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Summary
"Cook, drop it," Zoro growled softly. "How long do you plan on dancing in this invisible banquet of yours?"
Despite the bite in his words, Zoro's boots shifted, matching the rhythm. Sanji didn't try to restart the full dance; instead, he lazily guided them toward the deck table, hoisting himself up to sit on the edge. His grip on Zoro's waist never loosened, anchoring the swordsman between his thighs. With his free hand, he reached blindly across the wood, his fingers locking around a discarded bottle.
There was a generous amount of sake left inside. Zoro's eyes glistened at the sight. But before the swordsman could get hold of it, Sanji brought the bottle to his own lips, throwing his head back to down the remaining alcohol in one greedy gulp.
Zoro's gaze darkened. His hand twitched toward the hilts at his hip, fully prepared to draw his blade, but Sanji caught him by the jaw and pulled him down into a sudden kiss.