Archive of Our Own ^beta

The town doesn’t have a name.  Perhaps it should, by now; the edge of the Frontier hasn’t moved in years, and this town is significantly more sturdy than most of its ilk.  But people out here are superstitious, and there’s no sense in naming a town that will vanish like so much dust in the prairie wind, even if that happens to be taking longer than usual.

Pedro hasn’t been out this far since he was barely more than a kitten, hoping to make it big out on the Frontier.  After that disastrous attempt, guarding Zou from the interior didn’t seem so stifling, but the winds were bound to change eventually.  With the bandits and lawless folk past the Frontier banding together under one leader, it’s only right that they’re sending more soldiers to protect the freedom of people who live out here on the fringes, not to mention the security of Zou itself.

All of this is rather far from the front of Pedro’s mind at the moment.

“I am not on edge,” he huffs.

Carrot laughs at him, and Shishilian raises one bushy eyebrow nearly into his luxurious mane.  Pedro supposes he’s lucky that Wanda is out on patrol, or she would probably be making a similar face.

“Nothing to be ashamed of,” Carrot snickers.

“You should take some time to relax,” Shishilian proclaims.

“Even this big old lion does occasionally,” Carrot adds.  Shishilian frowns down his blunt nose at her.

“Balance is important,” he proclaims.  “Rest keeps the mind and body sharp, but it does not do to become sluggardly and take excess leave!  Remember that!”

“I don’t think Pedro has ever taken leave,” Carrot says, blatantly rolling her eyes at the pair of them.

“Not in my recent memory,” Shishilian agrees.

“I have,” Pedro protests.  “Come now, we’ve only been out here for a few months -”

“At least go into town for the evening!”  Shishilian interrupts, with Carrot nodding vigorously beside him.  “The saloon on the main street serves surprisingly passable food, and perhaps you will enjoy some company as well!”

There’s no arguing with them, for all that Pedro is Shishilian’s equal in experience and military rank and Carrot is barely a teenager.  Pedro still isn’t sure how she managed to get herself assigned to the Frontier, but she seems happy enough with it, so he’ll just keep an eye on her.  That starry-eyed enthusiasm reminds him too much of himself at that age.

Still, they’re right; Pedro has barely set foot in the nameless Frontier town since they arrived, throwing himself into drills and patrols from the Minks’ nearby barracks instead.  It’s a short walk, illuminated by a spectacular Frontier sunset, like fire blooming across the vast plains.  In the distance, a faint blue haze is all that’s visible of the mountains that few ever manage to reach through the shifting landscapes and erratic magnetic fields of the Frontier.  There isn’t much to break up the view until Pedro reaches the long shadows of the haphazard town, stretching from the mismatched buildings nearly to the bank of the river.  For once, the air is still, leaving not even a wind-blown tumbleweed moving out on the plains.  A horse tied outside one of the closest buildings stamps one hoof, raising a small puff of dirt.

The town only has one real street, and it’s more of a co-opted stretch of the poorly maintained highway that peddlers and merchants use to get out this far than anything else.  A packed-dirt road branches off to the river and the small dockyard for the boats that stop there, and a few handfuls of buildings in various states of repair line what passes for Main Street.  Smaller structures sprawl out from the edges, most shadowed in the lee of the few sturdier buildings, to shelter from the winds that often roar in across the plains.

The saloon is perhaps the sturdiest of them all, and probably the oldest building in the town to boot.  It’s been here long enough to have several well-built stories and a whimsical fish-themed sign above its swinging doors, announcing the Baratie to anyone passing through.  Though it must have stood alone when the core of the building went up, now it sits between an inscrutable establishment named merely Shakky’s, and an unassuming block of what Pedro has been told are rooms for rent.  

Pushing through the swinging half-doors, Pedro braces for noise, and isn’t disappointed.  He is a little surprised; there’s the cacophony of life congregating in the town’s most significant gathering place, yes, but also a rich melody floating above the crowd from a piano at the back of the saloon.  A long bar anchors one side of the open room, with an entrance into the next building across the floor of close-packed tables from it, a staircase in one corner leading up through the haze of cigarette smoke in the air, and not much to speak of in the way of decoration.  It’s not quite as chaotic as he expected, though still much more lively than he prefers day to day.  Pedro is known as an excellent solo scout for good reason.

“Welcome to the Baratie,” someone says, gliding past Pedro with a tray piled so high he can’t see their face, though the deep voice is pleasant to hear.  “Take a seat, and we’ll get you taken care of.  Hey, Patty, not like that you clueless bastard -”

Most of the commotion is centered around the bar, so Pedro finds a small table not far from the pianist, where he can watch the bartender, the front entrance, and the wide archway into the building next door on the opposite wall.  The room beyond is darker, and Pedro can smell something sweet wafting through it, but the scents of cooking from the kitchen just out of sight behind the bar are far more distracting.

A few wait staff in tidy aprons bustle through the crowd with more ease and purpose than the rowdy clientele, and Pedro has barely taken his seat before a young man comes up to his table on surprisingly quiet feet.  Most humans clomp around in their heavy boots, and Pedro’s gaze is drawn down the elegant length of black-clad legs to find well-shined shoes, much less rugged than most humans out here prefer, before he manages to look the waiter in the eye.

“What can we get you?”  the man asks, the same pleasant voice that welcomed him in, and Pedro still nearly misses the question, startled again by the way his hair shines in the low light, and the bright gleam of his blue eye.  One is hidden behind his golden bangs, and Pedro is rather nonsensically relieved, thinking for a moment that he would surely be stunned speechless by the unfiltered force of both, otherwise.

This young human is beautiful; there’s no other way to put it.  Pedro is well-traveled enough to view humans with more discernment than mere curiosity over the exotic, and, if he’s honest, to develop something of a taste for them, but he’s never found himself so immediately captivated.

“Hungry, or just here for a drink?”  The human prompts, and Pedro hopes he can’t read the embarrassed twitch of his whiskers as well as Pedro can read his amused smile.

“What would you recommend?”

“Everything’s good,” the waiter promises, leaning a hip against Pedro’s table.  “New in town?  Heard some more of you guys got sent out here a while back.”

Pedro nods.  “I have been out past the Frontier before, but only came to this outpost a few months ago.”

“Knew it.  I’d recognize a guy with fur like yours,” the young man says with a wink, and Pedro blinks, unsure how to interpret that statement.  He is conscientious of his grooming when he has the leisure to be, yes, but this pretty human wouldn’t know to recognize that.  

“Not many jaguars out this far?”  Pedro says, knowing the answer already.  He knows very few other jaguar Minks, and none of them are currently in active military duty.

“That too,” the human shrugs, with a bright flash of small teeth.  Not a threat or a sign of aggression, Pedro knows well enough, but it sends a shiver down his spine regardless.  “Don’t worry, big guy, I’ll get you taken care of.  Chef’s special, coming right up.”

“Thank you,” Pedro tells him, but the waiter is already gliding away, weaving through the busy room with grace so effortless Pedro can’t tear his gaze away.  Once he’s out of sight, Pedro still picks up the man’s voice across the busy saloon, bits and pieces of sentences reaching his straining ears like the prospectors up in the mountains panning for gold.

He lets his eye wander, even if his ears are focused on his enchanting waiter, and whips his tail against the legs of his chair in yet more surprise.  How he missed that the pianist is an animated skeleton, Pedro isn’t sure, but that is undeniably the case.  The figure is dressed in a long, swallow-tailed coat and crowned with riotously thick hair as well as an actual crown, so Pedro feels he can be excused for missing the fact from behind, but now, he can hear a faint additional click with each note, as the musician’s ivory fingers meet each matching key.  Each movement is so well-controlled that Pedro doubts ordinary humans, or even some Minks, would hear, but his ears are more powerful than most.

The musician seems to feel him staring and looks Pedro’s way, tossing his head with a toothy grin, and why does Pedro feel like the skeleton is winking at him?  It’s a most curious impression, and Pedro returns a serious nod, making a mental note to tip the musician before he leaves, but the strange figure takes a break after finishing his song and wanders over to Pedro’s table instead.

“Ohoho!  A new face, I see,” the skeleton says, in a handsome, laughter-filled voice much more lively than the figure’s undead appearance would suggest, and Pedro has to wonder how regular the clientele of this place is, if everyone is so keen to notice him.

“Deployed recently,” Pedro tells him, and the skeleton nods.  That fleshless grin isn’t nearly as disturbing as Pedro thinks it ought to be.

“Then we’ll surely see more of you here!  There is nowhere else to go in the bare bones of this town, ohoho!  Skull joke!”  

Pedro chuckles.  “Seems that way.”

“And I saw you met our dear Sanji!” the skeleton adds, spreading his bare-boned hands out in an expressive gesture.  “Charming, isn’t he? Even if the food was not so excellent, I dare say customers would come back just for that smile.”

“Or for your music, I’m sure,” Pedro deflects, almost as wrong-footed by the comment as by the brilliant smile in question.  “You’re very skilled, Master…?”

“Remiss of me not to introduce myself!”  the skeleton laughs.  “Brook, my good sir, though I’ve been known as Soul King, in the past.  May I have your name as well?”

“Pedro,” he offers, reaching out to shake the man’s thin hand.  It’s a curious feeling, light bones but a confident grip, and as far as first impressions go, Pedro is impressed by how well the staff of the Baratie make them.  “Treetop Pedro, to some.”

“Welcome to the Frontier,” Brook says, with a flourishing bow.  “I do hope our fine establishment eases your time out on the boundaries of civilization.”

“I already feel quite at home,” Pedro assures him, and finds it to be true.  As unexpected as his interactions so far this evening have been, he does feel welcome, and eager to know more about the Baratie and its charming staff. 

Brook laughs again, leaning back with a gesture at the piano.  “I am glad to hear it!  If you have any requests, I’m here all night, ohoho!  And most days as well!”

“I’ve enjoyed your choices thus far,” Pedro says, rather than admit he has little love of music in his everyday life.  The noise of the wind in the treetops is enough for him, even though he finds music pleasant enough, and Brook’s more than most.  It would feel out of place to ask for the kind of soldiers’ drinking songs Pedro is otherwise most familiar with.

It’s strange, to assign facial expressions to a skeleton, but Brook tilts his head at him in a way Pedro swears is an amused smile.  “What a gentleman, ohoho!”

Pedro isn’t given a chance to respond to that as the pianist returns to his instrument.  He sits back in his chair as Brook starts a new song, ears almost as attuned to the decisive click of his fingers against the keys as to that particular pair of shoes striding confidently around the room.  Closing his eye for a moment, Pedro listens to the rest of the saloon, from the busy noise of the kitchen escaping past the bar, to the delicate fluttering of the girls flitting back and forth from the curtained doorway across the room, often with company in tow.

It doesn’t take long to connect the dots, and Pedro is a bit embarrassed that he didn’t realize sooner.  Of course there’s a brothel in a Frontier town this size, and it only makes sense for it to share space with the busiest other establishment in town.  Anyone passing through can get dinner and dessert, as it were. 

He looks away from one of the girls disappearing past the curtain when he hears Sanji approaching, and finds the young man watching him with a lopsided smile.  “See something that interests you?”

“Only whatever you’ve brought me,” Pedro says, meaning the plate held high on Sanji’s outstretched hand, but the young waiter smirks at him, raising his unusual curled eyebrow.

 “We could talk,” he says, sliding the plate in front of Pedro, “but for now, what I’ve got is pot roast with the old geezer’s secret marinade, and a root vegetable medley.”

“It smells amazing,” Pedro says, already salivating over the food.

“Well, go on.  Take a bite, big guy.”

“Pedro,” he introduces himself, pausing over the plate.

“Sanji,” his waiter says, looking surprised when Pedro offers his hand.  The human’s is small in his, of course, but his grip is strong and his steady, enough to make Pedro linger almost a moment over-long.  “Now dig in.”

Pedro does, and can’t stop his tail from curling in appreciation, even with Sanji watching him closely.  The pride in his expression is more than deserved; it’s by far the best food Pedro has eaten in months, or possibly ever. “Delicious.  It’s no wonder your restaurant is so well-loved.”

“I’m on desserts tonight,” Sanji tells him, pausing to brace one hip against Pedro’s table again instead of whirling off.  “Hope you like rum cake, if you’re not here for a different kind of after-dinner treat.”

“You cook as well?”

“I’m a chef, not a waiter,” Sanji grumbles, “but we’re always short-staffed, damn it.  Most people can’t handle the pressure.  Shitty old geezer runs a tight ship.”

“Ship?”  Pedro asks.  

Sanji snickers, leaning in close as he waves at the bar and the woodwork around the door.  “Whole place used to be a riverboat, until the old man decided to settle in here.”

Now that he mentions it, the entire saloon is rather… marine-themed.  The curve of the front wall around the door, the decorations of ropes and crab pot buoys, even the shelving behind the bar, which looks to be made of part of a steamboat wheel, now that Pedro is looking.

“The edge of the Frontier hardly seems to count as settling down.”

“Maybe not,” Sanji agrees, sitting more solidly on the edge of the table, “but my old man wouldn’t last a day in some proper city.  Shitty geezer thrives out here.”

“It’s a very vibrant place,” Pedro says, feeling like he might be staring a bit too intently at the gleam of Sanji’s hair as he does.

“Frontier folks know how to make the most of their days,” Sanji grins, “and nights.  Shakky’s is always getting busy around this time.  Part of why Zeff grounded the Baratie here; it’s just good business sense.”

“I gathered as much,” Pedro politely acknowledges. 

Sanji watches him take another bite, wide blue eye focused on Pedro, and it makes him want to squirm, but the years of military training keep him composed in his chair.  Pedro isn’t sure what the young human sees, beyond a rather bedraggled soldier trying not to wolf down his dinner impolitely fast, but after a few moments, Sanji nods toward the curtained doorway.

“Shakky’s Rip-Off Bar, is the full name,” Sanji tells him.  “Because if you do anything to upset one of Shakky’s girls, she’ll, you know, rip it off herself.”

Sanji adds a vague downward gesture with a gleefully sharp grin, as if there was any doubt what he was implying.  Pedro nods, taking the warning seriously.

“I would never,” he promises.

“Figured,” the blond says, his smile still sharp but piercing, now, instead of vicious.  “You seem like quite the gentleman, compared to most of the guys out here.  Is that all, though?”

What are the average patrons here like, that both Brook and Sanji insist that Pedro is such a gentleman?  He knows he’s rough around the edges, large enough to intimidate even many other Minks, and woefully underprepared for most social situations after a life of voluntary solitude and military service.  Hardly a gentleman, even if he does his best to treat others politely.

A shout echoes across the room, and Sanji looks toward the kitchen, visibly annoyed.  “Shitty - do I have to do everything around here?  Enjoy the rest of that, and I’ll check in on you later,” the blond hastily says, with a last glance over his shoulder at Pedro as he hustles away.

Pedro catches Brook looking at them as he watches Sanji leave, and feels somehow caught out, though he’s done nothing untoward.  The musician launches into an amusing, high-tempo number that prompts a number of patrons to burst into rather uncoordinated song, and Pedro directs his attention to that instead.  The movement of Brook’s bones over the keys is just as confident as Sanji’s whirling through the crowded restaurant, and watching him makes Pedro feel more like an ordinary patron than craning to catch a glimpse of blond hair across the room did.  He manages well enough until he’s finished his meal, but once he’s cleaned his plate, Pedro can’t help scanning the crowd to see if Sanji will be true to his word.

He is.  Pedro has barely set his fork down before Sanji reappears, whisking the plate away and raising a finger at him.  “Don’t go anywhere.  I’ll be right back with that cake.”

Pedro might as well be tied to the chair, watching the elegant figure Sanji cuts in his cinched black vest vanish back into the kitchen, and feeling the musician’s ghostly eyes on his back as he does.

Looking over his shoulder at Brook, Pedro offers a little can you blame me shrug, and the pianist throws his head back with a quiet laugh, his fingers not faltering on the keys in the slightest.  It’s reassuring more than embarrassing, that the skeleton can see through him so easily.  His infatuation must not be uncommon.

Within half a song, Sanji returns, and drops a generous slice of cake in front of Pedro.  It’s rich and moist, drizzled with several kinds of syrups, and Pedro is almost reluctant to take a bite.  Surely after eating this, nothing else will ever compare.

Sanji waits expectantly at his side, so Pedro does, after a long moment of remorse for his unavoidably disappointing future meals, take that first bite.  He makes a frankly embarrassing noise, the dainty dessert fork hanging from his mouth as he has to physically grab his tail to stop it from knocking Sanji off his feet with its forceful sweeping.

“Damn good, huh?”  Sanji says, dropping into the chair beside Pedro.  One of the other staff members yells at him, and he flips them off.  “I’m on break, asshole!”

“I’m sure you would rather catch a moment somewhere quiet than sit with me,” Pedro says, but the pretty human just shrugs, unbuttoning his shirt cuffs to roll the sleeves up past his elbows.  The room is getting calmer, anyway, the dinner rush over, and even many of the patrons at the bar are beginning to stumble their way elsewhere.

Pedro is entirely captivated by the blue veins visible through the pale skin on the underside of Sanji’s wrists, and the dusting of golden hairs catching in the light on his forearms.  The precise movement of the tendons in the backs of his hands was bad enough, throughout the evening, but now Pedro completely fails to tear his single-eyed gaze away, until Sanji snickers.

The man waves at a pretty girl flouncing away across the room, and Pedro belatedly catches a whiff of sweet perfume in the air.  His mind supplies the memory of movement beside them, swishing skirts and long hair so much less important than Sanji sitting so close to him.

“Not into girls, or was she just really not your type?”  his companion asks, barely bothering to suppress a laugh.

His amused smile is so dazzling that Pedro is almost pleased to be embarrassing himself so thoroughly.

“I wasn’t looking,” he says, honestly.

“I could tell.”

Pedro takes another bite of cake, whiskers twitching, and Sanji lets him keep his dignity for the moment.  While he eats, the human idly talks about some of the regular patrons, and relays a few silly anecdotes about exciting evenings, requiring very little from Pedro by way of response.

That’s a relief, because between the cake and Sanji’s easy charm, Pedro does not have any focus to spare for engaging conversation.  It’s hard enough to act attentive without seeming inappropriately obsessed.

“Then there’s the shitty skeleton,” Sanji says, loudly enough for Brook to hear, and to make Pedro’s ears twitch.  “Shakky throws him out on his ear if he even tries to sneak past the curtain.  Not that he has ears.”

“Skull joke!”  Brook obligingly calls.  A few of the lingering patrons laugh; clearly the byplay is familiar.

“The girls like him,” Sanji lazily continues, waving in the pianist’s general direction with a smirk, “but he’s always asking to see their panties, and Shakky won’t have it.  Never give anything away for free, as she says.”

“Sound business sense,” Pedro acknowledges.

“Could still throw him a bone every so often,” Sanji quips.  

Pedro smiles, raising a hand to cover his mouth in case the pretty human thinks he’s baring his teeth at him.  “You’re a very kind person, aren’t you, Sanji.”

Looking taken aback, Sanji peers down at him.  “Not the first thing most people say.”

“No?  What do people say, then?”

“‘I can’t believe that kid cut me off again,’ usually,” Sanji says, affecting a hoarse grumble.  “Or sometimes - Well, I’m getting the impression it’s not humans you aren’t interested in, hmm?”

Both a bit thrown by the apparent non-sequitur and embarrassed that Sanji has certainly noticed his staring, Pedro fumbles with his fork, taking a moment to find a response.  “Ah, no, I’m - plenty of Minks are not, but I do find humans appealing.”

“Thought so.  Because if you’re just not into girls, I turn tricks sometimes too,” Sanji continues, striking Pedro motionless in his seat.  “If you came here looking for company.  ‘Damn, I want a piece of that’ is another thing people say a lot.  Almost all of them leave disappointed, but…”

Pedro blinks, worries that the young man will think he’s winking at him, blinks again, and scrubs a hand over his no-doubt rudely startled expression.  “I didn’t realize.  My apologies; it seems I’ve been wasting your night.  I didn’t - I have no intention of asking such a thing of you.”

Seemingly unbothered, Sanji graces him with another of those bright smiles, and waves Pedro’s apology away with a little laugh.  “Not wasting anything.  I’m on the old man’s payroll, not Shakky’s.  But yeah, sometimes I’ll make a little extra on the side, if somebody worth my time comes through.”

That was definitely a wink, no matter that Pedro can’t see both of Sanji’s eyes.  It sparks a flash of heat in him, and Pedro briefly considers the proposition.  It’s been a long time since he’s felt this kind of connection with someone, but the situation doesn’t sit right with him.

“Did I read you wrong?”  Sanji asks, a shadow of something that makes Pedro wonder what his own expression is doing passing over the human’s pretty features.  “Sorry for assuming.  It’s what most people still here this late are after, is all.  Guess I’ve been the one wasting your time, if you’ve just been talking with me to be polite.”

“No,” Pedro blurts, because he can’t let this young man think his company was unappreciated, when he’s made Pedro feel more at home in this corner of the saloon than almost anywhere else he can remember.  “No, I’ve enjoyed your companionship very much.  And in fact, a friend sent me here to relax - I imagine he had the same things in mind for me, even if he didn’t bother to explain his reasoning.”

“Oh?”  Sanji prompts, sly grin back in place.  “Why’d your friend think you need to relax like that?”

Crossing his arms over his chest, Pedro leans back in his chair with a huff.  Surely Sanji can imagine; there are only so many reasons to pick from.  But the pretty blond just leans forward on the table to follow him, the lazy smile crinkling his visible eye somehow preventing Pedro from breaking eye contact.

“He would doubtless say I’ve spent too many seasons alone,” Pedro grumbles, picturing Shishilian’s pitying expression whenever Pedro says he’s spent another break from active duty without trying to find any companionship, “and that I do not take enough leave.”

“Seasons, huh?”  Sanji says.  “I’ve heard a few things.  I mean, everybody gets extra horny sometimes, right?  But it sounds like you guys, Minks, get it bad.”

Pedro huffs again, peering around the room.  Nearly empty now, save for the gruff old man behind the bar, and the skeletal musician playing quietly across the room.  Still, this isn’t a subject Pedro wants to discuss out in public.

“Come upstairs with me,” Sanji suggests, seeing through his reservations as easily as he’s read every one of Pedro’s other emotions throughout the evening.  “Just for a while.  I won’t charge you or anything.  I’d like to talk some more, and you can tell your buddy whatever you want in the morning.”

“What happened to your wise Miss Shakky’s philosophy?”

“That’s why she doesn’t pay me,” Sanji snickers.  “The shitty geezer hates it when I give food away, too.”

There is no way to be subtle about it, not with the saloon nearly empty as it has become.  The side of his chair against the floor seems awfully loud against the backdrop of the pianist’s quiet melody when Pedro pushes it back to stand

Sanji’s smile is just a shade triumphant, not that Pedro minds, exactly.  He’s more taken with the difference in height between them as he stands, finding himself looking down at the pretty human for the first time that evening.  The decision is easy; of course he wants to spend more time with Sanji, if the bright young man will allow it.

As Sanji touches his back to point him toward the stairs, Brook’s song changes to something bright and playful.  Sanji clearly recognizes it, because he pauses and turns to blow a kiss to the skeleton, the gesture changing to flipping him off at the full extension of Sanji’s hand.  Brook only laughs, touching his own cheek to catch the kiss, and blithely ignores the rest of Sanji’s response.

“Don’t pay any attention to him,” Sanji grumbles, taking Pedro by the arm.

“You two seem close,” Pedro murmurs, offering Brook a little wave of his own as he lets Sanji pull him away.

“Yeah,” Sanji sighs, leaning in to Pedro’s side with a little smile.  “Shitty skeleton always knows how to cheer me up.  The rest of my dumbass friends spend a lot of time running around the Frontier; it’s nice not to have to worry about whether Brook is gonna get lost in a ravine or stumble into an outlaw camp.  ‘Course, if he did he could always play dead and no one would look twice.”

Pedro nods, and tries to be respectful as Sanji leads the way up the narrow stairs, but the smirk the human throws over his shoulder says he knows perfectly well where Pedro’s gaze keeps falling.  The hallway is quiet, for overnight guests of the saloon instead of its sister business, and Sanji carelessly throws open one of the doors, striding into an unremarkable room with a view of the main street, and beyond the thin strip of buildings, the vast moonlit expanse of the Frontier.

“Do you mind?”  Sanji asks, waving a pack of cigarettes in Pedro’s direction as he crosses the room to open a window.  The night breeze brings a pleasant chill, and Pedro shakes his head, pulling out a pack of his own.  Sanji laughs.  “Shitty geezer doesn’t let me smoke on the job, but you could’ve had one whenever you wanted.”

Pedro shrugs, snapping his fingers with electro to light Sanji’s cigarette before his own.

“Nice trick,” Sanji purrs, staying in Pedro’s space instead of moving back once it’s lit.  

“More convenient than a lighter,” Pedro agrees, “though some might call it a frivolous use of power.”

“That sounds like a very specific some,” Sanji snickers.  He flops down on the bed and pats the space beside him until Pedro sits, and then slouches against him, getting comfortable in a way that is pleasantly intimate.  “This okay?  Good, I’m sick of being on my feet.  Tell me about this guy.”

“My co-commander,” Pedro agreeably says, letting his free hand rest on Sanji’s side when the human leans more heavily into him, inviting the touch.  “Shishilian.  He is in charge of the main defensive and daily operations of this outpost, and I am in charge of Frontier missions.  Keeping up appearances is important to him.”

“I don’t have any complaints about your appearance,” Sanji says in a low voice, so shameless that Pedro has to laugh.

“You should have higher standards,” he tells the lovely human resting so warm and boneless against his side, “and there is no need to flatter me.  I could hardly be more fond of you at this moment than I already am.”

Sanji’s cheeks flush, and Pedro belatedly realizes that that came across rather more strongly than he intended, if not more strongly than he feels.

“Speaking of flattery,” Sanji mutters.  He wiggles around a little, leaning his head back against Pedro’s chest, and puffs a few smoky hearts into the air around them.  “Geez, you’re a comfy guy to cuddle with.  Anyway.  In charge of Frontier stuff, huh?  Bet you’ve seen some shit.”

“We haven’t gone too deep yet,” Pedro rumbles.  His tail curls around Sanji and flops over his legs, and the human absently strokes it with his free hand, making it very difficult to concentrate on military matters.  “A few scouting missions, but I have not truly explored the Frontier for many years.”

“If you run into a kid in a straw hat and his right-hand tumbleweed out there, they’re mine,” Sanji says.

“Your friends?”  Pedro asks, and Sanji nods.  They trade a few anecdotes, Sanji slumping further down Pedro’s chest with each one, until the human is all but lying in his lap, cigarette long since stubbed out and both hands busy in the thick fur of Pedro’s tail.  It’s easy to forget the time passing, until Sanji yawns, eyelashes fluttering over his pale cheeks as he struggles to keep his eyes open.

“I’ve kept you far too long,” Pedro realizes, fur bristling in discomfort.  If he’s not mistaken, that’s the first blush of dawn tinging the sky.

“Sure you don’t just want to stay the night at this point?”  Sanji yawns.

It’s contagious, and Pedro frees one of his hands from beneath the human’s head to cover his mouth, hiding the rather intimidating depth of his bite.  “I’ve taken enough of your time already.”

Sanji grudgingly sits up, smoothing his mussed hair back into place, and Pedro forces himself to stand, before he can say that yes, he’d like to stay the rest of the night, or maybe forever.

“Well, come visit the Baratie again, at least,” Sanji says, following more slowly to his feet.

“I will,” Pedro promises.

Reaching for Pedro’s hands, Sanji tugs them to his waist, and runs his hands up Pedro’s arms to the edge of where his uniform sleeves are rolled up.  “Come visit me, too, if you want.”

Pedro’s tail whisks along the floor, and he memorizes the feeling of Sanji’s lithely muscled body under his hands, his waist nearly narrow enough for his claws to touch at the small of his back.  He leans down as Sanji leans in, enveloping the human in his arms as Sanji’s wrap around him in a hug, and Pedro resists the urge to rub his face against Sanji’s hair.

“Oh, this is nice,” Sanji mumbles, muffled against the open neck of Pedro’s shirt.  “You even smell good.  Yeah.  You should definitely come back and visit me.” 

It’s nothing he’s ever done before, but Pedro is forgetting why he ever balked at the idea.  Paying for more of Sanji’s time would be, well, a small price to pay.

“I think I would like that,” Pedro rumbles, close to Sanji’s ear, and feels a shiver go through the pretty human.

“Good,” Sanji says, a little breathless.  “I think I’d be disappointed if you chose somebody else.  You free tomorrow night, big guy?”

“I will be,” Pedro promises again.  He’s not sure if he actually is free, but after their little intervention, his meddling compatriots won’t complain about him taking another evening off.