[ She remembers—vividly, if the magnitude of the way she rolls her eyes at that comment offers any clue. They have come a long way, but Nami will never falter when it comes to wordlessly pointing out how ridiculous he can be. It's a quality she never expected to love as much as she does, but then, the same could be said for much of the swiftly grown, deeply secure closeness that now binds them so snugly together. ]
I already fucked you, and you're still using that line on me? [ Nami grins through the question, touched that he wants to work hard to show her a good time in a way that's something of a departure from all the delicious ways they pass their days. Sincere dates—without a fiscally motivated hustle behind them—are something that's only entered the realm of possibility since her arrival at the resort, and they never fail to leave her feeling delighted and spoiled in the best way. Just like with everything,Â
From the clothes and the jewelry to the elaborate spread he's planning on concocting to kick this off, keeping her hands to herself is becoming challenging. She’s torn: there’s almost nothing better than being spoiled, especially with jewelry and all the sweet smiles and kisses he’s so inclined to direct her way, but at the same time, she knows exactly how good it feels to bracket his hips with her inner thighs and relish every roll forward. The purposeful way he manages to hold back when he kisses her doesn’t help, either.
The idea of a drink hits at exactly the right time, and Nami nods while hastily slipping off the edge of the counter, her skin a degree or so warmer than it had been in the moments before Sanji got close enough to kiss her. ]
You cook, and I'll mix us drinks.
[ Smirking at him as pink rises beneath the freckles dusted across her cheeks and the bridge of her nose, Nami turns and moves towards a well-stocked bar cart. A row of bottles and various implements wait behind the cabinet doors, presenting an ideal distraction from the lingering twinges of the initial pang of want Sanji’s already managed to draw out of her. ]
Where are your fresh herbs? [ Before he can answer, she’s crossed towards one of the built-in refrigerators, inspecting the contents before returning to the bar area with a few sprigs of rosemary and a frosty bottle of pear juice. Nami’s no mixologist. The mixed drinks she knows how to make, she’s learned because she likes to drink them, and there isn’t always someone around to mix her the perfect cocktail to take into the bath with her. Having a gifted chef for a partner means she’s unlikely to ever impress him in the way every meal and concoction he comes at her with floors her, but she likes the thought of coming out with the occasional surprise and making him smile.
Blame it on how much she enjoys listening to him hard at work in the kitchen. Infatuation is gross like that.
Ice clatters into a pair of wide-based glasses, followed by a series of meticulous pours, first the now rosemary-imbued pear juice, then the pea flower gin. Even after the cocktails are made, Nami is careful, not wanting to ruin the effect when she gently settles Sanji’s drinkdown on the counter near where he’s working. ]
no subject
I already fucked you, and you're still using that line on me? [ Nami grins through the question, touched that he wants to work hard to show her a good time in a way that's something of a departure from all the delicious ways they pass their days. Sincere dates—without a fiscally motivated hustle behind them—are something that's only entered the realm of possibility since her arrival at the resort, and they never fail to leave her feeling delighted and spoiled in the best way. Just like with everything,Â
From the clothes and the jewelry to the elaborate spread he's planning on concocting to kick this off, keeping her hands to herself is becoming challenging. She’s torn: there’s almost nothing better than being spoiled, especially with jewelry and all the sweet smiles and kisses he’s so inclined to direct her way, but at the same time, she knows exactly how good it feels to bracket his hips with her inner thighs and relish every roll forward. The purposeful way he manages to hold back when he kisses her doesn’t help, either.
The idea of a drink hits at exactly the right time, and Nami nods while hastily slipping off the edge of the counter, her skin a degree or so warmer than it had been in the moments before Sanji got close enough to kiss her. ]
You cook, and I'll mix us drinks.
[ Smirking at him as pink rises beneath the freckles dusted across her cheeks and the bridge of her nose, Nami turns and moves towards a well-stocked bar cart. A row of bottles and various implements wait behind the cabinet doors, presenting an ideal distraction from the lingering twinges of the initial pang of want Sanji’s already managed to draw out of her. ]
Where are your fresh herbs? [ Before he can answer, she’s crossed towards one of the built-in refrigerators, inspecting the contents before returning to the bar area with a few sprigs of rosemary and a frosty bottle of pear juice. Nami’s no mixologist. The mixed drinks she knows how to make, she’s learned because she likes to drink them, and there isn’t always someone around to mix her the perfect cocktail to take into the bath with her. Having a gifted chef for a partner means she’s unlikely to ever impress him in the way every meal and concoction he comes at her with floors her, but she likes the thought of coming out with the occasional surprise and making him smile.
Blame it on how much she enjoys listening to him hard at work in the kitchen. Infatuation is gross like that.
Ice clatters into a pair of wide-based glasses, followed by a series of meticulous pours, first the now rosemary-imbued pear juice, then the pea flower gin. Even after the cocktails are made, Nami is careful, not wanting to ruin the effect when she gently settles Sanji’s drinkdown on the counter near where he’s working. ]
Try it. I think it'll go with the menu.