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It’s a day or so out of sailing from Cocoyashi, leaving her old home on her new home, that Nami approaches Usopp with a question. She leans against the railing of the Merry, wind ruffling her hair in the breeze, and squints down at their sharpshooter where he’s seated on the deck, back against the wood and goggles pulled down. Always tinkering that one.
Where she’s standing, she’s blocked out the sun, casting his world in shadow and so there’s an annoyed twist to his mouth as he glances up at her. She cuts the approaching wave of reproach off with a question.
“What do you make of the waiter?”
From the way his brows furrow Nami knows her question is unexpected, catching him off-guard. It’s been growing in her mind for a while now, though. She hadn’t made much note of Sanji during their first encounter, her mind quickly occupied by other more pressing matters. There had been blond hair, blue eyes, an acidic attitude and a broad grin served especially for her, paired with ineffective flirting. Still, she hadn’t been too surprised to see him again. Luffy would have taken note. Turns out Sanji is not a waiter but a cook. A hopeless dreamer and a competent fighter. Yet, she hadn’t been there for the trembling beginnings and so she feels, not wary, but maybe something close to it. The others seem to have already made up their minds, the outline of relationships already formed while she’s still making her slow approach. Even her sister had seemed charmed, talked of his cooking with a glint in her eyes.
Usopp adjust his goggles, trying to read her expression as he answers.
“Another pea to our pod?” he offers. “He gets Luffy, and Zoro seems to already be starting some weird rivalry.”
“And you?”
“I like him. He’s a good listener,” Usopp turns back to his tools then adds as an afterthought: “Any particular reason you asked?”
Nami raises her brows at his weak attempt at inconspicuous. “No. I guess I was just curious.”
Usopp scoffs and looks up again, leveling her with an even gaze. Nami meets it squarely. As if she’d let their resident scaredy-cat get the better of her.
He ends up caving first, but not before rolling his eyes at her and so her victory rings hollow.
**
In the end there isn’t much more to it than letting time and space aid her in forming her own opinion. There’s ample opportunity for it given their long days of uninterrupted sea. Nami finds that her first impression holds largely true, though the pieces don’t fit together quite the way she had expected. There are sharp edges to the cook, most prominent in his interactions with the swordsman but even Luffy and Usopp can be found getting caught on the spear of his words. But while he’s short-tempered and rough with the boys, with her it’s all soft words and servitude. She doesn’t know what to make of it.
Mostly, it's easy. She had only needed to make the most off-hand mention for him to commit to the care of her tangerine trees. She’s never expected to clear her own place at the table. He always offers to take care of her chores.
It’s amusing, too. The quick turn of his mood when she enters the room. The blush that rises on his cheeks at the faintest hint of praise from her.
It’s overbearing, bordering on overwhelming to only ever being met with sweet words, her name turned to a song in his mouth. Her every whim catered to.
Nami is not foolish enough to look a gift horse in the mouth but something about the current state of things chafes at her. For so many years now, she has had to take what she wants, fighting nail and tooth for every scratch. A self-made master thief always planning the next hit, no moment to relax, nothing offered freely, nothing coming into her possession without strings attached. The contrast is difficult to wrap her head around and so finds herself wanting to push the limits, wanting to find the fault lines where that seemingly endless deference runs out.
**
As the only early-risers on the Going Merry, it’s not rare for Nami and Sanji to find a moment to themselves. This particular morning, she finds him flipping pancakes at dawn, at least an hour before Luffy is expected to make his entrance. Well, it never hurts to go into battle prepared.
Nami takes a seat at the island counter and receives her plate gratefully, pours herself a cup of coffee from the steaming pot placed in front of her. From her perch she is offered the perfect view of the chef at work by the stove. She’s come to appreciate observing Sanji at work. It’s close to meditative watching him in his element, something almost enticing about the contrast between the ease with which he moves and the full control he exhibits. A master in his domain.
His shirt collared is unbuttoned, his sleeves rolled up to reveal bare underarms. She wonders why he even bothers with the jacket and tie when this is how it always ends, the garments discarded over the back of a chair. Privately in her mind she can admit that that’s a point of appreciation as well, with the way he’s usually so buttoned up and covered in layers, she finds her cataloging those glimpses of skin. The jut of his collarbone, faint blue veins along his forearms. On one occasion a sliver of stomach between two buttons of his shirt as he reached for a jar on the top shelf.
Sanji tends to be quiet when he cooks. With his back turned to her and the intermittent humming it’d be easy to think him lost in thought, forgetting her presence entirely. It would be a mistake though and so Nami is not surprised when he turns back to her as soon as she sets her cutlery down, the clink of metal against porcelain vibrating in the air.
The steam from the stove has curled the ends of his bangs, reddened the tips of his ear. The effect is an amplifier, adding to the bashful expression on his face and the question in his eyes.
“It was delicious,” she says and can’t help the dry amusement coloring her voice as his lips quirk up at her words. It’s ridiculous really, the way his eyes roam their faces in search of approval after every meal. As if there is any doubt what the reaction will be, as if there is any other outcome than glowing praise? And still his face lightens up every time. It’s sweet, is the problem.
“I’m glad,” he replies, eyes crinkled. “Anything more I can do for you?”
Nami’s never been one for sweet, is the thing.
She pushes her plate away and leans back. She weighs her next words carefully.
“Actually, if anything you could do less.”
Sanji tilts his head, confusion clear as day on his face.
“Look, it’s not that I don’t appreciate your,” she searches for the right word, “attentions. But maybe it’s bit much, all sugary sweet and I don’t have that much of a sweet-tooth to begin with.”
Nami watches as he blinks, seems to search for the right way to respond. In a way she’s curious too, to see how he’ll react. If he’ll drop the act now that it’s clear there will be no reward waiting. Part of her almost hopes for it.
“I see,” he says and leans back against the counter behind him. He pulls out a cigarette and as he sets it between his teeth she catches a glimpse of his tongue-piercing. His hair falls forward as he lights his cigarette. “That’s on me, I should have realized.” He smiles, and maybe there’s a hint of ruefulness in there but mostly it’s good-natured.
Her turn to be confused. “What?”
He nods his head at her empty plate. “You finished the strawberries but scraped most of the whipped cream off. You take your coffee with just a hint of milk and no sugar.” He shrugs, a hint of teeth in his smile. “I should have been more attentive to the fact that your tastes run more bitter and tangy. I’ll try to adjust accordingly.”
Nami nods slowly, somewhat taken aback by his accurate deductions.
She’s not sure he caught her full meaning, but then again she's not sure she understands it herself.
**
It’d be too much to say that Sanji backs off but he changes approach somewhat, lingers less. It seems that he interpreted her challenge as a request for more space, which it might have been. Less sugar sweet and all. The problem is that Nami isn’t sure herself what exactly it is that she wants from the other, outside of the fact that she wants something. She tries to think on it as she sips on her lemonade, ice cold and tasting of tangerine, mint and some spice she can’t quite place. Even underneath the shade of her tangerine trees the heat is suffocating and on days like this Sanji’s constant offerings are close to divine.
Nami feels a drop of sweat run from her scalp down to her neck as she leans back into her sun chair. It’s too hot to think. Ostensibly, she’s charting their course for the next island but her papers and pens lie long-forgotten on the folding table next to her. At least she tried to be productive before surrendering to the sun. Usopp and Luffy are both sleeping on the middle of the deck, ignoring her urging to find shade and so she has washed her hands of whatever consequences the idiots will suffer.
She must have dozed off herself because the next things she knows her eyes are blinking open, the scent of sea salt and citrus and tobacco in the air. For a moment she’s six years old again, napping in the shade of her mother’s tangerine grove and roused to wakefulness by Belle-mere’s singing as she tends to the harvest, Nami’s nose crinkling as a waft of smoke finds her. The memory is so strong she can see it play out before her, feel the ground beneath her fingers, hear Nojiko’s laughter, and while the vision dissipates quickly the feeling remains, her entire body engulfed in warmth.
She blinks again, returns to the Merry and the sight of leaves swaying in the breeze. By tomorrow new freckles will have bloomed on her shoulders she thinks absently and then she takes in the figure leaning against the rail. Sanji’s standing far away enough that he must’ve been trying not to disturb her. Not his fault the breeze carried the smoke from his cigarette to her and with it a wave of nostalgia. It’s suffocating, bordering on uncomfortable, to just look at him, confined as he is to his suit, even with the top buttons of his shirt unbuttoned and the sleeves rolled up.
She wants to mess him up.
Huh.
Maybe that’s what she wanted all along. The answer to the unnamed urge that’s been living in her belly.
She raises a hand to shield her eyes and waves him over.
“Anything I can do for you?” he asks as he approaches. Exactly what she was hoping to hear.
“Wanna share?” she asks, gesturing at the cigarette between his lips.
His eyes widen, pointing at the cigarette in question as if to make sure. For some reason it makes her want to laugh.
She nods, eyebrow raised in challenge.
“Well, of course.” He starts fishing out a cigarette from the packet in his breast pocket. “Didn’t think you partook as well.”
“It’s an on and off kind of thing. Mostly off.” She leans forward to take the cigarette handed to her, puts it between her lips and waits. For a moment she wonders if Sanji will lean in all the way, touch the end of his cigarette to hers to light it. She doubts he’d ever be so bold and is proven right as he reaches forward with his lighter, holds it steady for her while she lights up. She glances up at him and this close she can see he has freckles too, spread out over the bridge of his nose. The tips of his ears are red again. It could just be the heat.
She leans back and takes a deep drag, lets the smoke out slowly. She’s still got it. Sanji looks at her like he’s impressed, or maybe it’s the same way he always looks at her. She likes being on the other end of that heavy gaze. It feels more tangible than all the pretty words offered in her direction.
“Hey, come sit down,” she nods toward the chair next to her.
Weirdly enough, he seems to hesitate for moment before folding himself down. Something about it makes her feel giddy. Is it just the illusion of the suit pants or are his legs that long?
She knocks her heel against his foot lightly.
“Bet you started as a kid just to prove something.” She gestures with the cigarette in her hand before taking another pull.
He laughs, a bright pearl of it, as if it was startled out of him.
“Correct, and now I’m stuck for life,” he smiles and his eyes are far away. “Really thought it’d be a fast track to getting the old geezer to take me seriously.”
Nami finds herself thinking that she likes his smile, the real one he’s wearing now. Wants to coax it out more often.
“You know,” she volunteers. “I’d heard of the Baratie before, maybe a year or so ago. Thought of running a hit there, freeing the patrons of their wallets while they wined and dined.”
He turns to look at her, eyebrows raised in surprise. Something playful in his eyes. It suits him.
“Ended up deciding against it though, realized it probably wouldn’t be worth all that effort for what would inevitably end being just pocket money.”
“Too bad,” he says and she can tell he means it sincerely, the fool. “Means I could have met you sooner.”
“I would have robbed you blind.”
“I would have let you.”
She knows. Sanji has made it abundantly clear that he would let her do many things and Nami has realized she’s up for the challenge. Already her mind is suggesting stupid things, like running a hand through his hair, carding his bangs back. Like grabbing his tongue to finally get a good look at that damn tongue-piercing. She wants to sink her teeth into his skin.
Nami turns in her seat towards him.
“What wouldn’t you let me do, Sanji?”
It’s satisfying seeing the blush rise on his cheeks, the way he bites his lip.
“Umm,” he swallows. “I can’t come up with anything now that you’ve put me on the spot.”
Time then to take what she wants, to stop denying herself what is being offered freely.
“And if I wanted to kiss you?”
Sanji draws for breath. “Please.”
Nami gets up from her seat and sits down in Sanji’s lap, knees on either side of him. Her skirt rides up just a little and the inside of her thighs rub against the surprisingly soft fabric of his dress pants. She breathes in, reins in the impulse to roll her hips and chase the feeling pooling at her spine. She throws her arms over his shoulders. His hands find her waist, thumbs resting on her back. It’s such a light touch and yet it raises goosebumps on her skin.
She leans forward and puts her lips to his. She starts gentle, pressing a soft kiss first to his upper lip, before just as softly catching his lower lip between her teeth. He draws for breath, all shuddery and shallow, and she takes the invitation, licks inside into his mouth. Presses closer with her body, hips rolling down absently as she explores his mouth, eating up the way he gasps into her mouth. She wants to swallow him up, but for now she makes do with running her tongue over the inside of his cheek, his teeth, the roof of his mouth. She meets the smooth steel of his piercing and groans into his mouth. Maps out all the spaces open to her, soft and wet and scorching. His thighs tense beneath her and she lets out a low moan, feels the heat building in her belly. His hands have moved to her hips now, their grip firmer. It’s all so hot. The afternoon was already sweltering, but pressed close like this the heat is unbearable, her skin all sticky everywhere they touch.
She pulls pack slowly, bites at his bottom lip again before she lets go and marvels at the sight of him. Sanji’s hair is mussed, his lips red and shiny. His cheeks flushed pink, his eyes dark and glassy and glowing.
Nami can’t name the feeling that overwhelms her then, washes over her like a wave, only knows that she needs more. That her teeth ache from it, her toes curl with it. She moves her hands to his throat, rubs her thumb down the back of his neck into his hair. She can feel him shiver. She leans forward to breathe into his ear:
“What do you want to do next?”