One Piece, Sanji/Nami, behind closed doors
Privacy on the Going Merry was something of a commodity. At any given moment, a person had roughly fifteen minutes before they were barged in on, whether it was by crew members or the forces of Mother Nature. Thirty, if they locked the door and feigned obliviousness.
This went a long way to explain Sanji's frustration as, halfway through the buttons on Nami's blouse, his lips on her neck and her fingers skillfully caressing him through his boxers, the pots he was supposed to be watching on the stove began to boil over. The carefully crafted sauces bubbling over the sides to hit the burners with a warning hiss.
“Shit.” The cook swore, cursing his lack of foresight. Burying his face against the side of Nami's neck in a quick attempt to get his libido under control, he gave a soft groan of dismay before begrudgingly beginning to pull away to go save what was left of lunch.
“Sanji?” Nami gave a tiny frown. Her hands fisted loosely in his shirt in protest while she stared questioningly up at him from where she lay, sprawled out over the Merry's modest kitchen table and looking far more delicious to him than any of the dishes he could hope to create.
“I need...” Sanji gestured vaguely towards the hissing stove trying, and failing, to ignore the way her lips curved in to a sultry pout.
Clearly sensing weakness, Nami yanked gently on his shirttails. Her fingers slipping stealthily underneath to trace patterns against his skin as Sanji shivered, a renewed wave of heat working its way down his spine in a way that boded ill for walking. Hurriedly grabbing her wrists before he could embarrass himself further, Sanji forced out a winning smile. Lifting each of her hands in turn, he brushed a gentlemanly kiss over her knuckles. Then, deliberately kissing each finger, he straightened up from where he'd been leaning over the table.
“I'll just be a moment, Nami-love.”
Giving a long-suffering sigh, Nami rolled her eyes and propped herself up on her hands to watch Sanji's flight into the kitchen with thinly veiled amusement. Giving him just enough time to turn off the stove and begin his hasty repair of the scorched sauces, she shifted in her seat on the table. Bending forward in a way that guaranteed him an unobstructed view of her cleavage, the navigator mischievously caught Sanji's gaze over the saucepan.
“You'd better just be a moment. Because, if you take too long...” Nami paused to teasingly move a hand over her chest as he stared, entranced. Deftly popping loose the buttons he'd been working on earlier, she shrugged off her shirt. Tossing the garment carelessly to the ground, she continued to trace a purposeful line down her abdomen all the way to her exposed black satin panties. Then, with a deliberate caress, she slipped her fingers under the fabric. Shooting Sanji her most seductive look, she purred. “...I might just be tempted to finish without you.”
The ladle Sanji had been using slipped from suddenly nerveless fingers to fall into the pot with a resounding thunk.
Screw the sauces, those morons could have lunch alla carbonara.