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Bard had grown to like Birmingham.
The metropolis fever had first caught hold of him in the huge station, followed him through the Arcadian and wholly overpowered him sitting on the stairs before the Bullring and next to the striking, moss-grown St. Martin’s church, overlooking the open market on the square below him where pitchmen praised their goods and wisps of morning fog still hung between the stalls.
Bard had taken off early this morning to catch the first train leaving from Cardiff and his stomach rumbled with hunger. All he had been able to get down before had been a cup of black coffee from the station’s kiosk but now the market looked highly tempting.
He figured he would have enough time to get a bite to eat before Thranduil arrived to pick him up and strolled down the stairs into the market crowd. As a practitioner, it took Bard a moment to find apples to his liking, but the fourth stall convinced him. They had his favourite variety (the Dabinett apple) and all the fruits and vegetables looked appealing enough.
He got three of the apples (just in case) and a pain au chocolate at the next stall. He had intentionally chosen the most battered-looking pastry - on the one hand, because he felt bad for it and thought if he didn’t then no one would buy it, on the other hand, because in his mind the uglier the pastry the higher the chance that it was homemade and therefore obviously superior.
He retreated back to his spot on the stairs and bit into the apple - bittersweet goodness. The pain au chocolate was exquisite as well, only fortifying Bard in his resolve to always get the most crumbly piece of pastry.
As he sat there with his breakfast he had a great view across the square beneath him and saw as the biggest reason for him to like Birmingham approached - Thranduil Doriathion.
Bard pulled his baseball cap lower and leaned against the wall, interested to see how long it would take his rather fancypants boyfriend, who would never eat an unwashed apple on some stairs, to recognise him. He was equally disappointed and impressed when the answer to that was: immediately.
“Hello Bard,” he heard Thranduil’s deep voice. Figuring the hide-and-seek was over before it had begun, Bard lifted the cap to look at his boyfriend. “Hello there.”
Thranduil offered a hand to help him up (neither of them was getting any younger) before pulling him into a tight embrace. “I missed you,” he whispered into Bard’s hair, who had to suppress a shudder.
“I missed you, too,” he replied, “It’s been too long.”
This was one of the few unpleasant features of their relationship: Since they had mutually decided to keep it out of the public eye - with Thranduil being the owner of the UK’s biggest hotel chain and Bard with his farms one of his business partner, it would only overcomplicate things - and Bard lived in a picturesque town so far off the grid that a train ride there took about 3.5 hours on a good day, they couldn’t exactly meet every other day. At the moment they were at two meetings a month, of which about every third was - at least to outsiders - business-coded.
While this arrangement did work out fine and everything beyond that would be a risk to their secrecy, Bard sometimes wondered how it could be different. If it were up to him he would spend much more time with Thranduil. Ever since their talk at the opening of the Elvenstar Hotel in Blackpool during which they had decided that this was in fact a relationship and not just some fling and that they would tell their respective children about it, he had been able to admit it to himself: He was head over heels for this man.
“But now you are here and we have the whole day to ourselves,” Thranduil smiled.
“Do you have any plans?” Bard asked, silently hoping for a no. The last time they had seen each other they had visited Bard’s farm in Snowdonia (disguised as a business trip) and while that had been nice he was kind of hoping for a relaxed day in Thranduil’s apartment with a lot of cuddling.
“I thought about it, but since I have already shown you my favourite parts of the city and I assumed that after the long train ride, you would not be up for another one to visit someplace further off,” Thranduil explained, “Moreover I have had some quite stressful days and would enjoy a nice day on the sofa for a change. If you want to do something else, however, we can of course figure something out. Birmingham is a big city - I am certain we would find something to do.”
Bard appreciated Thranduil’s consideration for his wants and needs but since they were in accord with his own, he shook his head. “No, I’m actually glad you’re suggesting to de-stress. A day on the couch sounds perfect to me.”
“Well, then…” Thranduil squeezed his arm affectionately before turning around and walking back down the stairs towards the square. “Follow me.”
Bard eagerly did as he was told. He had not seen Thranduil’s apartment before and couldn’t wait to see if the expectations he had built up in his head matched reality.
When Thranduil suddenly rounded the corner at a certainly modern and architecturally haute couture but in Bard’s eyes only exquisitely ugly building complex and proceeded to type a pin into the modern lock by the door, he groaned internally.
“This is me,” Thranduil said lightly but Bard was very much aware of the sly edge to his voice and the teasing side glance in his direction.
“We have been here before,” he said tonelessly, remembering the situation vividly.
“I am aware,” Thranduil replied gleefully. They had passed the building on Bard’s first or second visit to the city while Thranduil had shown him around and had even drunk a coffee right on the other side of the street, where Bard had then said that he enjoyed the café but wished someone would knock down this insult for the eyes. Of course this was where Thranduil lived.
“You didn’t say anything!” Bard complained.
“I was afraid you would take my words as an insult to your ears,” Thranduil deadpanned at which Bard lightly slapped his arm. He pursed his lips in embarrassment and looked around as the door swung open and they entered the building. For something that looked like a concrete slab from the outside with admittedly nice, tall windows but also a facade appearing to suffer from the bubonic plague, the interior was unexpectedly welcoming. While the floor was made of clean, grey stone tiles, there were splashes of colour in the comfy-looking blue and green armchairs in front of the concierge’s desk and the sketchy, purple pictures on the wall in which Bard recognised some Birmingham landmarks.
“Well, this is much better,” he commented and then added with a wink: “I’m glad the architect didn’t have a complete lapse of taste.”
“I will let Elrond know of your kind critique next time I talk to him,” Thranduil said with a raised eyebrow, pointedly indicating that Bard’s irony was no match for his.
Bard rolled his eyes, not even surprised that he had managed to put his foot right in it once more. Elrond Peredhel was a real estate mogul, specialising in extravagant but homely properties. Bard had recently met his daughter Arwen who worked for Thranduil in the newly opened Blackpool hotel. She was really nice and also the only person outside their families and Thranduil’s personal assistant Feren who knew about their relationship.
“Please just get me into your apartment before I can make even more of a fool of myself, yeah?” Bard murmured while they passed the concierge who nodded at them in greeting.
“Gladly.”
Thranduil needed his key to operate the lift and when the doors opened again they did so right into a living room for which the word spacious would be an understatement.
“ Cachu sanctaidd ,” Bard gaped, accidentally falling into Welsh due to his astonishment, “ This is your apartment?”
“Yes. Well, it is one room of it.” Thranduil obviously tried to keep a stiff upper lip but still looked very smug about Bard’s reaction.
Bard walked into the light-flooded room, head swinging back and forth from not knowing where to look first. He decided to concentrate on the wall that seemed to have swallowed a whole tree trunk. He stroked the bark, followed it until it grew too high and tilted his head back to look at the crown of the tree that stretched across the ceiling and was interspersed with downlights that bathed the room in golden light.
“That is usually my favourite part of the apartment as well,” Thranduil murmured into his ear as he hugged him from behind.
“It is breathtaking.” And it was so eccentrically elegant it screamed Thranduil. This was only the living room and all of Bard’s expectations had already been surpassed. “Wait… usually?”
“Well, now that you are here…” Thranduil trailed off meaningfully and Bard laughed. “You sycophant!”
The rest of the room was held in light cream tones while most of the furniture consisted of what Bard recognised as elm wood. The sofa in itself would have looked offensive and kitschy everywhere else but here the burgundy, forest green and mustard striped velvet cushions with golden accents and actual tassels on the pillows just worked perfectly. The room was topped off with house plants in every corner, on most of the floating shelves, and in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows.
“That devil’s ivy is impressive,” Bard noted and pointed towards the plant that grew from one of the highest shelves and almost reached the ground in a cascade of speckled leaves.
“It is the ‘Marble Queen’ variant if I remember correctly,” Thranduil explained, “I will pass your praise on. Legolas is the one responsible for the plants and he is very passionate about it.”
“I can tell,” Bard laughed, “It’s an amazing collection.”
“Would you like to see the rest of the apartment?” Thranduil asked as he spun him around and placed a quick kiss on the tip of his nose.
“I don’t know,” Bard admitted, “I’m still kind of overwhelmed by only this room.”
“This is the most impressive room, though,” Thranduil grinned, “The rest of them might in fact be underwhelming now.”
“Okay,” Bard laughed, “Go on then.”
Next up was the kitchen which was still very nice but - as Thranduil had predicted - didn’t compare to the living room. Still, there was one detail that caught Bard’s eye:
“Is that my apple juice on the counter?”
“Of course it is - we would never cheat on your juice,” Thranduil replied as if even the question had been preposterous, “I always tell the kids to put it back in the fridge so it won’t go bad but Tauriel insists it tastes even better at room temperature. Not that it would go bad here anyway - it is more likely we need to reorder early.”
“It’s great to have such loyal customers,” Bard grinned.
“Would you like some?” Thranduil asked with a nod towards the bottle. “I have already sinned against my good manners by not offering you a drink earlier.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Bard waved him off, “But I’ll have a glass now.”
Thranduil grimaced when grabbing the bottle. The glass was sticky with juice residue and clung to his hands. “I will have to remind Legolas to clean whenever he spills something…”
With their glasses of apple juice, they wandered through the rest of the apartment. Thranduil refused to show Bard Legolas and Tauriel’s rooms after he had snuck a peek, deeming them way too untidy for visitors, but everything else was really nice and more comfortable than Bard had feared from the unwelcoming exterior of the building.
“This is where we would sleep.” Thranduil’s bedroom was up last and contained an at least king-size canopy bed. “Only if you want to of course,” Thranduil backpedalled when Bard didn’t immediately reply, “Otherwise I would settle for the sofa - it is a pull-out - and you would have the bed all for yourself.” Bard opened his mouth to object but Thranduil kept talking. “Or if you were uncomfortable with sleeping in my bed, you could also have the sofa - it is very well cushioned but of course, it is not comparable to a box-spring bed…”
“Thranduil,” Brad interrupted him with a smile and a hand on his arm. “We have slept in the same bed before,” he reminded him, “And I would very much prefer doing that again instead of sleeping alone.”
Thranduil breathed a sigh of relief. “Good. Then it is settled. The sheets are fresh, too.”
Bard sent his overthinker-boyfriend another smile while he walked across the room to look out of the window. He could see the little café they had visited once far below.
“What floor are we on again?” he asked.
“This apartment is floor eleven.”
Something about the way Thranduil had phrased that made Bard prick up his ears.
“Is… the whole floor yours?” he asked with furrowed brows, almost certain he had gotten it wrong.
“This floor and the rooftop actually.”
“The rooftop,” Bard repeated tonelessly.
“Yes.” Thranduil almost sounded impatient. “There is a pool and a terrace.”
“ Twll dy din ,” Bard incredulously defaulted back to Welsh, “Are you kidding me?”
“No.” Now it was Thranduil’s turn to frown. “Why?”
“Thranduil, you will excuse me for having to burst your bubble but that is not exactly the most common apartment situation.”
“I am aware.” Thranduil raised an eyebrow. “But I am not exactly common.”
“That is true,” Bard said slowly after a moment of stunned silence. He grinned at Thranduil. “I really shouldn’t have been surprised.”
Thranduil made a gesture that said ‘my point exactly’ and then pointed upwards. “Would you like to see it?”
“Hell yeah, I’d like to see it!” Bard exclaimed excitedly.
The staircase to the roof was hidden behind what Bard had assumed was the door of a tall cupboard in the living room. There was another door on the other side that swung open with only the slightest creak but Thranduil still grimaced. Then the roof spread out before them. Wood-panelled floors next to a nicely kept lawn, a now empty bar that promised cocktail parties in the summer and small palms, swaying in the wind. The roof edge was beyond a tall fence - either to block out the sight of the city beneath this paradise or as a safety measure in case the previously mentioned cocktail parties got out of control. Maybe both.
“This looks great but where’s the pool?” Bard asked confusedly.
“Ah.” Thranduil grinned and lifted a knowing finger that then pressed a button next to the door to the apartment. There was a clicking sound and then, under Bard’s astonished glance, the wood-panelled terrace moved up and to the side and then settled on the lawn next to the pool it had just uncovered.
Bard turned to Thranduil with big round eyes. “Most people have a tarp cover.”
“I have chosen the more useful option,” Thranduil said lightly.
“I can’t believe you have a movable terrace to cover your rooftop pool.” Bard shook his head. “That is so posh.”
He saw the uncertainty in Thranduil’s eyes, as if he was not sure whether to take this as an insult, so Bard quickly added: “I love it!”
And there was his boyfriend’s dazzling smile again. “Would you like to go for a swim?”
“It’s November,” Bard stated with raised eyebrows.
“The pool is heated,” Thranduil retorted.
“Of fucking course it is,” Bard muttered under his breath.
“So?”
“I didn’t bring any swimwear,” Bard pointed out.
“So?” Thranduil repeated, this time with a suggestive grin. Bard could hardly believe that this was the same man who had not even an hour ago been nervous about the both of them sleeping in the same bed.
“Are you sure your children won’t come back early?” Bard would climb the fence and jump off the roof if Legolas and Tauriel found him in such a situation with their dad.
“They are staying overnight at their grandma’s,” Thranduil explained, “We have the whole place to ourselves.”
“Well, that shouldn’t go to waste, should it?”
“I agree.” Thranduil’s voice had gradually gotten deeper and Bard felt goosebumps rising on his arms that had nothing to do with the cold.
He took off his cap first and laid it on the counter of the bar, stopping short when he saw the front of it. He must have missed it when putting it on in the morning due to the bad light conditions, but now he saw it: Ryder, Chase, Marshall, Skye, Rocky, Rumble and Zuma. The whole squad assembled on his cap. Tilda must have had her fun with the sticker set again.
He slowly turned to Thranduil who had watched him expectantly. “Why didn’t you tell me I walked around like a fucking Paw Patrol promotional sign?”
“Oh, that was not on purpose?” Thranduil feigned innocence but at the same time wore a shit-eating grin. “I thought that was high fashion in Wales.”
“You…” Bard crept up to Thranduil and thrust a threatening finger into his chest. “...are a menace!”
“Now, now,” Thranduil chuckled, “Is that the way to treat your host?”
“Is that the way to treat your guest?” Bard gesticulated towards the discarded cap.
“Quite obviously it is.”
That was it. Bard narrowed his eyes. “Well, then I can’t guarantee for anything.”
He forced Thranduil back with slow steps towards the pool. About two metres before its edge Thranduil seemed to get nervous.
“Bard, you certainly don’t plan to throw me in with my clothes still on.”
Another step.
“This is a cashmere sweater; it wouldn’t survive.”
Another step.
“I will scrape the stickers off the cap for you!”
That did not persuade Bard either. Thranduil now tried leaning against him in an attempt to stop his slow walk towards the pool, but Bard started tickling his sides mercilessly.
“Please, no, Bard,” Thranduil pleaded laughingly between gasps for air, “At least let me take off my shoes first.”
That, Bard allowed. He knew how hard it was for Thranduil to find decent shoes in his size, even when getting designer opinions. He used the time to kick off his own shoes but as he came back up he saw that Thranduil had changed their positions and that now he was the one in dangerously close proximity to the pool.
“How dare you,” he managed to get out before Thranduil made a last step forward and pushed him into the water with a complacent grin.
As he fell in, Bard realised as a side note that it was saltwater. Of course Thranduil would not consider himself satisfied with the simple chlorine solution. He resurfaced spluttering, his flannel and jacket billowing around him and stared at Thranduil reproachfully.
“That is what you get for messing with me,” his boyfriend said cockily.
“Oh, but you started it,” Bard hissed with a dark grin and quickly pushed himself up on the pool edge, thankful he never skipped his training. He jumped onto the wooden panels and stood dripping before a worried-looking Thranduil. “Your turn.”
He hugged the other man tightly and tipped them both to the side so they crashed into the water together.
“I can’t believe you did that,” Thranduil complained as they resurfaced. Streaks of his hair were plastered to his face and he did his best to remove them.
“You’re one to talk,” countered Bard who was very glad he had tied his hair up that morning.
“Careful or I will dunk you,” Thranduil said, anxious to seem unfazed while he still struggled with his hair.
“Not if I dunk you first!” Bard jumped forward and made a grab for Thranduil's shoulders but the other man quickly reacted. He clasped Bard’s wrists and wrestled them down before using his now superior position to press Bard against the pool wall, immobilising him.
“Well played,” Bard grinned. Thranduil leaned forward to kiss him, careful not to loosen his grip on Bard’s wrists in the process. But when Bard melted against him and passionately kissed back, he assumed that the danger had passed and it was safe to release his prisoner. Bard used his freed arms to wrap himself around Thranduil, completely relying on him to hold him above water, and kissed him like his life depended on it. It had really been too long.
“Shouldn’t you try to save your cashmere?” he mumbled against Thranduil’s lips and already pulled at his sweater, tucked into the formally well-pressed dress pants. Thranduil didn’t reply but started unbuttoning Bard’s flannel in turn. Their endeavour was not exactly benefitted by the fact that their clothes were soaked in water and therefore heavy and sticking to their bodies.
“Oh, this is stupid,” Bard growled after two failed attempts at taking Thranduil’s sweater off, “You do it!”
They parted long enough to take their respective tops off and then immediately slotted back together. Bard hissed softly when he felt Thranduil’s skin against his. Their kisses became headier and there was definite friction when they ground their hips together.
Thranduil’s hand wandered from Bard’s shoulder ever lower until it reached the bulge in his jeans. Unfortunately, the fabric was so thick it barely made a difference. Bard started fumbling with his belt whose unbuckling was already complicated by the water and didn’t exactly get easier with him having to kick his legs so he wouldn’t drown either.
When he had finally done it and propped himself up on the pool edge, utterly exhausted, Thranduil took on the Sisyphean task of opening buttons and pulling the jeans down. It was useless - the drenched denim clung to Bard’s legs better than any leggings could.
Thranduil finally gave up and leaned against the pool edge next to Bard.
“I will admit that the pool was not my best idea,” he murmured.
Bard’s disappointment at the unsatisfying situation suddenly dissolved into giggles. Thranduil threw him a sulky look. “In the movies this would have worked just fine,” he argued but when Bard raised an eyebrow at that he had to laugh himself.
“God, we’re like teenagers,” Bard huffed.
“I wish I still had a teenager’s constitution,” Thranduil commented, “As soon as we get out of this pool we will freeze to icicles and develop a proper cold.”
“We should have thought this through before jumping in, huh?” Bard smiles wryly.
“With such a distractingly attractive man in front of me thinking is not my strong suit,” Thranduil replied. Bard grinned and nudged Thranduil’s shoulder with his head.
“So what now?”
“I would suggest quickly getting out of the pool and then sprinting towards the door and back into the apartment where there prevails a reasonable temperature, however not so hastily that one slips on the wet wooden floor and with our luck breaks a leg.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
“We can return later to collect our discarded clothing,” Thranduil added with a nod towards Bard’s flannel floating pitifully on the other side of the pool.
“Alright.” Bard took a deep breath. “Let’s go!”
He propped himself up, jumped out and the cold hit him like a wall. It wasn’t like earlier when he had only gotten out to throw Thranduil in - then he must have been protected by the heat of the moment - now he immediately started shivering and the wind blowing through his wet jeans turned what had been left of his erection into nothing. He was vaguely aware of Thranduil behind him, blurting out very much unfancy curses as he left the water, but didn’t wait or even look behind - his only focus was on reaching the warm apartment. Still, he had one ear trained on the slapping sounds of Thranduil’s bare feet, ready to swoop in should he slip and fall.
Luckily they both made it to the door in one piece and proceeded to carefully waddle down the stairs. Thranduil overtook him at the door to the living room and led the way to the bath where he greeted Bard with fluffy towels.
“Oh, this is much better,” he sighed as he snuggled into the towel.
“You can shower first, “Thranduil offered, “I will just dry off real quick and then leave you to it.”
Bard considers a suggestive grin and the proposal of a joint shower but after their last failed attempt at ‘watersports’ it would probably be better to let it go. “Thank you.”
After the shower, Bard thankfully put on the clothes Thranduil had laid out for him - loose tracks he had to roll up once, plush socks with a star pattern he would have never guessed Thranduil possessed, and a nice dark blue waffle structure sweater.
He found his host in the kitchen, hands wrapped tightly around a cup and face close to its steaming contents. Bard had been quick in the shower so as not to let Thranduil wait but he still looked miserably cold. His shoulders were pulled up to almost reach his chin and his nose looked pink in the steam of his beverage.
Bard wrapped his arms around him from behind. “Your turn, frostbite,” he said affectionately.
“Thank you,” Thranduil said with a smile and leaned back against Bard’s warm chest, “I have already made tea.”
Bard hummed contentedly. At home, he usually only drinks PG Tips (there’s a 100-bag box in his kitchen that has caught more than one of Thranduil’s disdainful looks), but Thranduil gets his teas from Twinings or Whittard and they’re always exquisite. “Which one?”
“Yunnan Gold Tip, “Thranduil replied, “A black tea from West China.”
“Interesting.”
“I have already poured you a cup.” Thranduil nodded towards the second steaming cup on the counter. Bard kissed his shoulder where the towel had slid down before moving over to the tea and carefully taking a sip.
It was still very hot but drinkable. Having acquired some tea vocabulary from Thranduil, he would describe it as nutty and malty but not overpowering. “It’s really good!”
“I agree. It is the perfect tea for the cold months.”
“You know what’s also perfect for the cold months?”
“Enlighten me.”
“A nice hot shower.”
“I believe that is a hint.”
“Very much so. You look like you’re about to freeze on.” Bard narrowed his eyes at Thranduil’s bare feet on the stone tiles.
“I will not freeze on,” Thranduil grinned reluctantly.
“Damn right, you won’t,” Bard nodded vigorously, “Not on my watch. So off to the shower now, mister!” He took the cup from a baffled Thranduil and proceeded to push him towards the bathroom.
“I am not a child,” Thranduil complained but there was amusement in his voice.
“That’s why I said mister,” Bard deadpanned. With one last nudge, he manoeuvred Thranduil over the bathroom doorstep.
While his boyfriend showered, Bard sat on the sofa and enjoyed his tea. He used the time to send photos of Thranduil’s living room to the family group chat. He was certain that Sigrid would freak out when she saw all of the plants and sure enough: Only a minute later he was being bombarded with heart-eye-emojis. Bain was a bit more subtle: Looks awesome!
Just had a dip in the heated rooftop pool , Bard texted back. He was in the mood to brag.
Don’t get hypothermia , was Sigrid’s dry reply, while Bard added: And say hi to Thranduil from us .
Bard smiled to himself and put the phone away. He was glad that his kids had taken the news of him and Thranduil so well. He knew it wasn’t something to take for granted. What had worried him most had not been the fact that Thranduil was a man - both Sigrid and Bain had been raised to be open and broadminded and for Tilda it didn’t even make a difference - but that the kids would think he was trying to replace their mother.
They had not talked about it much but he knew that Thranduil had had the same thoughts about his children. Luckily all of them had been happy for them - and had most likely already suspected it anyway.
Thranduil came out of the bathroom with a perfectly wrapped hair turban and wearing a silky robe with some plush slippers. Bard had to bite back laughter.
“Don’t you think that’s a bit chilly?” he asked carefully.
Thranduil got the teapot from the kitchen before he deigned Bard an answer: “I was hoping a thin layer might suffice since I would have something else to keep me warm.” He raised an eyebrow at Bard while setting the teapot down on the coffee table. “Or rather someone. I believe I was promised cuddling?”
“Anytime,” Bard smiled and pulled Thranduil down onto the sofa with him. The seating surface was broad enough that they could spoon and Bard snuggled into Tharnduil’s neck, revelling in the way his boyfriend squirmed against him when his breath hit the sensitive spot behind his ear.
“Warm enough?” he hummed.
“Almost,” Thranduil replied gracefully and sat back up which Bard countered with an unwilling grumble. But Thranduil only grabbed the soft blanket from underneath the coffee table and laid back down, only to immediately be recaptured in Bard’s embrace.
With his arms pressed tightly to his body it was a bit of a struggle but Thranduil managed to operate the remote and turned on the TV. “Where have we left off?” he asked.
“I think we just finished season one, so maybe ‘Misadventure’?” Bard guessed. They had started watching ‘The Crown’ together since it turned out they had both always wanted to see it but never found the time or rather allowed themselves to spend time on a TV show purely for the sake of entertainment. But now that spending time together was an important appointment in their calendars they decided they might as well use it for something as benign as television.
They binged at least three episodes in various cuddling positions before Bard felt he was starting to get unconcentrated. He lifted his head from Thranduil’s chest and asked: “Are you hungry?”
“Are you ?” asked an amused Thranduil who of course immediately saw through him.
“I could eat, “ Bard admitted, “I haven’t had much of a breakfast, to be honest, and it’s already afternoon now.”
“Would you like to go out?”
Bard grimaced before he could stop himself. He didn’t want Thranduil to think he didn’t want to go to some chic restaurant with him. Usually, he quite enjoyed it. But today he wouldn’t mind being stuck on the sofa a bit longer.
Luckily Thranduil seemed to understand his conflict and - even luckier - felt the same way. “Or we could order something and eat on the sofa,” he suggested, “I must however insist on this being an exception and that you cannot tell Legolas and Tauriel about it.”
Bard laughed before miming locking his mouth. “My lips are sealed.”
There were a lot more delivery options here than in Builth Wells which really didn’t surprise Bard but overwhelmed him a little. To his relief, Thranduil had very clear opinions about close to all of the restaurants which narrowed the selection down noticeably. In the end, they chose a small Indian place that, according to Thranduil, had the ambience of a cardboard box (which was why he only ordered there and never ate in) but met all the hygiene standards and had the best Chana Masala he had ever tasted. Since Bard wasn’t the biggest fan of chickpeas he got Palak Paneer instead but that was excellent, too.
After having watched another episode of ‘The Crown’ during dinner they decided that they had seen enough royalty for the day. What Bard considered immensely important in a relationship and so was glad to have found in his with Thranduil was the ability to do different things but together. For example, now Bard got out the crossword that he usually did with Sigrid before going to bed while Thranduil grabbed his battered copy of ‘The Adventures of Tom Sawyer’ from the coffee table which he had confided in Bard was his comfort book.
So Bard could pursue his crossword and Thranduil could read but they still acknowledged and savoured the other’s presence. Bard’s legs would be in Thranduil’s lap being absent-mindedly massaged. Thranduil’s head would lie on Bard’s shoulder where his hair got stroked. And of course, any time either of them got up to get new tea or go to the toilet they pressed a kiss onto the other one’s nose, forehead, lips.
It was a flawless evening.
When Bard’s third yawn in one minute could have out-hippoed a hippo, Thranduil closed his book with a snap. “Time for bed,” he stated.
“I’m not even that tired,” lied a stubborn Bard before whose eyes the crossword had gone blurry with sleep.
“Come on,” Thranduil said gently, took the puzzle book from Bard and placed it on the coffee table, “You can go into the bathroom first while I clean up here.”
Bard had already opened his mouth to object but Thranduil held up his hand. “No objections. I am the host - I will clean up.”
Bard obeyed reluctantly although he was secretly glad. He was so tired he could barely lift his feet.
After brushing his teeth he undressed up to his boxers and slipped under the covers. Thranduil’s bed was unbelievably cosy and the sheets so soft that Bard almost fell asleep right then and there but he was determined to at least wait until Thranduil had joined him.
When his boyfriend finally entered the bedroom Bard was half-certain he had already been asleep. He lifted his heavy eyelids enough to look at Thranduil and breathed an exhausted: “Hey.”
Thrandui’s low chuckle at this still made his skin tingle. “You did not have to wait for me, Bard.”
“Yes, I did,” Bard insisted and even propped himself up on his elbows for a more defiant look, “I get to see you so seldomly I need to make the most of the times I do.”
Thranduil’s grin softened and he lay down next to Bard, squeezing him into a hug. “You are right of course. And I am so glad to be with you.”
Bard was already half-asleep again but he smiled at Thranduil’s words and leaned into the embrace.
They woke up like this the next morning, arms still wrapped around each other, legs entangled and Bard’s head on Thranduil’s chest with a string of saliva from his mouth connecting the two.
“Good morning, love,” Thranduil purred when he saw Bard’s eyes fluttering open. He had been awake for a while but had not dared to move in case it would wake Bard. It was not a problem, however; he had been content with watching the other man sleep.
Now Bar lifted his head with a grimace that could either be caused by him noticing the now snapping string of saliva or the fact that his neck hurt like hell from having been stuck in this position all night
“Good morning,” he murmured, “Sorry to drivel on you.”
Thranduil’s lips curled into a grin. “Are you hungry?”
“I could eat,” Bard replied with a yawn and stretched himself in the hope that it would lessen the pain in his neck. It did not.
“Wonderful.” Thranduil clapped his hands excitedly. “I have bought everything for pancakes.”
“Ooh, you’re gonna cook for me?” Bard had never seen or even heard of Thranduil cooking before. He assumed that at a certain level of wealth, one just didn’t deem it necessary to learn the skills of the lower class.
“Actually…” Thranduil began tentatively and shot Bard a sheepish smile, “I was hoping you would cook for me .”
Ah yes, there it was.
“ Can you even cook?”
“Of course I can ,” Thranduil objected indignantly, “I just… choose not to. Most days.”
“Now I see why you invited me here,” Bard grinned.
“You know very well that was not the reason,” Thranduil said earnestly before adding mischievously: “But I will not pass up the golden opportunity of the best personal chef making breakfast.”
“Personal chef, huh?” Bard laughs. “You know, I would refuse, but… Flattery gets you everywhere with me, darling.” He rubbed his neck again. “I just wish my old bones weren’t such a literal pain.”
“I could offer you some post-breakfast massaging in return for your cooking services?” Thranduil suggested with a wink.
“Well, in that case…” Bard swung his legs over the edge of the bed and jumped up, “Let’s cook!”
In the kitchen, Thranduil got out all the ingredients while Bard familiarised himself with the appliances.
“When you think about it, this is teamwork, really,” Thranduil pointed out. Bard turned to him with hands on his hips and an incredulously raised eyebrow. “How. How is it teamwork.”
“I did the shopping and you cook,” Thranduil insisted, “Teamwork.”
Bard pursed his lips and shook his head, amused. “If I were you I’d let it rest.”
He mixed the batter going by his nan’s old recipe that was always stored in the back of his head for moments like this or Tilda’s sudden cravings and let the pancakes turn golden brown in the pan. For someone who so rarely cooked, Thranduil had very nice equipment, although, now that Bard thought of it, the reason for that probably was them rarely getting used.
When they each had a stack of three pancakes on their plates, Bard topped them off with some Bacon he had cooked in the oven and Thranduil got maple syrup. He started pouring it over his pancakes and Bard used the moment to reach up and kiss him on the nose.
Unfortunately, Thranduil was so surprised by this sudden outburst of affection that he flinched and thereby distributed maple syrup all over the counter.
“Oops,” Bard laughed. He dipped a finger into the pool of syrup next to his plate and touched the hand of an exasperated-looking Thranduil. “You’re stuck with me.”
His boyfriend couldn’t help himself and burst out laughing, but not without rolling his eyes at the cheesy line. “God, you’re stupid.”
“And yet you are the one who spilt syrup,” Bard argued with an innocent shrug.
“True,” Thranduil sighed and looked at the mess, “I will clean it up later. I don’t want to miss a moment with you still here.”
Bard kissed him fully this time, but only after making sure that the syrup bottle was safe and screwed down.
“I still have an hour and a half before I need to get to the station,” he said and carried the plates to the table while Thranduil got the tea he had prepared.
“Then a relaxed breakfast and a nice massage afterwards will get you into the perfect mindset for whatever stress the train ride might throw at you,” Thranduil grinned.
“Good.” Bard had a first bite of pancake that melted in his mouth. His nan had been the Queen of Pancakes. “I still wish I could delay our parting, though.”
“So do I,” Thranduil sighed, “But as they say: Anticipation is half the pleasure.”
“What’s half the pleasure compared to the ecstasy I feel when I’m with you?” Bard whined.
“It’s not a farewell forever,” Thranduil said soothingly, “Remember…” After noticeable hesitation and crinkling his nose uneasily, he dipped his finger into the syrup that had poured down his pancakes. He reached across the table and touched the syrup-coated finger to a grinning Bard’s arm. “You’re stuck with me.”