What-the-hell attitude

[danzanelfuoco]

Fandom: One Piece

Sanji/Zoro pre-slash 

COW-T #13, w2, m2 - Flambé 

wordcount: 641

In cooking you've got to have a what-the-hell attitude. 
Julia Child.

Sanji almost burns his damn face the first time he tries. 

Zeff looks at him, at the smoke raising from his curly eyebrows, the blackness of ashes and cinders smeared over his cheeks and forehead and he laughs, the bastard. He laughs so hard he has to hold his belly with his hands and almost falls to the ground. 

“Yes, you really know what to do, don’t you?” He mocks him, and his arrogance. 

Fifteen years old Sanji chews on a curse, a vein menacingly close to bursting on his forehead. 

Well, maybe he’s not really ready for flambé. 

- 

It doesn't go better the next time around. 

- 

That's it, Sanji thinks, as he stomps around his kitchen. No one is allowed inside anymore - he'll make a sign, he'll place traps. 

He looks at the empty plate, at the dirty pans, and sighs. He had made crepes, he had prepared the sauce that he needed to serve them and he had steeled himself because he had never really managed to master the technique. The last time he had tried to flambé something, he had almost burned down the Baratie. 

But before he could do anything, Luffy had barged in, "Ow, cool, there's food!" and he had downed almost half of his carefully topped crepes before Sanji could even move. 

And when Sanji had yelled at him "You idiot! Save something for the others!" Luffy had proceeded to grab the dish and bring the rest of the crepes outside, while stuffing another one in his mouth. 

"They're really good, Sanji," Nami had told him, sending him to heaven only with that compliment, "but maybe next time you could put a little less alchool in it?" 

Sanji hadn't had the heart to correct her, to tell her that the alchool should have been burned away, the flame cleansing the plate and leaving behind just the aroma. It was all wasted in a crew like theirs - well, not on Nami or Robin of course, but Zoro was already halfway thought his portion and Chopper was gladly muching at his crepe, and Sanji didn't have the heart to scold them further. 

(He doesn't admit he's secretly relieved.)

But that was it. No one was to set foot in his kitchen any more. 

- 

"Are you sure you're not about to set fire to the ship?" Zoro asks, peeking from over his shoulder. 

"Shut up, stupid marimo," Sanji retorts, as he pours the liquor in the pan. 

"I still think burning away the alchool is stupid," the swordsman goes on, and Sanji has to suppress the need to plant a foot on his ass, "why put it in the first place, if you're going to waste it." 

"Because I'm the cook and I say so." 

Zoro scoffs, but doesn't move. 

The night is incredibly quiet, and Sanji feels his breath on his neck and shivers. He should have never offered to make some midnight snack for the idiot, even if leaving him all night in the crow's nest without anything to eat was against all his believes. So here he is, and the idiot is too damn close. 

"I'd took a step back if I were you," Sanji warns him, "The flame might be higher than I expect." 

"Why? You care if I get hurt?" Zoro tsks and before Sanji could retort anything, "Come on, cook, I know you know what you're doing." 

Sanji doesn't, actually, but the trust Zoro has in him is weirdly conforting. Ok, so what the hell, he's doing this. 

"All right, then, don't tell me I didn't warn you," he says and puts the match in the pan. 

It's the fist time he manages to flambé his crepes. Eating them with Zoro, shoulder against shoulder, they taste amazing.