 243
Rating: PG
Pairing: Anti-San/Smo, implied Smo/Ace, explicit FAIL/San
Disclaimer: Is this really needed? Not mine.
Summary: Many exciting things happen. Off-screen.

Rear-Admiral Smoker hadn't been in the habit of having Good Days since Loguetown. Thus, he was suitably wary when a Good Day crept into reality, because these usually turned out to be Oh Fuck No, Surprise Bad Days.

Nearing the end of a worrisome Particularly Good Day, he was therefore not overly surprised when he walked into his cabin and found Blackleg Sanji lying naked on the bed.

"Get out."

The cook posed in what was meant presumably meant to be a sultry manner, and stretched. His legs got caught in the sheets.

"I repeat: Get. Out."

"Oh, but Smoker-san," Sanji purred, trying to subtly kick the covers off his feet, and ending up looking like his legs were having spasms. They both pretended to ignore it. "I've been waiting for you."

Smoker raised an eyebrow. "I presumed so. Tashigi's cabin has more sword posters. Out."

Removing the scowl that flickered onto his face, Sanji tossed his hair (wincing as the bangs swung back and hit his eyes) and pushed himself off the bed, displaying his body as he stepped towards the older man. He smiled coyly. "How about w- OW SHIT CRAMPS!"

Smoker stared blankly at the man writhing on the floor, clutching at his legs, before picking him up, striding over to the open porthole, and shoving the cook out into his waiting boat.

"Fuck," muttered Ace, rolling out from under the bed, "I thought he'd never leave. Now that's what I call justice."

"Shut up and strip, brat."