Chapter Text
The door swung open with a light press of her fingers, the shift of its weight a satisfying sway beneath her touch. Nami’s back arched, pressed languid against the door to hold it open, the path just wide enough for Sanji to squeeze through.
Sanji paused, hovering in the threshold. Slowly, her eyes shifted from the narrow gap to Nami's long, catlike stretch. Nami felt bewildered eyes drag up her frame, up the French curve of her exposed thigh, the contrapposto shift of sleek weight shifted up the slope of her hip, the sinuous S-curve of her smooth neck, the lingering gaze soaking bone-deep into a steady glow. Through the easy, practiced tilt of her lids, Nami gazed back.
Her eyes really were blue. They dilated in the shifting light, the soft azure swallowed whole by shining black.
Painted red lips curved into a cheshire smile at the sight.
"Old doors," Nami offered, lightly laughing. "What a shame; it seems to be.....stuck."
She watched as Sanji swallowed hard, face flushed as she averted her eyes politely.
Lips twitching at the corners, Nami let a fraction of genuine amusement slip. It had been a long time since she'd had so much fun with a mark. She didn't like playing with her food, though she did find some lingering satisfaction in the aftermath of a con. The visceral feeling of contamination, of filth and disgust and revulsion which soaked subcutaneous-deep beneath skin scrubbed raw, was only somewhat assuaged by the grained texture of cash under her fingertips. Most of her marks were coarse, groping, leering. Most of her marks were arrogant, their hubris and misogyny easy to manipulate, sleazy jobs ripe for the picking. And most of her marks didn't blush this pretty.
"Pardon me."
The wood was cool against her skin, solid and smooth. Her head hung limp against the mahogany, exposing her jugular. Sanji's eyes flickered to her throat momentarily, subconsciously drawn by the peripheral movement before focusing pointedly at the ground, her muscles stilled for a beat as she contemplated her path. After a moment of deliberation, the tendons of her shoulder tensed before releasing in a slow twist of her torso. Her shoulders rolled, shifting her body ninety degrees to face Nami; the most efficient means of sliding through the narrow gap. Her long limbs contorted smoothly, careful to avoid direct contact with the woman as they stood a breath apart.
Even like this, with Sanji's back pressed to the wood, Nami could feel the warmth of her body radiate in a steady glow. She could smell the lingering rose smoke on her collar, the muted cologne. Blonde, loose strands hung low, grazing Nami’s forehead.
She looked up. Sanji’s eyes were downcast, eyelashes dusting her high cheekbones as her gaze remained steadfastly focused on each precise footfall. Her aquiline bridge sloped down to parted, soft lips, light notes of cognac and lemon carried on her gentle, quiet, restrained exhale. The breath was soft against Nami's cheek.
She felt the ghost of velvet brush against her . The texture lingered, even as the woman passed across the threshold, past Nami's still frame, time amberthick and clinging to the sinew of her limbs.
Sanji leaned against the balcony, her legs straight as she hung on the edge of the railing.
Nami settled next to her, her pose an approximated mirror. As she hooked her right ankle over her left, the silk shifted, exposing the cream of her hipbone to cool, soft marble.
Her forecast was accurate; the moon was indeed full and shining above. But no amount of cosmic knowledge, as basic as it was, could express such beauty in its prediction. Hours ago, marine stratus settled into a thick June Gloom, but the warmth of the late afternoon sun slowly burned through the fog as the high-pressure system winds tidied the straggling remnants in the sky, preparing a clear and clean canvas as if in anticipation for the Strawberry Moon. It hung heavy, bathing the midsummer evening in a silver wash, set pearlescent against the glittering scatter of distant stars.
Her eyes traced the cosmos, settling at last on silvergold waves. Under the heavens, the full moon cast a gentle glow against the pale curve of her jaw. Those soft blue eyes, lit crystalline, searched faraway, thoughtful, as her hand smoothed the length of her suit. The brass buttons, golden and brilliant as they caught the light, barely shifted. They were heavy, solid, premium.
Nami's fingers twitched. She felt it in her gut, the simmer of want, the urge to slip her fingers around the woman's waist. To feel the snap of designer thread under her touch, to hold the weight of the metal in the curve of her palm. She breathed deep, grounding herself with speculation. The jacket was worth more than its parts—the construction itself made up most of its worth— and its contents were likely even more lucrative. Yet the thought did not quell the rising boil in the pit of her stomach.
"Would you mind if I smoked?" Sanji's voice was smooth, quiet yet clear in the midnight silence.
Nami shook her head delicately. "Only if you didn't share."
Blue eyes crinkled at the edges. A Duchenne smile, light and amused. "Didn't take you for a smoker." Slender, long fingers slid down the seam of her jacket, slipping into its velvet recesses. Curled in an easy grip, they drew out the smooth tin. Her fingernails dug into the gap between the lid and case, prying open the metal with a satisfying pop.
Its innards were crisp and folded, delicately hand-rolled cigarettes neatly nestled and queued in rows of off-white. Through the translucent shroud of flax and wood pulp, tendrils of fine tobacco curled within their confines. Amber eyes tracked the movement of her index finger, which extended and flexed, the fingertip slowly dragging down the wrapped cylinders, catching slightly on the slight ridges of the paper until it settled on its end, delicately pinching it between her middle and pointer finger before gently lifting it from its place of rest.
With a slight tilt of her chin, her wrist twisted, her palm open in offering.
Nami leaned in. Her lips parted. The tip of her tongue grazed the cigarette. The texture rubbed against her tastebuds as her mouth closed around the tip.
She looked up through her lashes, tongue curling as she softly sucked it deeper.
Sanji's fingers trembled, millimeters away from the warmth of her mouth. She breathed deep, the scent of light sweat heady and close. Nami's mouth watered.
She pulled away, balancing the cigarette on her bottom lip as her tongue shifted it to the left corner of her mouth.
"Thank you," she smiled, lips curling around the cylinder.
"My pleasure," Sanji coughed, eyes fixed on her tin as she fished out her own cigarette, stowing away the container with a brusque tuck. "Care for a lighter?"
Nami's hand moved. Her fingers reached, tracing up the cool metal of the buttons, curling in nimble tendrils around the rich fabric clinging to her waist. I need to see more, she thought dimly, I need to feel its insides. She shivered, aching to touch the contents....a platinum card, perhaps? Or more of those crisp leaves of paper, like the beri bill she left back there, in the treacleslow warmth. Though she didn't seem the careless type to carry it in excess, it certainly wouldn't hurt to try. She imagined the texture, the fine ridges below her fingertips as she thumbed the stack of cash in a practiced brush.
She shivered, a thrill racing electric down her spine.
Sanji stiffened under her touch, chest frozen mid-breath.
Nami froze, the sudden stillness throwing her off-kilter and uneasy. Her palms grew sweaty, the moisture cloying and uncomfortable as it wetted the soft velvet into unpleasant creases. As time seemed to freeze for the second time that night, she felt her stomach twist unpleasantly. Had she realized? Was she about to lose her mark, or worse yet, get caught? Her mind raced, analysing the potential exits. The door was heavy, and the bar was bright and difficult to shake off pursuit. The security was another problem; while the bar was relatively close to the entrance of the casino, she couldn't exactly race past a horde of bouncers and armed guards without inviting far more attention than she needed. Then the balcony....her eyes settled on the railing. The fall was a solid 20 feet. She'd break a rib or two, but the grass would absorb a decent amount of shock. The cypress trees were relatively close...she could possibly leap onto its branches to slow down the momentum.
The fabric shifted. For a horrible moment, she felt fingertips ghost around her wrists, before they changed course. They grazed upwards, cautiously settling above the ridges of her knuckles, warm as they gently smoothed over her skin. Somehow, she felt her fist unfurl, falling to her side.
"You're shivering."
Nami looked up.
Sanji's lips were set in a concerned frown, but her eyes did not meet her own. They focused intently on her own hands, which deftly moved to unbutton her suit jacket with the lightness and ease of a pianist or perhaps a sculptor. What do the wealthy do in their pastimes to become so skilled and light in the movement of their fingertips, she wondered, watching the quick bends and twists of the buttons slipping out of their confines, exposing the light silk of the shirt below. She slipped it off easily, shrugging the garment off her shoulders before she slipped her arm around Nami's frame, meeting her eyes for permission.
She felt goosebumps raise. It almost rendered her speechless: not the gesture, really, but the sheer luck of this opportunity falling squarely into her lap. It gave her whiplash. The adrenaline seeped and drained from her system, and now the dopamine surged in giddy, hopeful waves. Nami smiled, and felt the velvet fall into place around the slope of her shoulders. Or rather, an opportunity falling squarely around her torso.
"How thoughtful," she sighed, sliding her hands inside the inner lining as she drew it close around her body. Sanji's eyes softened, wordlessly extending her lighter. Nami leaned in, the cigarette still secure between her left canine and premolar. Funny, she'd forgotten all about it, she thought as she watched the flickering flames set the gold plating of the lighter aglow. The delicate filigree locks of the engraved woman seemed to ripple and curve under the shifting shadows, the tiny tears seemingly cascading down her face.
She met Sanji's eyes as her cigarette touched the flame, the curling ripples of the fire licking at the paper as it ignited. Her skin was flushed, the firelight's dance reflected in the white of her eyes. The silk of her button-up was perfectly tailored around her lean muscles. The cool air blew against the fabric, shifting it in rippling waves against the firm contour of her body. She leaned back, lighting her own cigarette before settling in to a comfortable silence.
Nami felt the weight of bound cash in the breast pocket of the lining, pressing against her chest. Yet somehow, she found herself taking a slow drag of the cigarette, one hand emerging from the depths of the fabric to hold it betwixt two fingers. The other remained nestled in the warmth. It smelled nice, the jacket. It held the faint scent of cologne she caught earlier, a gentle sandalwood that mixed pleasantly with the lingering smoke and the light salt carried on the seabreeze. A hint of the citrus from her drink earlier. Nostalgic and familiar.
Visions of flannel and groves and cigarettes held between grinning wide teeth emerged unbidden.
She shook her head. The exhaustion of the night and the adrenaline rollercoaster was definitely getting to her.
She exhaled, watching the smoke curl and rise through the air as it slowly drifted and faded into the silver unknown. The money was decent. Based on the weight, there had to be at least forty thousand beri. It wasn't a lot, but combined with her winnings, it was a decent haul for the evening. Not to mention the intel she'd gathered on the casino itself. Most would consider that information priceless, but its worth only existed in hypotheticals. Nami only accepted cold, hard cash. Or credit cards, which were definitely not in this jacket. Her eyes shifted to Sanji's figure. She needed to get into her pants.
That settles it.
"Say, Sanji," she called sweetly. The blonde's eyebrow raised, withdrawing her cigarette to limply dangle from her fingertips. Nami ignored the way the pads of her fingers gently pressed against the paper roll. She met her eyes with a coquettish smile.
"Yes?"
Nami steeled herself, her teeth shining bright against the red stretch of her lips.
"Would you like to perhaps go somewhere....more private?"
Sanji paused, lips pursed in thought. Cute.
"Well, I know it's a bit late, but there's a spot that I'd be happy to share with you."
Ok, not what she was implying. Still, not an outright rejection. Maybe she just needed a bit more guidance.
"Well, I was thinking—"
A loud buzz shattered the silence, disturbing her thoughts.
Sanji smiled, a lopsided, sheepish thing as she reached into her pocket. Her smile faded. The muscles shifted into something hard, something guarded.
She swung up to her feet, phone turned downward as she walked towards the door.
"I'm so sorry, but I really have to take this. Meet you back here in ten?"
Nami didn't have a chance to reply as she watched her long frame disappear into the glow of the casino.
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Her lip curled. Her grip tightened, the edge of the cell phone digging into the meat of her palms.
"Nothing to report."
A scoff echoed from the speaker, tinny and fuzzy. "Nothing to report?"
Molars ground down, the chalky scrape grating with the hard bite of her jaw.
"Security is lax, windows are vulnerable, but the clientele is no threat nor particular boon."
"No particular boon?" His voice grew quiet. Dangerously quiet. She could hear the cleaning cart rumble down the hallway, the stench of ammonia and bleach burning her nose. "These middle-aged, middle-class fools keep the gears of these institutions churning. If you are not going to take this seriously, I can always find....an alternative for you. Or motivation."
Sanji swallowed down her voice, the acid scorching her throat a capsaicin off the Scoville scale. Her stomach roiled in displeasure.
"Yes sir."
"I expect you at my desk in seven hours, with a report you believe I will find acceptable."
"Yes sir."
The phone line cut, her phone screen lighting up once more with her lock screen. 1:28 AM. Fuck.
Her lips flattened into a thin line as she slipped her phone back into her jacket.
The hallway was dim, cheap yellow fluorescence flickering above in sickly waves. The carpet was filthy, but muted the fall of her footsteps. She barely registered the shifting rooms as she walked through the hall, down the stairs, through the bar, past the swinging doors, apology on her lips as she stepped into the balcony.
"So sorry about that, Nami." The door shut heavy behind her with a dull thud. She realized, with a sinking feeling, that she was completely alone. She stood there, aching. The wind had picked up, nipping at her nose and penetrating deep through her thin shirt. Damn. My jacket's gone.