Maid Service

The door to the kitchen cracked open. Inside, amidst bubbling pots and clouds of steam, Sanji danced around, wielding knives like a juggler with bowling pins. A frayed cigarette hung loosely from his lower lip as he emptied a plate of chopped mushrooms into a vat of sauce. From a cabinet under the counter he pulled a bottle of cooking sherry; uncapping it, he poured a long measure into the pot, then took a swig of it for himself before shelving it once more. He gave the vegetables frying in the wok a toss, then ducked back around to sweep onion skins into a garbage can. The kitchen door closed silently, then burst open a second later, sending steamclouds flying.

“Konbaaaaa-n wa, Sanji-kun!” Nami sang. Sanji whirled around in surprise. One of his only rules on the ship was that the rest of the crew members stayed out of the kitchen when he was preparing food, mainly to protect the meal from the sniping hands of Luffy and Usopp before it could be served. Oh, but look who it was! He let the chopping knife clatter to the counter and wiped his hands on the apron tied around his waist.

“Nami-san! What a pleasant surprise!” he said giddily. Nami never went in the kitchen! “What brings such a heavenly sight into my lowly presence tonight, miss Nami?” He reached to take her hand in his, and surprisingly, she did not pull away.

Nami looked around. “Well, something smelled sooo good, I just had to come in and take a peek to see what it is.” She walked over to the stove and lifted the heavy cast-iron lid of the large soup pot. Inside a savory tomato sauce bubbled. She leaned way over and took a deep breath. “Mmmm! This is it. Can I try a taste?”

Sanji was practically biting his fingernails in excitement. “Of course, Nami-san! Here, allow me---“ He reached over and unhooked a long metal ladle that hung from an overhead rafter. The steam fogged the reflective surface as he lowered it to the surface of the deep red sauce and scooped out a small dollop. Nami’s eyes shone as he raised the ladle up; her tongue ran lightly over her lips in anticipation. “Just one moment, my dear,” Sanji said, and blew gently, twice, to cool the sauce before offering it to her. Her eyes never left his face as she leaned over to try the aromatic sauce…

“Aaaw fuck!! God dammit!!”

Nami jumped back, rubbing at her chest, as Sanji paled. “What is it, Nami-san? Did it burn you?”

“No, it just spilled all over my brand-new shirt! Dammit!” She walked over to the sink to run water, but stopped. “There’s too many dishes in here! What the hell? If I don’t wash this out right away, the stain will be there forever!” She turned around and glared at Sanji, who stood paralyzed, the ladle still in hand. “Well? Aren’t you going to help me?”

“O-of course, Nami-san. God, I’m so sorry!” Sanji dumped the ladle back into the tureen and raced over, moving the large silver pots from the sink to the counter. The sink cleared, he whirled around to face Nami in the process of unbuttoning her splattered shirt. Her eyes grew huge. “What are you looking at? Turn around! Jeez!”

Sanji turned back around, facing the wooden galley wall. His cheeks flamed with embarrassment. How did this happen? he thought. The first time Nami-san ever comes to visit me in here and I dump half the dinner down her… he closed his eyes, fighting the smile that appeared unbidden. Oh, she’ll KILL me if she sees me smiling right now…

All thoughts were wiped out as a warm piece of fabric whumped into the side of his head. He caught hold of the shirt, wiping a tiny bit of sauce from his forehead, and began to run cold water, his eyes never leaving the faucet. “I think we caught it in time,” he ventured, trying hard not to picture the half-naked girl standing furiously behind him. “The stain won’t set.”

He scrubbed at the stain, watching the deep red turn pink, then yellow.

“Sanji.”

He slowly peeked over his shoulder. “Um… yes, Nami-san?”

“What kind of gentleman lets a girl stand here freezing, without a shirt, in mixed company?” Her foot tapped staccato on the tile floor.

“Oh! Oh my goodness, of course! Here, take this.” Wiping his hands quickly on a towel, Sanji pulled out the bottom of his blue striped shirt and unbuttoned it quickly. He pulled it open and back over his shoulders, revealing his smooth, muscled torso. Turning his head away, he held the shirt out towards Nami, who grabbed it from his hand and slid it on. Sanji went back to the sink, scrubbing at the delicate fabric and blushing as deep as the stain he was attempting to remove.

Nami smiled. She fastened the three centermost buttons on the blue shirt and wrapped the linen tightly around her, rolling up the sleeves. She leaned against the handle of the stove and regarded the blond boy rinsing and scrubbing. His back was to her, the broad shoulders tapering into the narrow, almost girlish waist. The straps of the apron hung down over his small, round ass, nicely framed in his gray pants. His skin was almost reflective from the moisture in the air. He was hunched over, apologetic in his very stance.

“I’m so sorry, Nami-san,” he was saying, words muffled by the running tap water. “I don’t know how I could have been so careless. I guess I’m just not used to having company here in the kitchen, that’s all…”

Behind him, Nami bent over, standing on one foot, then the other.

“How can I make it up to you? I’ll prepare you a special midnight feast, just for you… or one each night this week, if you want…”

Hearing only silence, yet afraid to turn around, Sanji babbled on.

“I’ll make my baked Alaska, and you can top it with that thirty-year-old Scotch I’ve hidden… you’re welcome to the whole bottle, if you want. Or, you know, just tell me whatever you want and I’ll do my best to whip it up… I really feel terrible… but the stain is almost gone, see?... Or else, I could always---“

A bit of black cloth flew into the sudsy sink. Sanji stopped in his tracks and stared. It.. couldn’t be…

It was a pair of panties.

All of a sudden Sanji forgot how to speak.

“I hope you don’t mind washing those too, Sanji-kun,” Nami said. “I really don’t know when I’m going to get a chance to get my laundry done.”

Sanji stared at the tiny black triangle slowly sinking into the soap bubbles. In slow motion he reached a hand over and caught the edge of the lingerie before it slipped out of sight completely. “Aaahh… uh…”

“I mean, after spilling sauce on my shirt, it’s the least you could do for me, ne?” She tittered.

The silk felt like spiderweb in his fingers. Goosebumps appeared on his exposed flesh. Oh yeah, he had a tongue.

“Of course, N.. Nami-s...” He shook himself back into reality. “Yes, Nami-san, I will.” Composure, composure was key.

Sanji was a great cook, but he was a terrible actor. For him to even try to pretend that he wasn’t freaking out at this point was, well, pointless. Nami watched him struggle with some great internal conflict just to reach back into the warm, soapy water. She shifted and slid her legs together, enjoying this.

A pink blush had spread over Sanji’s skin, coloring his pale, freckled body with the hot blood-flush Nami recognized. She watched his muscles roll and jump in his arms as he pressed the fabric against itself, soaking the silk with suds and rubbing it clean in the hot water. His hair hung down over both eyes, obscuring his expression. Without detection, Nami reached over and shut off the gas under the sauce’s burner. The bubbling died down.

Sanji stood at the sink, mind whirling. Was this really happening? He looked down at the panties in his hands, heavy with water. These had just come off her body…

The voice directly over his shoulder made him jump. “Be sure to get those really clean, Sanji-kun. I’ve had them on for hours, and it’s been a hot day.”

He nodded, his mouth dry.

“Right?” she barked.

“Right!” The word tumbled from his mouth.

“Good. You understand,” Nami purred. She reached around his body, which was covered in sweat, and extracted her shirt from the lip of the sink. “Good job, Sanji-kun, I can’t even see where that stain was anymore. You’re very talented.”

“Th-thank you.” Sanji was stammering from her nearness.

Nami drew back, and Sanji turned to follow her. Sharply she shouted, “Keep your eyes on what you’re doing! Those are silk, you know! They aren’t cheap.”

Sanji’s head snapped forward. “Yes, Nami-san.” He rinsed them carefully in cool water, then emptied the sink. Afraid to turn back around, he asked,

“Ah… do you want these.. back now, or…?”

Nami put a finger to her mouth, pondering, then said, “No, why don’t you let them dry, then bring them to me in my room. You can have your shirt back then too. And be more careful this time! If you wreck another piece of my clothing, I’m not certain exactly what I’ll have to do to you.”

She spun around and walked out of the kitchen, leaving Sanji standing there alone in his damp apron with a raging erection.