Drabbles I missed posting
May. 25th, 2004 02:04 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dethoratsTitle: Routines
Word Count: 290
Pairing: Sanji -> Usopp
Rating: PG
Life on a tiny ship, one that was often isolated at sea for many days, quickly fell into a series of routines. It made things easier for everyone, helping to prevent conflicts over space usage and kinds of activities. Indeed, most aspects of life quickly assumed a familiar pattern, even those parts that were the most private and personal.
Usopp had ended up getting the shower slot immediately after dinner. Every day, right after the plates had been carried to the sink and the all-too-rare leftovers placed in the fridge, the sharpshooter left the crowded kitchen for his daily helping of privacy. Sanji, too, had a certain habit after dinner. On most days, he followed Usopp out of the kitchen, but instead of going deeper into the ship, he'd head out to the deck to enjoy a post-dinner smoke before he attacked the dishes.
However, on every third day, he'd smoke his cigarette quickly, not lingering over his nicotine fix. Then he'd sneak down to the bathroom, silently crouching by the door. Unaware that this routine had been discovered, Usopp would take care of certain young male urges. Without variation, he'd say the same name at the end of every session. It was this name that Sanji strained to hear. Sometimes it was whispered, at others almost shouted, but Usopp never failed to call out the name of a woman Sanji had never met.
It tore his heart every time, but he couldn't stop listening, couldn't stop hoping that one day a different name would be uttered. On this day, something did change. Usopp moaned audibly, but didn't cry any name at all. Sanji moved away, a small smile dancing on his lips. Perhaps he had a chance after all.
A/N:That one's kind of lame, but hell, I like the idea of Sanji pining desperately after Usopp of all people. It's cute in a twisted way.
Title: Peeping
Word Count: 286
Pairing: Ben/Shanks...kind of
Rating: PG-13 for innuendo
He could feel someone watching. The tiny hairs on the back of his neck prickled their alert. Very calmly and deliberately he closed his volume of salacious short stories and removed his hand from his pants. His actions did nothing to indicate the sudden speed he used to leap from the hammock and peer into the shadows behind the barrier of beer barrels. This was his sanctuary, and what he did here in the back corner of the liquor hold was his own business. If Shanks was peeping again, they were going to have words. After all, he wasn't the exhibitionist in this relationship. But no red-haired pirate captain was crouched in hiding. In fact, there was nothing behind the barrels.
'I must be becoming paranoid after all this time.'
A final sweeping glance across the hold and he settled back into his hammock. He opened the book where he'd left off, in the middle of "The Shepherd's Prince", which had absolutely nothing to do with sheep and dealt far too much with matters of submission, one hand eventually creeping back down under the waistband of his trousers. He was just getting to the really juicy part when the sensation of being watched returned. He was starting to get really annoyed at this point. He whipped around, nearly tumbling to the floor, just in time to see an orange-striped tail vanish under the wine rack.
It was good to know the spy was merely Shanks' kitten, whose voyeuristic tendency Jameson had clearly acquired, but somehow he still didn't feel comfortable resuming his activity. With a muttered sigh he retrieved the furball and headed up to find Shanks. Perhaps the captain could help him regain the mood.
Word Count: 290
Pairing: Sanji -> Usopp
Rating: PG
Life on a tiny ship, one that was often isolated at sea for many days, quickly fell into a series of routines. It made things easier for everyone, helping to prevent conflicts over space usage and kinds of activities. Indeed, most aspects of life quickly assumed a familiar pattern, even those parts that were the most private and personal.
Usopp had ended up getting the shower slot immediately after dinner. Every day, right after the plates had been carried to the sink and the all-too-rare leftovers placed in the fridge, the sharpshooter left the crowded kitchen for his daily helping of privacy. Sanji, too, had a certain habit after dinner. On most days, he followed Usopp out of the kitchen, but instead of going deeper into the ship, he'd head out to the deck to enjoy a post-dinner smoke before he attacked the dishes.
However, on every third day, he'd smoke his cigarette quickly, not lingering over his nicotine fix. Then he'd sneak down to the bathroom, silently crouching by the door. Unaware that this routine had been discovered, Usopp would take care of certain young male urges. Without variation, he'd say the same name at the end of every session. It was this name that Sanji strained to hear. Sometimes it was whispered, at others almost shouted, but Usopp never failed to call out the name of a woman Sanji had never met.
It tore his heart every time, but he couldn't stop listening, couldn't stop hoping that one day a different name would be uttered. On this day, something did change. Usopp moaned audibly, but didn't cry any name at all. Sanji moved away, a small smile dancing on his lips. Perhaps he had a chance after all.
A/N:That one's kind of lame, but hell, I like the idea of Sanji pining desperately after Usopp of all people. It's cute in a twisted way.
Title: Peeping
Word Count: 286
Pairing: Ben/Shanks...kind of
Rating: PG-13 for innuendo
He could feel someone watching. The tiny hairs on the back of his neck prickled their alert. Very calmly and deliberately he closed his volume of salacious short stories and removed his hand from his pants. His actions did nothing to indicate the sudden speed he used to leap from the hammock and peer into the shadows behind the barrier of beer barrels. This was his sanctuary, and what he did here in the back corner of the liquor hold was his own business. If Shanks was peeping again, they were going to have words. After all, he wasn't the exhibitionist in this relationship. But no red-haired pirate captain was crouched in hiding. In fact, there was nothing behind the barrels.
'I must be becoming paranoid after all this time.'
A final sweeping glance across the hold and he settled back into his hammock. He opened the book where he'd left off, in the middle of "The Shepherd's Prince", which had absolutely nothing to do with sheep and dealt far too much with matters of submission, one hand eventually creeping back down under the waistband of his trousers. He was just getting to the really juicy part when the sensation of being watched returned. He was starting to get really annoyed at this point. He whipped around, nearly tumbling to the floor, just in time to see an orange-striped tail vanish under the wine rack.
It was good to know the spy was merely Shanks' kitten, whose voyeuristic tendency Jameson had clearly acquired, but somehow he still didn't feel comfortable resuming his activity. With a muttered sigh he retrieved the furball and headed up to find Shanks. Perhaps the captain could help him regain the mood.
