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Chopper warned him about this. About how serious his injuries really were ( he broke his spine, the doctor would emphasize ) and how easily he could blow his back out again. But he never imagined that it could, or would, actually happen. Not to him, no; he's young, strong, relatively healthy ( how can one be completely healthy when you're fighting all the time? ).
Sanji grits his teeth at the muscle strain and shooting pain in his back, hobbling onto the grassy patches of the main deck. Usopp is there, seemingly enjoying the sun as he works on his newest batch of ammo. The cook slowly makes his way over, dropping down beside him with a stifled grunt. Usopp pauses in his work to take a worried glance up at him, but he promptly ignores it by picking up one of the many strangely shaped pieces of ammo. “What's this?”
The sniper purses his lips before letting out a shoulder deflating sigh. “Something new I've been experimenting with. It's like a smoke bomb, but it's highly flammable! So it’ll make some huge explosions!” Sanji merely hums in acknowledgment of his explanation, which only causes the worry in Usopp’s brow to deepen. “Sanji, are you okay? You kind of look like ass.”
The urge to lie tastes like bile on his tongue. But there's no reason for that. Not with Usopp. “Ah, yeah. About that.” He pauses in his speech long enough to fish out his pack of cigarettes from the depths of his pockets. He shoves one between his lips and ignites it. “My back’s a little sore.”
Usopp is quick to stop working and fully turn his attention to the blond sitting beside him. “Why don't you have Chopper take a look?” Flashbacks of Sanji’s screams when his spine was being realigned causes shivers to raise the hairs on his arms. Neither of them should have to relive that.
“It's not that bad.” Sanji forces a smirk to tug at his lips as he blows smoke into the air. The inflation of his lungs with each deep breath puts pressure on his spine, causing him to grimace. Usopp shoots him a pointed look. “I swear.”
He doesn't believe that for a second. Usopp scrunches his brow and pushes his project aside. “If you don't want Chopper to look at you, at least let me give you a massage.” The look on Sanji’s face was almost a little hurtful. “I know I'm not Nami, or Robin…”
“Okay. Sure.” Sanji was quick to interject, stopping Usopp from saying anything else. He thumbs the buttons on his shirt, popping them loose one by one. Once the fabric is splayed open and his chest bare, the cook sheds the article and places it atop his lap. Usopp tries not to stare. “The middle.”
The middle? Usopp was about to question him, but then he realizes: the middle of his back is the area that hurts. And he calls Zoro an idiot. Shaking his head, the sniper scoots across the deck to sit behind the injured man. Hands lift, falter; what if his palms are too calloused? “Uh, Sanji?”
“Hmm?” Said man tilts his head back, a lazy lift of his swirled brow.
One good look at Sanji’s dumb face and Usopp throws his worries overboard. It's not like he’ll care if his hands are rough, right? That's to be expected! He's a man that works with his hands, after all. “Nevermind, it's nothing. I'm gonna start now...” He presses the pads of his fingertips to the sore regions of Sanji’s back, rubbing and prodding to feel for any bunched muscles or pinched nerves beneath the skin.
It feels kind of really nice, Sanji thinks offhandedly to himself. Usopp’s hands are rough, yet his touch is gentle enough to not rouse any pain. He works quietly, tongue pressed to the corner of his mouth as he focuses on massaging out a stubborn bunch of knotted up muscles near Sanji’s spine. He sighs through his nose out of content.
“Sanji?” There he goes again, voice quivering with uncertainty as he decides to speak up. His motions cease for but a brief moment before he's digging his fingers back into pliable skin. When the cook acknowledges him with a quiet hum, he continues. “When’s the last time you took a hot bath or shower? I'm not saying you smell or anything, man, I swear! It's just, that would probably really help you right now.”
He supposes Usopp has a valid point. And it has been quite awhile since he's been able to enjoy a hot soak or rinse. “A few weeks, I guess. I'll take one after dinner.” Because the cook never gets time off. He sighs breathily, shoulders deflating.
“Good. That's good.” The sniper pauses, an awkward feeling crawling up his throat. “Do you want me to help?” Another pause. “With dinner, I mean! Hahah, not with your bath! That'd be weird! You don't need help taking a bath!”
Sanji blinks once, twice; sputters a little when he tries desperately not to laugh at the quickly flushing sniper behind him. What kind of reaction was that? “Sure. You can help out.” He doesn't specify with what though, making Usopp’s mind wander ceaselessly. He pulls his hands away from the cook’s back almost frantically, as if he’d been scorched. Sanji takes notice of this, of course; though decides to keep quiet on the matter out of amusement. “Thanks. I appreciate it.”
“Y-You're welcome! How does your back feel? Any better? If it still hurts, after you take a bath, you should probably really let Chopper take a look! He can give you a muscle relaxant and stuff.” The words fly out of Usopp’s mouth faster than Luffy can scarf down a meal. Which is pretty impressive actually.
It takes him a moment to process everything, slowly puffing at the cigarette between his lips. An ash falls onto his pants before he speaks. “If it still hurts, I'll just have you give me another massage. Now come on, I gotta start preparing dinner before our gluttonous Captain raids the fridge on his own.”
Usopp is speechless as Sanji stands and begins his lazy trek to the kitchen. He's quick to scramble onto his feet, following close behind; project forgotten strewn out on the grassy deck.
“Sanji-kun. Please make ice cream for dessert.”
“Sure. For the ladies.”
“W-What! Come on! After all the help I'm giving you!”
“Fine. But don't let Luffy see it. And share it with Chopper.”
“Yes, sir!”