moe81 | Cigarettes~

Apparently I'm developing a strange feitsh where Zoro is concerned. Personally I hate smoking, but these are fictional characters and I think we can allow it. So in that case...read on --->

Title: The Cigarette Gets a Voyeur

Rating: Swearing only

Pairing: Sanji --> Zoro

Sanji peered through the crack in the doorway and couldn’t decide if he was pissed off or turned on. Pissed was trying to win out though. Who the fuck did the stupid moss-head think he was, stealing stuff that wasn’t his? And the way he was sucking on that was not sexy or hot or any other vernacular relating to possible arousing sensations.

He watched with horrified fascination as a pink tongue swept out and licked at the end and he was not enjoying this. There was no way he could be…

White teeth clenched and bit down just enough to dent the outside and prevent it from slipping from between parted lips. Sanji brought his fingers to his mouth in habitual instinct and found himself lacking. He watched as smoke curled before his eyes and he swore he would kick the marimo in the head… as soon as the bastard finished that cigarette.

~~~~~~~
I felt that it was a little OOC for Zoro, so I wrote his side to go with it. *hums and moves on*

Title: Molestation: The Life of a Cigarette

Rating: Swearing again

Pairing: Zoro --> Sanji

It was the reflection in the pots that had Zoro turning his head, gaze focused on the small packet sitting innocuously on the ledge above the sink. Why the hell did the shit-head smoke anyway? It stank up the air around him and Zoro was still surprised that it hadn’t made its way into the taste of the food.

He made a noise and dismissed any ideas of the cook from his mind, turning to the booze cupboard. Except he could still see white from the corner of his eye and he could have sworn it just spoke to him. He was going nuts. Too much time spent in the same space as an idiot.

He reached out for the handle, curled his fingers around and brought it to him. He blinked. What the fuck? He stared down at the pack in his hand and blinked again. He watched in detached interest as he flipped the top open and slowly drew out one of the little sticks. The smell of tobacco wafted under his nose and it smelt, not bad just… not quite right.

He touched his lips to it and even the taste was a little off. He spotted a matchbook on the ledge and picked it up, realising the consequences of what he was about to do and not really caring. Just once couldn’t hurt and no one would ever have to know anyway. Besides, he needed to find out why it bothered him.

He struck the match and as the smell of sulfur touched his senses, he lit the tip and listened to the crackle of lit paper. Familiarity. He inhaled and hell if that wasn’t the cook, all the way. He poked his tongue out and licked at the end, taste overpowering all thought of what he was doing. He closed his eyes and inhaled again, smoke winding its way into his throat and did the cook taste like this because if he didn’t, what the hell did he taste like and fuck if Zoro didn’t want to find out. He felt his pants tighten.

His mouth parted and a silenced moan left him. He clenched his teeth around the filter to stop it from falling and the taste hit him all over again. He promised himself that he would go find the cook and beat the shit out of him for letting this happen… after he finished this cigarette.