Of Over-the-Counter-Therapy and other pastries

By NaTak

Chapter 2: Bard's tired evening deliberations

This was madness.

There were at least two dozens of people at Dale Coffee Shop – although it seemed much more. All tables were occupied, most of the balcony was in use as well, and there was a constant five-people-line in front of the cashier. Bard had already spilled six different kinds of beverages in his apron – and thank God for that apron –, burnt both his hands while heating up the milk and dropped an entire batch of bagels on the floor – and hadn't that been frustrating?

In short, Bard was well out of his depth.

That was the moment the saw a flash of smooth blond hair slipping through the door. His breath caught momentarily, as he remembered his first encounter with the Oropherion a few days before.

If Bard was being honest, he'd have to say he had half-expected to see Thranduil again the following morning of their meeting, seeing as he had received some pretty positive signals during their strange, but pleasant, conversation.

After four days without any sign of the businessman, he wrote the whole thing off as simply wishful thinking on his part, because, really, a gorgeous, successful and smart-ass man like Thranduil did not got interested in regular, boring guys like Bard.

But now, here he was again.

Soon enough, it was his turn to order.

He was wearing a similar set of clothes as the time before: tight fitting but elegant pants, a caramel coat over a dark turtleneck and soft leather gloves. "Good evening," he said, with that ever-present smirk.

Bard liked to think the smirk he shot in return rivaled the businessman's. "Good evening," he replied. "What will you have?"

"Surprise me," Thranduil said with that silky, sexy voice.

"Sure," the other man said easily. "So," he grabbed the marker and a cup, "name?"

The blond raised an unimpressed eyebrow and said nothing.

"Oh yeah, I think I remember."

"You'd better." Thranduil's smirk widened.

After he had been given his 'order', he managed to acquire a table that had just vacated. He took out a slim laptop, and that was the last Bard got to see of him for a long, long while.

About an hour later, the agitation had dimed down, few customers remained and soon it would be time for closing up. Bard left the counter, rubbing his hands in a fresh towel. He quickly got to the door and turned the sign to 'closed'. A handful of minutes earlier wouldn't make much difference, he reasoned. Then he strolled towards Thranduil, who seemed absorbed in whatever it was he was doing in his computer.

If Bard slowed his steps just to have a few more moments to ogle unabashedly at the blond, well, who could blame him? Thranduil was an immaculate piece of art, pretty similar to a marble statue, just slightly more hot, perhaps.

The golden locks running around the man's shoulders and back gave him an ethereal air, the pale skin harmonizing quite well.

His features were sharp, and yet delicate on their own manner. The intense blue eyes just accenting the already impressive semblance.

"Was everything up to your expectations?" He asked, as he sat down across the other man, thinking about the vanilla frappuccino and cinnamon roll.

Thranduil slowly closed his laptop and looked up at him.

"Thoroughly," he murmured.

Bard heard the door opening, and turned around to see the last of his clients leaving. Now it was just the two of them.

"Today was tiresome," he commented. "I didn't remember it being so demanding."

Thranduil snorted. "You should hire someone. It's too much work for one person alone," he stated assertively.

"Yeah, I know," Bard admitted ruefully. "I used to–" He cut himself, looking away. "My kids will be on vacation soon, so at least I can count on their help in the near future… But you're right. I can't manage on my own."

Thranduil inclined his head.

"So you have children?" He enquired, curiously.

"Three of them," Bard answered with a smile. "Two girls and a boy. Sigrid is 16, Bain is 12 and Tilda will be eight in a few days." He then searched for his cellphone in his pockets and found it on the third try. He turned it on and handed it over. His background picture was one of his three kids during last Christmas.

Thranduil gazed at the screen fondly. "They are lovely," he commented, returning the phone. "You must be proud."

"I certainly am," Bard agreed readily. "And what about you? Got any children?"

Thranduil's eyes clouded with heavy feeling, before clearing out.

"I do," he said faintly at last. "A boy." He chuckled bitterly. "Well, he's a man now. Has been for a while."

"In our eyes, our children will always be our children," Bard said understandingly, and tentatively reached out with his hand, touching Thranduil's briefly.

He smiled softly. "You are quite right."

"So," Bard started with a barely concealed smirk, "how were business with Thorin?"

Thranduil's expression morphed into one of extreme contempt and disdain.

"As troublesome as always," he snorted. "He seems to take pleasure in arguing just for the sake of arguing."

"Something you can bond over, hopefully," Bard commented innocently.

Thranduil glared at him, but it was not with usual intensity. Soon the silence fell over them, and as Thranduil took a long look through the window, Bard took a good look at him.

The blond, though as breath-taking as always, presented slight dark circles guarding his eyes that – Bard noticed with sudden concern – appeared to be clouded with more than occupational hazard-related nuisances.

"Are you alright?" He asked.

"What?" The blond turned his head quickly away from the window. "What do you mean? I'm perfectly fine," he said shortly and impatiently, staring directly into Bard's eyes.

Bard did not back down.

"You seem tired," he offered.

And with that, Thranduil appeared to deflate. He signed, slumped his shoulders and lowered his gaze. His covered hands started fiddling with a lock of gold smooth hair. That was the less elegant and proper Bard had ever seen him.

"Yes," he admitted quietly, still not meeting Bard's eyes. "You are right, I'm tired."

And for a couple of minutes nothing else was added.

"The truth is," Thranduil finally said, as if concluding a battle with himself. "The business I had with Oakenshield regarded something personal. Something I have some difficult dealing with…" He trailed off, at last raising his eyes to meet Bard's, as if willingly him to understand.

Bard nodded slowly, and an idea struck him.

"Maybe–," he started tentatively, watchful for the other man's reactions. "Maybe we are going through similar things." He paused, and averted his gaze. "Reopening the shop was something tough for me… Because it was not just about reforming the space, buying new machinery and unburying old recipes. It was also about coming to terms with painful things that happened on the past, and moving forwards."

Thranduil seemed at a loss of words, but soon he recovered and frowned, pensively.

"Perhaps," he conceded. "And yet," he added ruefully, "you seem to be faring so much better than me."

Bard shook his head. "I don't know about that," he said. "The only reason I'm here at all is because I have my children, who support me and inspire me and never let me give up." He bit his lip, before smiling lightly. "They are the reason you even got to taste my family's amazing baking."

That startled a smile out of Thranduil, before he turned somber again.

"The way your family seems close…" He said in almost a whisper. "Makes me wish I had–!" He aborted, regret and then resignation quickly marking his face. "But I suppose there is no use in wishing."

"Once again I disagree," Bard said, confidently, surprising the other. "You can't change what has been done, but you can wish to do things differently from now on. The next step is taking action."

Thranduil considered that for a long time. In the end, he smiled, then chuckled.

"I had heard about attendants performing over-the-counter free therapy in bars and such before," he said teasingly, with much of his usual mirth restored, "but never thought that happened in coffee shops as well."

Bard snorted, silently relieved he had managed to attenuate Thranduil's dark mood.

"'Free'?" He replied, mockingly scandalized. "I'll have you know I charge by the hour."

Thranduil laughed freely at that, and Bard thought at that moment he could not think about a prettier sound.

The blond signed, looking wonderingly across the table.

"If only negotiations with Oakenshield had been quicker," he muttered, a hint of annoyance transmitting in his voice.

"Just admit to yourself already you like arguing with him as much as he enjoys arguing with you," Bard said, provocatively.

"The point is, they took too long," Thranduil continued, glaring at the brunet's interruption. "Otherwise I would have stopped by sooner," he nonchalantly added.

Something warm spread within Bard's chest. And suddenly, the conversation's mood changed yet again.

"Oh?" He murmured, resting an elbow on the table and his chin on his hand.

Thranduil hummed, mirroring Bard's position – only with ten times more grace.

"I find myself…drawn to you," the blond confessed, after a few moments of silence.

Bard swallowed in hard.

"And I–" He paused, voice dry. "I haven't thought about anyone in such a way in a long time." And before he lost his nerve, Bard pushed forward and brushed his lips softly, oh, so softly, against Thranduil's.

Their first kiss tasted of cinnamon and vanilla. And it was gentle, and tentative, and warm, and hopeful.

Afterwards, they gazed into each other's eyes, and for a moment, Bard could see the fear, the expectation, the longing and the loss that he felt mirrored in deep blue eyes, before the shields which guarded them came to life once again.

It took his breath away.

Their second kiss tasted of desire and lust. And it was vicious, and bold, and hot and intense. It left them awkwardly grabbing for each other through the table, panting.

"I'm staying at the hotel just down the street," Thranduil murmured, face inches apart from Bard's.

Bard's eyes widened. "I don't–" He sputtered, suddenly incredibly nervous.

"We don't have to–" Thranduil started, but was interrupted.

"No, I want to," Bard said, looking down. "It's just… I haven't been with anyone else since–" He cut himself.

They were quiet for a while, before Thranduil stood up soundlessly. He walked over to Bard's side. In front of the startled man, he calmly removed his elegant overcoat, then his gloves and finally he pushed up the sleeves of his turtleneck sweater.

Horrible burn scars covered his skin and distorted his flesh. They extended all the way from his fingers to his elbows, and disappeared under the clothing.

"Me neither," Thranduil said softly. "Not since the fire–", emotion chocked his words, leaving the phrase unfinished. Bard needed nothing else to understand what he was implying, for he knew all to well that same despairingly, consuming pain.

Overwhelmed by the meaning of such an act of confidence and by the desire to wrap the other man in his arms and never let go, Bard, speechless, simply gave a firm nod.

Thranduil extended one marred hand. Bard secured it in both of his, never breaking eye contact.

Together, they left the coffee shop.

o.O.o

One year later, Dale was known for their greatly praised croissants.

The Oropherion's summerhouse was restored to its former beauty.

And Bard had developed quite the taste for fancy wines.

While Thranduil had become an almost expected sight in the town's most famous coffee shop.