Archive of Our Own ^beta

Bard was scrubbing a large pot coated in burnt stew. He lifted a soapy hand and brushed at a piece of thick brown hair that had fallen across his eyes. He did not usually do dishes, hadn’t done in over ten years. He had worked his way up from lowly plate scrubber to head chef, yet that night he had washed more than one pot.

He was forced to pitch in with the clean up when a new hire had completely ruined his signature Cawl and burned the sweet bread that usually filled the kitchen with the smell of baking raisins. Alfrid, his new junior chef, had also managed to scald himself on the flame of the cooker and break one of his toes when he spilled an entire batch of leek soup across the kitchen floor. Bard now suspected that the references that Alfrid had given proclaiming his superior skills in the kitchen had been faked.

Though scrubbing was far below his usual duties, Bard had a smile tugging on his lips as he worked. Alfrid was having his wounds tended to by his stern-faced sous chef, Tauriel, and the rest of the kitchen was righting the chaos that was spread across the surfaces and floor. There was a lull in the pandemonium that had begun when Alfrid had arrived, and Bard found himself enjoying the simple task of making a pot clean in the relative calm.

The sink was situated just below a grimy window that looked out into a brick-lined alleyway. It was a typical London backstreet; packed with rubbish bins, crawling slightly with what Bard hoped were mice, and rounded off with the sheen of wetness from the light drizzle that persisted overhead. It was dank and dark and the only illumination came from another window, very similar to the one Bard was staring out from.

Through the window, Bard glimpsed the flurry of activity in another kitchen. It was much larger than his own, and Bard could make out the tell tale glint of stainless steal and clean surfaces. All the staff were busy, and none were spilling or scalding or ruining or burning. Bard washed absently while he watched; he couldn’t remember the last time he had looked out into the alley. When he had been a dishwasher the building opposite had been empty, and he never had very much to distract him.

But now there seemed to be a high-end restaurant operating like a well-oiled machine right across from him. Bard glanced down to his worn chef whites, which were now more chef browns, and sighed. While he managed the best he could with what he had, the restaurant was struggling. Offering Welsh cuisine in London was not the most inspired idea, and the owners were always on the brink of closing down and moving on. But Bard had pushed, and innovated, and at one point begged, and he had been able to hobble on with the meagre clientele.

He did it for his kids. The landlord gave him an excellent rate for the tiny flat over the restaurant. They lived close enough to school so that Bard could pop out during prep and pick Tilda up and walk her home. If he gave up on the restaurant he would have to move; he’d have to drag his children from the schools they loved and move further from the city. He clung on at the edges just so that they would be happy.

But he did love the job. He loved the food he made and he loved the crooked little kitchen in which he worked. He loved the dated décor and the old plates and the peeling paintwork. But how would he keep the restaurant afloat when there seemed to be better options popping up right around the corner?

Bard was pulled from his musings by the thud of a door hitting a brick wall. The back door to the kitchen across the alley flew open and thudded to a halt. Bard’s brow furrowed and his hands went slack in the soapy water as he watched a man exit.

“Service in an hour and we’re behind! Step it up!” A thunderous voice boomed. The hairs on Bard’s arm immediately stood on end. His skin prickled and tingled.

A well-synchronised chorus of “Yes, chef!” from the kitchen answered the command. The motion inside the kitchen increased to flurry of activity.

A tall, imposing figure emerged from the doorway. His face was pulled into a stern expression and his dark brow was set harshly above his eyes. He stepped down into the alley and closed his eyes, taking in a gulp of chilly London air. His breath draped out of his mouth, creating swirls and eddies of steam that dissipated around his high cheekbones.

Bard stared at the way his chef whites blended into his pale skin at his neck and hands, the colours almost identical to one another. A glint of yellow light from the kitchen caught the pocket of the apron the man was wearing and gold lettering flared up around the logo emblazoned on his breast pocket. The pale gold of his long, straight blonde hair caught the same light, glinting only slightly less brightly. His hair was pulled back tight against his scalp, clasped together by a white hair tie that laid the ends flat against his back.

The man rubbed a hand over the space where his neck met his shoulders and tilted his head, his face showing the distinct signs of stress. He massaged for a moment, before he fished around in the pocket in his pants and extracted a packet of cigarettes and a lighter. The end flared up luminously in the dimly lit alley as it was lit, and the blonde man took a long drag of the cigarette before exhaling.

Bard blinked, his mouth falling open a little, as he took in the sight of the smoke floating from his lips and nostrils. The blonde tipped his head, his eyes closed and tiny droplets of the mist of rain that had descended around central London clung to his cheeks and razor sharp nose. He took another drag of his cigarette. The end lit up once more, and Bard realised that he heard an almighty ringing in his head. It became louder as the seconds ticked by, and his sense of time slowed to a crawl. He was entranced by the way the blonde’s strong chest rose and fell with every breath that he took. He was captivated by the way he turned his face to the cloudy sky and shut his pale eyes.

And then those eyes were staring straight at him, piercing through the mist and the glass of the window and cruelly dragging Bard back into reality. The sounds of his kitchen blared to life around him. The clanging of pots echoed in his ears and the frustrated cries of his staff floated over to him – no doubt in protest about some stupid thing Alfrid had done.

But Bard did not look away. He held the gaze of the blonde chef as the seconds wore on. Bard blinked and swallowed, and the blonde tilted his head, the cigarette clasped between his fingers burning itself out as they gazed at one another in silent curiosity.

“Chef?”

Bard jumped, Tauriel appearing next to him. He turned and dried his soggy hands, breaking the gaze of the blonde.

“What has he done now?” Bard grumbled. His brow was knit together, but not out of annoyance. He wanted to turn back; he wanted to look into those eyes once more. He wanted to get lost again.

“He’s threatening to sue if you fire him, says our health and safety is not up to scratch.” Tauriel was barely restraining her disdain for the man. Bard sighed and rubbed his temples. The restaurant could not afford a frivolous lawsuit. He took a deep breath.

“Patch him up and let him wash dishes for the rest of the night,” Bard sighed, the pot he was scrubbing left abandoned in the tepid water of the sink. Tauriel nodded, though she quirked an eyebrow and shook her head a little, and made her way back over to Alfrid.

Bard turned to glance out of the window as soon as she’d left him. He didn’t think about how it may look, or what the blonde would think – him gaping at him once again. But he was disappointed to see an empty alleyway. Bard stood onto his toes and peered further out of the grime-streaked window, but it truly was empty. The back door to the neighbouring kitchen was closed and the constant movement inside remained undiminished.

§§§

It was an unusually warm night in London as Bard ran service and tried to minimise the Alfrid-effect, as it had so been named. Bard was sweating, the kitchen was humid and blazing hot, and Alfrid was ruining yet another batch of cheese sauce. Only the gods knew how the man had survived so long.

Bard had his sleeves rolled up to the elbows and his hair pulled back into a low bun to try and cool down, but it was no use. He ordered all the windows to be opened and the back door to be propped ajar. It allowed a soft, warm breeze to float around the kitchen, but did little to alleviate the stifling conditions.

“You’ll have to start again, Alfrid,” Bard said, grinding his teeth in restrained annoyance. “It seems you’ve burned this batch as well.”

Alfrid grumbled and tossed the pan from the stovetop, muttering all the while under his breath about how the restaurant had sub-par equipment. Bard had learned to tune the man out, and waited for him to fetch a new pot and procure a few ingredients. He fanned himself with his hand, trying to cool himself down. He’d had a long, hard night, and all he wanted was a shower and a cold beer and to never see Alfrid’s face ever again.

It seemed the gods’ had it in for him, and Alfrid returned with a scowl and a packet of flour. “We’re out of cheese.”

Bard blinked, his brow scrunching in confusion. And then he saw the true extent of the burned and ruined saucepans that had been unceremoniously tossed in the sink. It was too much, the heat, the frustration and the fact that Alfrid looked to him as though it were his fault that he had completely decimated their reserves of cheese. Bard snapped, quite suddenly and completely out of character, and he slammed his fist down on a grimy counter-top.

“For gods’ sake!” he bellowed, his cheeks flushing and a red haze descending in his mind. “How in the hell am I supposed to prepare anything with you around, Alfrid? If you’re not hurting yourself you’re burning the shit out of others, and if you’re not doing that you’re completely fucking ruining my dishes!”

The entire kitchen had frozen to gape at their head chef completely lose his rag.

“How do you expect me to make Welsh rarebit without any sodding cheese?! You’re a complete fucking disgrace! How are you here after three months and still as incompetent as the day you arrived!”

Sauces were stirred with absent concentration, junior chefs all around the kitchen paused mid-task, and Tauriel stood with her mouth parted and her eyes wide at her boss’s sudden outburst. Bard was a consummate gentleman and he had never raised his voice in the kitchen apart from shouting orders out for service. He certainly had never publicly reprimanded any of his staff.

Alfrid stood; slack jawed and with a drooping packet of flour clutched in his hands, and stared at an irate Bard.

“Just get the fuck out of my kitchen before I throw you out!”

Alfrid made to protest, he made to open his mouth to argue, but Bard eyed him with such ferocity that he was forced to stalk away.

The moment the door swung shut, signalling Alfrid’s departure, Bard realised that everyone in the kitchen was staring at him. He gulped, his eyes roving over the shocked faces of his staff. And then there was a soft clap, right in the corner of the room. Then another, and another, and soon the entire kitchen was applauding. There was even a whistle and a whoop of satisfaction from the far end of the kitchen.

Bard blushed immediately, his anger vanishing to be substituted with extreme embarrassment. He nodded and let his eyes slide to the floor as a few chefs smiled and walked past to continue their duties, patting him on the shoulder and back as they went.

Tauriel grinned and nudged his shoulder, tossing her head in the direction of the kitchen’s back door.

Bard’s gaze was immediately met by piercing blue irises. The blonde chef from across the alley was standing in the wide-open doorway, a block of cheese in one hand and a small smirk on his full lips. He was sweating and his blonde hair was scraped back into a messy bun at the base of his long neck. The first two buttons on his chef whites were undone and they gaped open to reveal a sliver of neck and chest that gleamed with moisture. His sleeves were rolled up and his strong hands shifted around the cheese that he held.

Bard gulped and his stomach flipped over. His heart pounded against his ribcage. He began to sweat anew, yet it wasn’t because of the stifling heat.

“We overheard that you were having cheese difficulties,” the blonde’s voice dripped like honey from his mouth and Bard barely noticed him motioning to the open windows and door. He was too preoccupied with the way the words ‘cheese difficulties’ rolled about in his head.

Bard’s eyes darted out of the window, only to be met by the stares of the entire neighbouring kitchen. Startled by Bard’s gaze, they sprung back into action, looking as busy as possible. It seemed that Bard’s own staff were also making a show of getting back to work, and this left the blonde and Bard still in a sea of activity.

He approached, stepping into the kitchen and holding out the cheese that he had brought as a replacement. Bard reached out and took it, his hand trembling slightly with the adrenaline that was coursing through his body.

“Thanks,” Bard stuttered.

“No problem,” the blonde said, turning and disappearing into his own kitchen before Bard’s brain could catch up with his eyes.

When Bard turned, the cheese was gripped in the tips of his fingers like a piece of precious gold. Tauriel rolled her eyes and took it from him, preparing to make the sauce for the Welsh rarebit.

“What?” Bard asked as a grin worked its way onto her face.

She said nothing.

“What?” Bard asked again, but her smile only grew wider.

§§§

Bard had never returned a block of cheese. He stood at the backdoor of his kitchen, nervous and chewing on his bottom lip, and was unsure about the protocol. He felt like a prize idiot, trying to figure out what he would say. He could just see the blonde through the window. He was alone and didn’t seem very busy. It was the perfect opportunity, yet every possible opening line he thought of sounded moronic.

Thanks for the cheese.

Thanks for the cheese, dude.

Sweet cheese, thanks.

“Hey. Thanks for the cheese, mate.” Bard shut his eyes as the words left his mouth.

He was fucked.

After work the previous evening he had ventured around the corner to the next street over. He had stood outside Lasgalen, the blonde’s restaurant, for a full ten minutes. It was fancy, specialising in French cuisine, and it was absolutely packed. As soon as Bard made it back up to his flat he Googled the place.

Thranduil Oropherion was apparently a huge deal back in the states. Classically trained in France, he had made the move from New York to London especially to open and run Lasgalen. It had been a resounding success, and it seemed that Thranduil had been accepted into London’s fine dining elite. In one interview, Thranduil had mentioned that he had a son, but Bard could find no indication of a partner. He was the subject of much speculation on the Internet with regards to his private life, and Bard was not surprised. He was an amazing chef, stunningly good-looking and uniquely beautiful, who would not want him?

The more Bard read, the more he felt like a complete fool. Thranduil was well known and respected, yet he had never heard of him, and he had made a spectacle of himself in front of him – something he had never done in his life. He didn’t know why it bothered him so, but he felt as though he needed to explain. And it was the explanation that was tripping him up – his words seemed to have deserted him.

Bard took a deep, steadying breath before he shoved the door open and strode out. He tried to fake confidence, but as he neared Thranduil he withered. His mouth dried up, he bit his lip, his eyes blinked rapidly and he gripped tightly onto the cheese he had in his hand. He forced himself to rap lightly on the open back door to Thranduil’s kitchen, his heart threatening to fly up out of his mouth in nervousness. What the hell was wrong with him? It was just a block of cheese.

Thranduil had been leaning over one of his immaculate work counters when the sound of a knock on the door roused him. He had been pouring over pantry inventory, making sure that Lasgalen was well stocked and ready for the weekend crowds. He turned to see Bard in his doorway, cheese in hand and a timid expression on his face.

“Hi,” Bard said, accompanying his greeting with a weird half-wave. He mentally cursed himself.

“Hi,” Thranduil answered, straightening and smiling at his neighbour.

Bard smiled goofily – and then said nothing. The two chefs stared at one another for a long few moments. The seconds ticked by, and Thranduil raised one of his dark eyebrows. But Bard seemed not to notice. He was too captivated by the shining silkiness of Thranduil loose hair, and the way he half leaned against the counter so that his hip was jutting out to let the curve of his ass rest against the cold metal.

Thranduil cleared his throat and Bard flinched.

“Fuck, sorry,” Bard garbled. Fuck. He should not have sworn.

But Thranduil smirked and let out a small huff of a laugh. Bard found his feet then, his mind finally working. “Here,” he said, holding out the replacement block of cheese to Thranduil. “Thank you so much, you saved me last night.”

Thranduil smiled fully then, liking the idea that he had saved the other man from a catastrophe. He took the cheese and shrugged, feigning disinterest.

“It was no problem, I’m glad that I could help you out.”

Bard fiddled with a button on the front of his apron as an awkward silence descended between them. He nodded. He smiled. He frowned. Fuck. Thranduil was smiling at him, what should he say?

“If you ever need anything, I’d be glad to repay the favour,” Bard said, now tugging at the button on his apron. It strained under his attack and the thread began to fray.

Before Thranduil could answer, the main door to the kitchen clanged open and the first few kitchen staff trailed in. They were having a raucous argument about the previous night’s football, and their intrusion startled both chefs. Thranduil turned and growled his disapproval at his staff, and they immediately set about their work.

But by the time he had turned around to answer Bard, he had darted back to his kitchen. Thranduil padded over to the window and glanced across the alley. He strained and stood on his toes to peer in.

He could just make out Bard thudding his head softly against the massive door of his walk-in freezer.

§§§

“Are you sure you don’t need help?” Tauriel was standing with her hand on her hip, her handbag over her shoulder and a puzzled expression on her face. Bard was washing the last few dishes that lay about the counters after a long night of mediocre service. They had closed a little earlier that usual; there was no point in staying open for an empty restaurant.

“I’m fine, get home to your kids,” Bard said, his eyes firmly focussed on his task. She watched Bard scrub a pan for a few more seconds before she sighed and left him alone. The head chef had taken to scrubbing dirty dishes many times over the previous few weeks, for some mysterious reason.

As soon as he was alone, Bard’s eyes flicked up to where they had wanted to be all evening; staring through the window and across the alleyway. But what he was searching for was nowhere to be found.

It had started out innocently enough, with Bard casting a glance through to the neighbouring kitchen every so often as he passed the window. Just to see… he didn’t know what he wanted to see. But he knew that catching a glimpse of Thranduil brought a sliver of joy to his day, and he craved such moments more and more.

But then one day he had looked across and seen Thranduil gazing straight back at him. They had both lingered for longer than appropriate, and Bard had blushed furiously. Thranduil had smirked and averted his eyes. Ever since, it had become a sort of game. Thranduil had taken to standing right near his open window while barking orders at his kitchen staff. Bard had taken up dish washing – the position allowed him the optimal view of Thranduil’s kingdom.

It was as though they were playing some complicated game of chicken, both not sure just what the rules were. Thranduil would catch Bard staring at him and smirk. Bard would sneak a glance and find Thranduil peering at him while stirring a pot of soup and blush furiously. It was embarrassing and mortifying and childish, but it was completely addictive.

Bard had no idea whether the beautiful blonde chef was merely playing with him, having figured out that he was infatuated, or if he was truly interested. It left him confused and giddy at the end of each day, and he spent many an hour lying in his bed, in the dark, trying to figure it out. No doubt many people were infatuated with Thranduil, he was fascinating and gorgeous, so what would he possibly see in someone like Bard? It seemed more and more likely that he was a mild amusement to Thranduil, especially when three weeks had passed and they were still playing their silly game.

But that night, as Bard craned his neck to see more of the kitchen, Thranduil was nowhere to be found. Lasgalen’s kitchen was still a hive of activity. They were always busy and they ran service until late. Bard pouted a little when he still saw no sign of Thranduil. He usually used the late service to show off, to make sure that Bard saw him.

Bard had gotten so used to Thranduil’s constant proximity and sneaky glances that he found he was sorely disappointed when they were absent. Bard had just resigned himself to his fate; cleaning dishes and brooding, when a quiet voice startled him.

“About that favour you owe me…” Thranduil’s voice trailed off. He was slouching in Bard’s doorway, a lopsided grin on his perfect face and a bottle of wine in his hands. Bark blinked in shock. They had not spoken a word to one another since he had awkwardly replaced Thranduil’s cheese.

“Uh…” Bard stuttered, his mind racing. Apparently Thranduil had decided to take their little game to a new level.

“I need an opinion on this wine I’m thinking of offering on the menu, I’m having a bit of trouble deciding.” Bard highly doubted that such an accomplished and respected chef would have trouble picking out some wine to accompany his food. Lasgalen has a sommelier for just such quandaries. “Would you help me?”

Bard glanced over to where Thranduil’s kitchen was still bustling with activity, “Won’t they miss you?”

Thranduil cocked an eyebrow and pushed up from the frame of the doorway, strolling into the empty kitchen. “They’ll survive a few minutes without me.”

Bard pulled his hands from the soapy water, wiping them clumsily on the front of his apron as he stared at Thranduil. It seemed surreal, after reading about him online and watching him from afar, that he would be so close.

“Bottle opener?” Thranduil asked, setting the wine down on a nearby work-surface and scooping up two glasses from one of the drying racks. Bard fished about in his apron pockets and pulled out a rusty corkscrew. He handed it to Thranduil mutely, still disbelieving that he was about to share wine with him.

Thranduil uncorked the wine expertly. Bard watched in fascination, as though he had never seen wine opened in his life. He caught himself staring inanely and tried to appear nonchalant, but the smirk that pulled at Thranduil’s lips told him that he had probably not succeeded.

Thranduil held out a glass of blood red wine to him with sparkling blue eyes, “So? Closing early tonight?”

Bard took a sip of wine before answering, mostly because he was embarrassed at having to close early for lack of customers and partly to give his heart a chance to stop beating out of his chest.

“It’s… a slow night,” Bard said eventually, sadness pulling his eyes downwards. But Thranduil seemed genuinely interested, and he nodded in sympathy.

“It’ll pick up. Quality cooking will always be recognised.” Thranduil took a thoughtful sip of his wine.

The confusion on Bard’s face must have been obvious, because Thranduil was chuckling. “I had your Cawl and sweetbread when I first arrived, just before Lasgalen opened.”

“You had dinner here?” Bard cringed. Gods, what must he have thought about the tacky décor and old amenities.

“I always check out my competition.” Thranduil eyed Bard while he raised his glass to his lips. Bard scoffed loudly and shuffled about. He was hardly competition. Thranduil was in a completely different league, and he knew it.

“I would hardly call us competition,” Bard grumbled, padding over to where Thranduil was leaning back against the counter. He stood alongside him and rested the small of his back against the edge of the surface. They both had the perfect view of the hustle and bustle in Thranduil’s kitchen as the staff kept service going without their leader. “A small Welsh bistro can hardly compete for the same diners as your fancy French place.”

Thranduil shrugged, “I very much enjoyed the stew and the bread. If my diners had any sense they would see that overpriced dishes and a menu that is all in French does not mean good food.”

Bard turned to look at the blonde next to him. Thranduil was not what he expected at all. For someone so talented and ethereally beautiful he was surprisingly down to earth. But then all thoughts of praise for Thranduil’s personality fled Bard’s mind. The wine had stained his lips and they were now a deep red colour in the middle. Bard could not drag his eyes away.

“How do you like the wine? Do you think I should offer it?” Thranduil said, his eyes fixed ahead. He could feel Bard’s eyes on him, but he did not turn. He watched as his kitchen staff worked.

“Uh, yeah. It’s good, I like it.”

“Perhaps with the veal?” Thranduil mused absently, swirling the dregs of the wine left in his glass. Bard nodded and watched the way Thranduil’s eyebrows scrunched together as he took a small sip.

Silence filled the space between the two men, but it was unlike the awkwardness of their last encounter. Somehow, Bard felt relaxed in Thranduil’s company. He did not know how it had happened, but the man had managed to set him completely at ease. Perhaps it was the wine? Perhaps it was the compliments he had paid Bard’s food?

Thranduil finished off his wine as the seconds ticked by, and he set his glass down. “Thanks for the help.”

Bard was sure that he had done absolutely nothing to help him decide on the wine. “No problem,” he said anyway, echoing Thranduil’s words to him from a few weeks ago. He didn’t know why he added the, “Anything else I can… help you with?” He didn’t know why he paused between the ‘can’ and the ‘help’, but it made the question sound incredibly dirty.

No. He knew why - it was most definitely the wine talking.

The smirk that graced Thranduil’s lips then put all his others to shame. He turned, looking smug. “Are you flirting with me, Bard?”

Gods, Thranduil knew his name. Bard’s stomach fluttered, and the alcohol answered for him once more.

“I thought you were flirting with me.” He raised his eyebrow at the wine that sat between them.

Thranduil held Bard’s eyes with a confidence that startled him. His answer startled him even more.

“I was.”

And then Thranduil pushed up from his leaning position against the counter. He didn’t even look back as he strolled out of Bard’s kitchen and entered into the fray of his own.

Bard’s jaw had unhinged itself as Thranduil suddenly exited, and he was left gaping at the open door through which he had just disappeared.

Fuck.

§§§

Thranduil was away for the next week, and Bard found that it absolutely killed him to not see him everyday through his kitchen window. Bard had gleaned that Thranduil had travelled to France for something work related, but the gossip about the kitchen had been limited and no one knew quite why he had gone.

Bard found himself staring longingly into space, he caught himself randomly doodling sappy hearts on some paper napkins when service was slow, and he had to fight against the urge to glance to see if he had returned. It was torture, and Bard realised that he was in too deep. He had barely even had a conversation with the man and he was already a gibbering idiot for him.

His children had begun to notice that their father was affected by something, though Bard skilfully dodged their questions. He was sure that Sigrid could recognise his faraway stares and distracted restlessness, but she said nothing about her suspicions. Bane was much too preoccupied by his video games to give his father’s potential love life much thought, and Tilda merely asked if he was okay and accepted his answer that he was.

But Bard was not okay. He was a teenager again, infatuated by the most gorgeous man he had ever seen. Only this time it was worse, because Thranduil was not some unattainable, heterosexual senior who would not have given Bard a second glance. He could not merely be infatuated with Thranduil from a safe distance. They had smiled; they had exchanged hundreds of sneaky glances, Thranduil had flirted and admitted as much… He had given Bard hope. But perhaps that was all it was? Was Thranduil playing with him? Maybe he was just some amusing dalliance?

It was traumatizing for Bard to relive his teenage years of confusion and rejection and, by the time Thranduil had reappeared to run his kitchen, he was a nervous wreck. Bard had married young and tried to forget about his experiences in high school. He had been happy raising his children and living a quiet life, but all of his previous misgivings and questions had resurfaced after his wife’s death. And now he was faced with beautiful, frustrating, enticing Thranduil, and he didn’t think he could handle him.

Bard deliberately did not give Thranduil any attention when he had seen that he’d returned. He did not play their silly little game of glances across the alley, and he definitely did not wash any dishes in the hopes he may see him. It was difficult, but Bard forced himself to do it. He had to remind himself that he was a grown man, not some smirking blonde’s plaything.

When Thranduil appeared in his kitchen’s back doorway during prep one evening, he had to strain to keep his eyes on his work. He didn’t look up, he didn’t say a word, and he just kept fussing with the sweetbread dough in front of him.

“Hi,” Thranduil said eventually, sidling right up alongside Bard. The staff threw each other quizzical glances across the kitchen and Bard pretended not to notice.

“Hi,” Bard mumbled, aching to look up but determined not to appear a complete fool. Thranduil watched as Bard kneaded some dough and lined some baking tins, his piercing gaze not missing a thing.

“Can I have a word?”

Bard shrugged and spun around, his eyes searching for his roll cutter. He scrabbled about in a drawer and knit his brow in confusion when he could not find it.

“Is now a good time?” Thranduil was taken aback by Bard’s aloofness, but he didn’t let on as much. He had been mildly horrified when he had returned and Bard had ignored him. He had been trying to catch his eye for days, to no avail.

“Mhm,” Bard hummed, patting his pockets as he tried to keep his mind occupied with his search. Thranduil was standing very close and his voice sounded gorgeous and soft and… gods, all he wanted to do was to look at him.

The pantry… Bard’s distracted mind finally hit on where his cutter was. Against his better judgement, Alfrid had been allowed back into the kitchen, and he had a tendency to put objects he didn’t recognise into the pantry. Bard turned and strode away from Thranduil, leaving the blonde to catch him up as he entered the small, well-stocked room. The door clicked shut behind them and the din of the kitchen was shut out.

“Bard, should I come back later? You seem…” Bard began to rifle through the bottom-most shelf of the pantry and Thranduil was momentarily distracted by the way Bard’s tight black slacks stretched over his ass, “…very busy.”

“Yeah, sure…” Bard said casually, checking all the places Alfrid could have possibly hidden his cutter. He could hear the confusion in Thranduil’s voice, but he stubbornly kept ignoring him.

“Will you have dinner with me?”

Bard yelped as he hit his head on the underside of a shelf. He clasped a hand to the back of his skull and straightened up, forgetting all about what he was searching for. His eyes found Thranduil’s almost immediately, all pretence of ignoring him abandoned.

“Tonight?” Thranduil asked, some of his confidence returning. He wore a tiny smile and a furrowed brow.

Bard blinked. He had to work that night, as Thranduil well knew.

“I’ll bring some leftovers after service?” Thranduil pre-emptively squashed Bard’s possible objection.

Bard could not think of a single reason why he would not want to have dinner with Thranduil, and yet he had so many doubts swirling around in his head that he could not fathom an answer.

Thranduil took Bard’s silence as an agreement, and he made to leave. He turned slowly and reached for the door, but Bard stopped him.

“Thranduil…” It was the first time Bard had said Thranduil’s name out aloud, and he wondered if he had pronounced it correctly.

Thranduil raised his eyebrows expectantly when Bard faltered with his mouth open and thinly veiled desperation on his face.

And then it all came pouring out.

“What do you mean dinner? Is it… is it like… I don’t know? What do you want to have dinner for? We barely know each other? You leant me some cheese and we shared some wine… but… but I don’t know what… what you… is it like… is it dinner… or just dinner?”

Thranduil’s lips had parted as he listened to Bard garble on.

“Or is it just fun… for you to do… I don’t know! Gods… You’re completely confusing me! One day you’re flirting with me and the next you’ve disappeared to France and then you just show up like nothing has happened… and I’m sorry… I’m sorry I’m not very good at… this… is it even anything? When you say dinner do you mean like a date? I don’t know… I’m sorry… I was married straight out of school and for a long time… and I don’t know how this works-”

“Bard-”

“Oh gods, I’m sorry I shouldn’t have said any of this. Now you’re probably thinking I’m completely mental-”

“Bard-”

“Fuck… Just forget I ever said anything… I’m not crazy, I swear, I’m just not used to all of this, and I think you’re… I think you’re amazing and gorgeous and I lose my mind a little when you’re around… fuck… fuck… I shouldn’t have said that either!”

“Bard!”

Bard squeezed his eyes shut and ran his hands up into his messy hair. He sighed in frustration, but when he opened his eyes again Thranduil was closer than expected. He was forced to look up into those blue eyes that had so entranced him from the first time he’d seen them.

Thranduil leaned in, his large hand coming to rest on Bard’s cheek. He flinched in surprise, but he didn’t pull back. It was as if Thranduil was asking permission, looking into his eyes as though he was unsure about something, and then he pressed his lips softly against Bard’s.

Bard’s eyes slipped shut immediately, his confused mind stilling for a few glorious seconds. He felt Thranduil wrap a strong arm around his waist as they kissed, pulling him forwards against his body, and he sagged into the embrace. Thranduil was smooth beneath his lips, and he cursed the fact that he had not shaved that morning. He was scraggly and unkempt, as usual, but Thranduil did not seem to mind.

The pantry shelves shuddered when Thranduil spun their embrace, pressing Bard back against them and transforming their sweet first kiss into a gasping, moaning mess of teeth and tongue. Thranduil tasted like saffron lobster bisque, yet Bard hardly noticed. He was preoccupied with the way Thranduil pushed against him, the length of his strong chest pressed against his own, and the delectable way he slid his hands into Bard’s hair.

Thranduil licked out between Bard’s lips, moving their mouths in a hypnotic rhythm that had Bard delirious with pleasure. He had never in his life been kissed so thoroughly. Never before had he felt such complete devotion in a kiss; it was as though he was the only being in Thranduil’s world, and he worshipped his mouth and body with his talented hands and sinful lips.

Thranduil moaned a little when Bard grasped at the collar of his apron. He was trying to steady himself, he was trying to catch up with Thranduil and give back as much pleasure as he was receiving. Bard gasped when Thranduil nipped at him and wound his fingers into his hair and tugged.

When Thranduil pulled away, Bard was left in a haze that did not clear until he stepped away and ran a hand through his long blonde hair. Bard pushed up off of the shelves and took a huge gulp of air to calm his thudding heart. Thranduil looked utterly debauched, and he supposed he looked the same.

“Yes,” Thranduil said after a long few moments of panting, “It’s a date.”

Bard gaped at him. His mind was a thunderstorm of chaos, but there was one thought that was perfectly clear to him. He wanted to do that again, and as many times as possible, in the very near future.

Thranduil took Bard’s wide-eyed silence as understanding. He cleared his throat, he smoothed the front of his chef whites, and then he exited Bard’s pantry with his head held high and his nose still slightly red.

Bard’s mind was whirring as he tried to process what had just happened, but that all stopped in an instant. Absolute, complete mortification took hold when he looked out of the pantry’s porthole window. Tauriel was standing, a huge grin on her face and both thumbs held up while she nodded her approval.

§§§

Bard was having an out-of-body experience. As he stood in the kitchen he knew so well, alone and nervous and with his heart in his mouth, he felt as though everything was foreign to him. Thranduil’s pretty mouth had changed his life, and he looked at the world through new eyes. It was as if he had ripped away a layer than Bard had tried to hide his whole life, and now he was exposed and vulnerable and… free. So free that it made his chest hurt and his stomach flutter in anticipation.

Service had ended over an hour ago, yet Bard was still waiting in the kitchen. He had changed out of his stained whites and had on a simple black t-shirt and some ragged jeans. He could still see the light shining brightly in Thranduil’s kitchen and was not worried that he had forgotten about their date. He was just anxious to see the blonde again, and he opened a cold beer while he waited. It gave him something to do and took his mind away from obsessing over the kiss he had received earlier that day.

Gods; that kiss - it had been playing on a loop in his mind’s eye all day. He could still feel the press of Thranduil’s lips and the way that he had rubbed his body against his…

Bard cleared his throat and threw the beer back, glugging gratefully. While Thranduil had answered most of his rambling questions with that kiss, there were still some that tugged at the edges of Bard’s worried brain. Yes, the late dinner he was about to have was a date. Yes, it seemed that Thranduil fancied Bard as much as he did him. Yes, they appeared to be on the same page, sexually at least - that kiss had proven that. All Bard’s previous experiences with men had been stuttered and aborted and confusing, yet Thranduil had made himself perfectly clear.

It was new and exciting, and Bard wished that Thranduil would hurry the hell up.

“Lobster?” As if on cue, Thranduil appeared in the back doorway, a plate and cloche cradled in his hands. A massive, unstoppable smile spread over Bard’s face, lighting up his eyes. Thranduil’s face was a mirror image, and he grinned back at Bard.

He traipsed in without another word, laid the cloche down on the counter in front of Bard, and opened it with a flourish. “Voilà.”

Thranduil had not brought leftovers; he had created his signature lobster bisque with blanched tail of lobster. Bard blinked in astonishment at the beauty of his presentation and the trouble he had gone through.

“I thought you said you were bringing leftovers?”

Thranduil shrugged and produced two spoons from his apron pocket. “I want to impress you.”

Bard blushed furiously and accepted the spoon Thranduil offered him. “You’ve already impressed me today,” Bard said softly, taking a careful taste of the bisque. It was smooth and gorgeous and he almost moaned in pleasure. Thranduil eyed him thoughtfully as he tasted his own food.

“Well, I thought I’d be honest. I want to avoid any more… confusion.”

Bard winced. He had acted like a babbling fool earlier; he had never meant to make Thranduil uncomfortable.

“I’m sorry-” Bard started, but Thranduil waved a hand and took a mouthful of his own bisque.

“You have nothing to apologise for. I haven’t been truly interested in dating for years, and I didn’t handle it very well. I should have been more straightforward, I should have made it clear…” Bard cocked an eyebrow. Thranduil appeared bashful for the first time. He cleared his throat and carried on. “… I should have made it clear that I wanted to do more than eye-fuck you from across an alleyway.”

Bard coughed and spluttered on the spoonful of food he’d placed into his mouth. Thranduil laughed, deep and rumbling, and Bard wiped his lips with the back of his hand. He had wanted clarity, yet hearing Thranduil vocalise his want of him made him tremble.

“Too much honesty?” Thranduil asked, his brow creasing adorably. Bard shook his head and huffed out a little laugh. Gods, it was good to know what was going on inside that beautiful blonde head.

“No, I like it,” Bard reassured him, “I shouldn’t have been such a wimp, I should have just kissed you over that bottle of wine.”

Thranduil smirked and took a small step towards Bard, shuffling right up so that their shoulders touched while they both took alternating spoonfuls of the delicious lobster dish. There was an easy silence between the pair for a while, as they both ate and enjoyed the simple contact of their bodies.

“I want to kiss you right now,” Thranduil said eventually, and so softly that Bard wondered if he had imagined it.

Bard clenched his jaw shut and gulped. When he dared to slide his eyes sideways to glance at the tall blonde next to him, Thranduil was staring straight at him. Bard bravely pushed down all his trepidation to force words out of his dry mouth.

“I would very much like you to.”

Thranduil blinked once, his lips quirked up at the edges, and then captured Bard’s parted lips with his own. The angle was awkward and the contact was brief and tender, yet the kiss seemed to hold more emotion and hunger than their first. Bard was a little lost and hazy when Thranduil pulled away and their lips parted with a soft, decadent pop.

“I like this honesty thing,” Thranduil growled, his voice deep and gravely and his eyes fixed squarely on Bard’s pink lips. Bard licked his tongue out, startled by the complete hunger that he saw laid bare on Thranduil’s face. No one had ever looked at him in such a way.

“Me too.”

Thranduil’s eyes flicked up to Bard’s and they spent a charged few seconds panting against one another.

“Want to do it again?” Thranduil whispered, and Bard melted.

“Gods, yes!” Bard turned, burying his hands in Thranduil’s hair at the temples and pulling their mouths together hard. Thranduil’s blonde mane was silky smooth and infinitely soft, and Bard’s fingers slid through its length with ease to grip him at the base of his skull. Their teeth clinked and Thranduil groaned, which only made Bard more ravenous. He drank in the sweet noises Thranduil was emitting as they made out like two randy teenagers. Thranduil spun them, pressing Bard against the counter, and plundered his mouth with his tongue, pulling sighs and gasps from him as he did so.

And then there was a clang, and Bard yelped as he dunked his hand in the lobster bisque. It was not quite steaming hot, yet it scalded Bard enough so that he squeaked right into Thranduil’s mouth.

Immediately, Thranduil pulled back, his eyes wide and scared that he had hurt Bard. But when he saw the mess and the remnants of his dish clinging to Bard’s hand and arm, he burst into laughter. Bard could not help but join in, and Thranduil’s wide, smiling face and furrowed eyebrows made nervous chuckling tumble out of his mouth.

“Here,” Thranduil whipped a cloth out of his back pocket and took Bard’s dripping hand in his carefully. He dabbed at the places where he could see lobster bisque, and Bard’s laughter trailed off. He was entranced by the tender way Thranduil dried him off, and his ruffled hair and swollen lips. Thranduil eyed Bard as he patted and wiped. “Maybe I should explain why I wanted a word, before we cause another accident.”

Bard pursed his lips, “You didn’t just want to make out after hours like some naughty teenagers?”

Thranduil chuckled, “Honestly, I hoped it may come to that, but no… no. I wanted to run a business proposition by you.”

Business being mentioned so suddenly, and in the midst of their flirty banter and frenzied kissing, made Bard’s brain stutter to catch up. He tried to shake away the amorous haze that had descended over him.

“Business?”

“Mhm,” Thranduil hummed. He had stopped drying Bard’s hand, but he still held it, cradled gently in his own large palms. Bard gulped and his fingers clenched around Thranduil’s, keeping them joined. “I went to Paris to visit an old friend, an old Welsh friend.”

Bard said nothing, thought his attention was captivated.

“He’s been looking to invest in a restaurant, and I suggested this place.”

Bard’s mouth opened, but no sound came out.

“He was very interested when I told him about your exceptional food, and how the building needs a bit of an overhaul. It could be just what you need to bring in some more diners, and he wants to meet with you as soon as possible.”

Bard stared at the tall blonde for a full ten seconds in wordless shock. He stared so long, and with such a glazed look, that Thranduil shuffled about and tightened his grip on Bard’s slack hand.

“Say something? Please? Did I overstep?”

Bard shook his head and swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat. “Why would you do such a thing for me?” They hardly knew each other. People Bard had known for years had never been so kind to him.

Thranduil looked utterly flummoxed; adorably, absolutely bewildered.

“That is the kindest thing anyone has ever done for me,” Bard clarified, and he could feel tears begin to well behind his eyes. “Why?”

“Because I really like you, Bard, have done since you caught me sneaking a smoke on Lasgalen’s opening night.” Bard remembered that night well, though he thought it had meant more to him that it ever had to Thranduil. “I realise that I don’t know you very well, but I would like to, if you’ll let me?”

Bard’s chest constricted. He couldn’t possibly want that. He was plain, boring Bard. He was a father, he was a chef, and he was not in the league of such a beautiful, wonderful man. His lungs burned for air, and he took a gasping breath. “I-I have three children…”

Thranduil smirked, “I know, and I have a son.”

Bard was about to try and find another reason that Thranduil would not want to know him, when it struck him. “Wait… you know? You know I have three kids?”

Thranduil blushed; “You’re not the only one who did your research. Your sous chef was remarkably forthcoming.”

Bard gritted his teeth, and then flushed pink. “How did you know that I Googled you?”

Thranduil laughed then, high and clear, “I never told you my name. Though I didn’t know you Googled me. I’m honoured.”

“Fuck,” Bard cursed softly, and Thranduil laughed again. But this time Bard joined in. It seemed that they were both as bad as one another, and they were both in deeper than they had thought. Their chuckling petered off after a while, and the two men were left staring at one another with big, goofy grins that were impossible to hide. Thranduil ran his fingertips over Bard’s hand gently, checking for any signs that the bisque had burnt him. He found none.

Thranduil bit down delicately on his bottom lip, Bard stared up at him from behind his lashes - and then they were kissing again. It was tender, it was exploratory and sweet and Thranduil rested his hands on Bard’s hips gently. But Bard’s desires had been buried for too long, and they came spilling out.

He tugged on Thranduil, pulling the length of their bodies together, took two handfuls of Thranduil’s ass, and buried his face in his neck, licking and sucking on his pulse point and running his teeth over the jut of his strong, smooth jaw. Thranduil responded to his touches immediately, and Bard growled appreciatively as hardness pressed against his hip.

Thranduil hummed against Bards lips and grasped his face with both hands. He dug his slender fingers into the skin of Bard’s cheeks as their tongues duelled for dominance. He rubbed himself against the rough material of Bard’s jeans, the friction not enough and hindered by his slacks. He groaned and his hand flew down to Bard’s belt, feeling as many taut muscles on the way down as he could. He fumbled rather embarrassingly, but managed to un-tuck the end and undo the buckle before he was stopped.

“We can’t do this here,” Bard moaned, his eyes shifting worriedly over to the open kitchen door. Anyone could see them should they walk down the alley. Anyone could see them should someone enter either kitchen.

Thranduil whimpered softly and tugged at Bard’s loose belt. “You live upstairs, right?”

Bard shook his head, “My kids are home.” Sigrid had probably put everyone to bed by now.

Thranduil grimaced. His cock was pounding, and he kept moving his hips ever so slightly against Bard as they talked.

“Car?” Thranduil asked, and Bard shook his head - a car in London? But it was so obvious, and it only took Bard a few moments to realise.

“Pantry,” he gasped, already pulling Thranduil towards the tiny room. They stumbled through Bard’s kitchen; pulling at any clothes they could get hold of. Bard heaved a ragged breath through his nose. His eyes were wide and his pupils were blown open. Thranduil pushed him away slightly, steering him to stumble backwards into the pantry, and he used the brief moment to rip his chef whites off, along with his undershirt.

Bard found it hard to breathe when confronted by a half naked Thranduil. His skin was perfectly pristine over his entire chest, and his muscles were taut and delicious and gods… Thranduil must work out every day. His long blonde hair flopped against his strong chest, clinging to his slightly damp skin, and he fixed Bard with a decadent, hungry gaze.

Bard, frazzled and hard and panting, fell back against the shelves of the pantry as he tried to steady himself. The jars of spices and the containers of prepped food shuddered and shook, and Thranduil smirked his characteristic smirk.

“Thran… duil…” Bard stuttered as he approached him.

“Yes,” Thranduil whispered and promptly pinned Bard back against a box of sultanas. He kissed his neck, then his jaw, and then he nuzzled their noses together and he smiled.

Bard scrunched his eyes shut and moaned. Gods, it felt so good.

“I need to-”

Thranduil interrupted Bard by running his hands underneath his shirt, tugging it upwards. He dug his fingers into the smooth, hard planes of his stomach and Bard thrust up against him. It pleased Thranduil no-end, and he quickly swept his hands downwards, past the waist of Bard’s jeans.

“Fuck!” Bard rasped when Thranduil’s hand closed around his cock. It was an awkward angle, yet Thranduil massaged his hard flesh expertly, twisting and rubbing and drawing gasp after gasp from Bard’s parted lips.

Bard was trembling visibly when Thranduil withdrew his adventurous hand and ripped the button open on his jeans. It exposed Bard’s tight underwear and the line of dark hair that trailed below.

“Thranduil…” Bard tried again. Given the chance to catch his breath, his insecurities were surfacing once more. “… I need to tell you…”

“Hmm,” Thranduil sighed, simultaneously trying to push Bard’s shirt up and slide his hand back to his cock. “What is it?”

Bard’s eyes nigh on crossed when Thranduil palmed him once more, this time pumping him expertly while he kissed at the corner of his swollen lips.

“I… I haven’t ever…”

Thranduil stilled as Bard’s words flew out and rolled about the room. He drew away immediately, giving Bard some space, but kept his hand wrapped tightly around his cock. Bard’s aroused body could not help but thrust into it.

“You… haven’t ever?” Thranduil repeated, his face blank.

“Not with… not with a man,” Bard panted.

Thranduil made to withdraw, but Bard held him close.

“Don’t. I want to.”

Their eyes bore into one another’s in the dimly lit pantry for what felt like an eternity. Thranduil’s mind was racing, and Bard’s eyes glittered in the half-light, pleading with him. If he was left hard and wanting now it may kill him. Thranduil seemed to come to a resolution, and he pressed back up close against Bard.

“I will not take you for the first time in a dingy pantry, Bard, but I will make you come for me.”

Bard barely had time to process Thranduil’s low, dirty growl of words, before he was almost driven mad with pleasure. Thranduil pulled Bard’s shirt over his head, pushed his underwear and jeans down to expose his hard, red cock and sunk to his knees in one fluid movement.

“Oh-” Bard’s eyes widened, and his head thunked back against some Tupperware. Thranduil took him deep into his mouth, stretching his pretty lips around Bard’s aching cock with ease. “Yes!”

Thranduil smirked, even though his mouth was full of cock. He did so love to hear his work appreciated. The warmth and wetness that surrounded Bard’s cock made his hips buck up involuntarily. He thrust himself deeper into Thranduil’s welcoming mouth, winding his hands into his soft blonde hair as he did.

“Oh, gods…” Bard groaned, his eyes shut and his body tensed and wound tight in anticipation. He was embarrassingly close to coming with only Thranduil’s mouth on him. He gasped when Thranduil slid his hands around his hips, digging his fingers into Bard’s twitching ass. He squeezed and massaged, and slid a finger between the cleft of his ass, teasing him gently. Bard’s hands flew out to grip whatever he could, and he ended up clutching a bag of almonds and a Tupperware full of Maraschino cherries.

“Oh… fuck.” Bard slid down the shelves and Thranduil hummed around his cock. “I’m going to come,” he panted, and Thranduil immediately withdrew his mouth. Bard whimpered and pouted. He glanced down at himself as Thranduil rose languidly. His cock was red and pulsing with want, and his jeans were pooled lewdly around his ankles.

Thranduil wound his hand around Bard’s length, his eyes fixed to his face as he shuddered in pleasure. And then Bard’s hands itched to feel Thranduil. He wanted him completely, and he could make out the very prominent bulge in his slacks. He reached for the button on Thranduil pants, and his trembling hand soon reached past his underwear to his throbbing cock.

Bard’s arousal jumped as he felt just how large his new lover was. He extracted Thranduil from his pants slowly, revelling in the heavy length of him. He had never held a cock that was not his own in his hand. He was inexperienced and clumsy, but he did to Thranduil what he himself enjoyed. Thranduil closed his eyes and moaned, twisting his hand sinfully around Bard.

It was the beginning of the end for Bard. Jerking off the man he had fantasized about for months in his grotty little pantry while he could be discovered at any moment made him feel alive. It set his blood on fire with lust, and he spilled himself into Thranduil’s large hand. He kept a steady rhythm on Thranduil’s cock as he twitched and gasped, and the blonde came a few seconds later, burying his face in Bard’s sweaty neck. He kissed him softly, leaving a scalding hot trail over Bard’s strong chest.

They panted against one another for a few blissful moments.

“That was…” Bard finally broke the silence. “That was amazing.”

Thranduil was tired and sated; yet he found the energy to smirk. “Want to do it again?”

Bard gulped. He was utterly spent, yet the hungry look evident in Thranduil’s eyes made his half-hard cock twitch. He was definitely in too deep.

“Yes, Chef!” Bard growled, and Thranduil covered his lips with his once more.