A/N: I only found the Tintin fanfiction category just recently, and I've been on a bit of a sugar high from baking lately, so I thought I'd whip up my first Tintin fanfiction. I'll admit I've been exposed to the pairing of Tintin/Haddock, and though I feel deeply for those who've spent their childhood with Tintin and could never think of him and the Captain as anything other than good friends, I've always been a fan of slash and I love this pairing, so I'm hopefully adding something to it with this.

It's a baking story, possibly set in modern times to help ease myself into writing anything Tintin-related, but really I think the time period can be as vague as you want as long as you know as much as I do about when our modern-day electric whisks or sleek ovens were invented.

It's gonna be switching POV's, but will start with our lovely Tintin.

Chapter One

"Tintin, TINTIN!"

The young man in question, myself in a fresh shirt and jacket, looked up from the book in my hands, the yellowing pages and torn cover indicating its' age.

I smiled at my friend, who came into the room panting as one hand clasped the door frame, "Hello, Captain. Nice run?"

"Don't you take the mick of me now, lad, n'come look what I've found." Captain Archibald Haddock stood and caught his breath, holding up a piece of lined paper that looked as though it were from an A5 notebook and had been taped back together many times.

A hastily scribbled title stood out, obviously written down in ballpoint pen and underlined: Devil's food cake.

"Chocolate cake? A bit frivolous even for you, surely?"

"No, lad, this is a recipe for chocolate cake! And a mighty fine one if its past reception is anything to go by."

I added a new bookmark into the book's open page, and replaced it [now closed] on the arm of the chair I was engulfed in. I just about managed to escape its' leathery clutches before Haddock drew me in the direction of the massive hall's kitchen, "You can't even cook, nary bake! How do you expect to make a cake with no prior experience?"

Captain Haddock stopped, shocking me, and I slammed into the man's back in shock before he rounded on me menacingly – or it would be menacing, if not for the mischievous look in his eyes.

"You, m'boy. You must have something about baking in that great noggin of yours? C'mon, we'll make an adventure of it!"

I allowed myself to be dragged to and fro through the great myriad corridors that lined the inner-sactum of what we called home, wondering when and how the captain had gained such energy, but I suppose it could accompany his usual childlike innocence.

Being of Belgian descent, of course I had grown up around things like baking, and not to say I hadn't picked up a few tricks – no, I had been amongst the best back home, before the allure of journalism ensnared me within its inky grasp. I never looked back, nay, even think about getting back into the old game.

I sighed as we entered the kitchen; quite modest for a place as big as Marlinspike, but we both thought it felt more homely that way. I walked my way around, rummaging through the cupboards I knew so well in search of the necessary ingredients.

"You've done this sort of thing before, eh?" Haddock stood by on the sidelines, looking like a lost puppy as I took control. I didn't answer him, instead focusing solely on the task placed before us.

He dropped the piece of paper on the counter, and I picked it up just as nonchalantly.

We ran through everything, I myself handling all four eggs; I can't possibly allow him to handle anything this fragile, I told myself.

I felt a hand snaking round my side, followed by a hairy arm, and gasped.

"Sorry, lad… need to grab the sugar."

Wonder what else you need to grab, I thought as my heart rate returned to normal.

It wasn't unusual for me to have feelings for my closest friend, especially after all we'd been through. I smiled at him, craning my neck to face him as best I could and pretending like nothing had happened, "Perfectly alright, Captain."

Dammit. No, really, dammit. That boy is just too damn sexy.

Sailors and all other manner of men, young and old, throughout the years have called me 'Captain' and I've thought nothing of it. Just a title… until Tintin started calling me by it.

I'd felt him tense up in front of me as I reached over his back with one arm, and I made some naff excuse about sugar. Well, the icing needed to be made.

Tintin smelled of sugar; not to mention a special kind of printing paper that drew me in the same way some people got about the smell of burnt toast.

I looked down at my erection. Damn. Maybe not in exactly the same way.

"Are you alright?"

Dammit, I must have been looking vacantly into space, because I still hadn't let go of the sugar. I placed the bowl on the countertop and leant against the same surface, nodding, "I'm a'right, lad. Just not as young as I once was…"

The boy laughed, and it was like twinkling bells invading my eardrums, "You're getting all hot and bothered over a little baking?" he smirked and returned to his own work, noting that the oven had dinged some time during our conversation.

I didn't know whether to kiss him or punch him at that last statement, but at the time I knew I could only settle for neither. I mixed the contents of my now sugary bowl of icing mixture, concentrating on the job I'd been given, just barely. I heard Tintin tut at my side, and he handed me an old dual-ended electric whisk he'd salvaged from one of the the many dusty drawers in the room.

I stared at it, daring it to jump out at me, anything to lull my increasing arousal. I eventually got back to work with it, blocking out any thought of the man next to me;ot even a young man anymore, and I suppose I'd had no right to think of him as one in the first place.

The bottom half of the cake had entered the oven half an hour ago, and now while it was my job to ice it, Tintin placed the top half carefully in the oven. He didn't think I was was watching, I knew, but I saw every wiggle of his hips as he knelt down to the door's level.

Heat was still emanating from the contraption, causing him to sweat. Delicious beads of perspiration appeared on every spot of visible skin, and I had to fight my own senses to regain some kind of control.

Stop it! The boy is off-limits! I thought angrily to myself, involuntarily licking my lips as Tintin subconsciously did the same.

I heard the door slam shut, not long before I realized I'd iced the bottom half of the now crumbling cake to within an inch of its life. I quickly placed the bowl to one side and stood to attention, wondering what I had to do next.

Tintin smiled, and it felt like I was getting my sea-legs all over again.

I smiled to myself, knowing immediately what game we were playing.

Not to say that the whole sugar incident wasn't a nice move, but by this point I could be pretty sure I was winning.

I'd fought back with a well-timed bum wiggle, and delighted in the sound of my adversary's breath halting. I sat to look into the oven, actually focusing on the work at hand now that I'd got my own back. The heat was nigh-on overwhelming when I sat this close, but I had enough eyes in the back of my head to sense that the Captain was staring.

I closed the door, but with enough gentleness to hear that my dear Haddock had come to his hapless senses and dropped the bowl on the forsaken granite-moulded surface before us.

I stood, using that rare grin that I knew set my friend's heart racing. "You were saying, Captain?"

"Eumh?" the Captain looked me in the eye, and again I saw those brilliant sea-blue eyes and my resolve almost cracked.

"About you and baking. When did you come across this recipe?" I said, grimacing as my voice gained a higher pitch of its own accord.

"There are allot of things in this place that I still don't know about, and records ain't one of them," he retrieved the ratty slip of paper, turning it over and once again before placing it again on the counter, "I found this recipe in an old Haddock family album – coincidentally in one of those bookshelves you're so fond of."

"Was there much else in the album?"

The Captain laughed and shook his head, "Past's past, m'boy. And besides, I think our latest adventure is nearly finished."

As if on cue, the oven dinged monotonously as my confidence was reaffirmed for a few seconds, and I knelt down to inspect what I could only guess was a perfect confection. Had we really been gawking at each other for half an hour? I opened the door again, agog at the sweet smell of our hard work coming to fruition. For a moment I even forgot about the other task still presenting itself to me, and as I looked back up at Captain Haddock all thought melted away.

I laid a tea towel against my open palms and carefully pulled the burgeoning cake tin out from above the grating, relishing in the hungry gaze I knew I was pinned with, but again I looked up and he looked away.

He took the job of icing yet again, and I stood back to watch his handiwork. Lazy yet practised strokes of the patisserie blade gave me cause to imagine what those age-old motions would feel like as a hand caressing skin. My own pale complexion shivered joyously at the idea, and I persevered to use it later. Well, sooner rather than that, one could hope.

"Right, I think we're done." the Captain announced, looking over our creation with pride.

"Oh, wait!" I exclaimed, snatching two little bowls from behind the bread-bin. I beamed at him, feeling my own pride coursing through my veins, "Guess what these are!"

"Well, I know that one's the three flakes you've crumbled up, but the white stuff sort of perplexes me." he stared at the white powdery substance contained in the bowl sitting in my right hand.

It was my turn to have a sane moment, "It's crushed up meringue!"

Haddock's eyes widened, as we both knew he had been thinking of something else entirely, "Thundering typhoons, why didn't you say so?"

"I was saving these as a surprise at the end, to add to the top of the cake. If you think it's a bad idea, I'll just…!"

"No, no! Just a shock, s'all. Most of the time someone making that kind of move is about to point a gun at one of us." the Captain blushed, and I couldn't help by find it adorable. Time to step things up a few notches.

I smiled, adding my new ingredients to the cake in only a few seconds. I looked to the near-empty bowl of icing a few times, and knew I was only piquing his curiosity further.

As I finished up, I grinned even wider and looked at him with doleful eyes that Snowy had used so many times on me – so what? It just meant I had a good teacher, though I may not be using the lessons gained for exactly the same purposes. I took up the thing that was obviously the current object of my desires and cheerfully declared, "Can I lick the bowl?"

The Captain released a choked breath, but I knew my job was only half done, "Do you mean…?"

I laughed, "It doesn't have to mean actual licking!" I retrieved a spoon from the cutlery drawer, managing to juggle that and the icing bowl in my hands, and brandished the piece of cutlery at the Captain's face, "This works just as well!"

He then gazed at the spoon and instead proceeded with a dainty finger, plunging it in what was left of the mixture and scooping up a minuscule portion, only to lick the substance off the tip of said finger without leaving a trace.

"Boy," I shook my head, No, he's a man now. A grown man who has the right to make his own decisions! "Would you mind…?"

"Anything for you, Archibald."

I was pretty sure my eyebrows shot up at this. In all the years we've known each other, Tintin has never called me by my first name, even though I'm sure he's had the chance to learn it on many occasions. I'd even told him my name when we met; and again in full a few adventures later.

I didn't think any title coming from his lips could arouse me more than 'Captain', but this certainly took the cake (a pun so aptly coming to mind for our current situation). I pulled him to me with one arm, revelling in the feel of his surprisingly lithe body as I crushed my lips to his.

He tasted like chocolate; what else could I expect? But there was a hint of ink, proving that he'd been nibbling those special pens I'd got him for his 21st. Again, I wasn't surprised.

Luxuriating in the blue-green eyes, still open, tinged with shock and… fear?

I gained my marbles as soon as I'd lost them, pushing him away with as much gentleness as I could muster.

"I'm sorry, lad… don't know what came over me." I wiped my forehead – dammit, was the oven still on? – not daring to meet him in the eye. Not daring to face such disgust and downright rejection.

"I think you do, and… I guess I shouldn't have been trying to seduce you."

I laughed at my own admission, batting eyelids at my befuddled Captain while he stood there, unusually quiet.

I returned the favour, this time with a small kiss on the lips. Just a hairsbreadth away and anyone would have missed it, but not the recipient, "And if I had known it would be this easy, I would have done it years ago."

"You've been making me go half out my mind with your antics, and now you're telling me…" he shouted, but he couldn't finish as his face became clouded red with what I assume was anger.

"And don't forget you suggested this little tryst. In the kitchen? Classy. No, the best place to do it!" I picked up my tan greatcoat from where it hang limply on the back of the chair nearest to me, ignoring Haddock's stuttering half-silence. I rounded on him after I'd got the second arm in, and finally it was my turn to shout, "I can't even be in the same room with you, without my pulse going through the roof. But how am I supposed to compete with any of this?" I held out my arms, gesturing to Marlinspike Hall and maybe the world in general, "Or the ocean, or any of the floozies you've been with in the past. I can't stop to think if… if maybe we had never met." I sighed, feeling drained as I leant against the tabletop, being mindful of all the baking things still set out.

"I'd give everything up for you." he slammed the teatowel down and didn't think of where it where it fell [I nearly giggled in my head at this], "Even the bloody drink!"

"And I could never do anything that would amount to the same." I shook my head, "Don't you think… in all my years of experience, I would have loved? But there was only one I could ever have those sort of feelings for."

His hands on my hips, and finally I was able to savour it. There was something neither of us acknowledged, of course, but that could wait until later.

There was a more pressing matter against my thigh.

I gasped, even though I had rightly noticed it before. It always disappeared when someone like Bianca Castafiore came into the room, and at this point I let the giggles escape in a tundra of noise. I smiled into the kiss, sensing that he was smirking in triumph against my lips. My tongue waded through his lips without protest, and I rolled my eyes at him as he yelped at the intrusion.

He pressed me against the now ruined table – we wouldn't be getting Nestor to clean it up for a few months afterwards – and I vaguely heard the sound of things being moved to the floor. Eggs cracked and flour escaped around the room in short puffs, giving the room an even stranger breakfast-y smell and giving the sight before me an angelic glow. I wrapped my arms further around him, and he, in turn, brought my legs to wrap around his waist as our frenzied kisses turned to pleasurable groping. I rocked my hips against his, laughing as his breath hitched once more.

"You have no idea what you're doing to me." he growled in my ear, and I know for a fact that we both know what I'm going into.

I went to the shell of his, subtly nuzzling my face against his fuzzy cheek and whispering breathlessly, "I'd like to find out."

"Shut up." the Captain whimpered, again reminding me on the tensile power I had over him.

We were done talking; for now, I resisted the urge to give into his roaming hands. I kissed back with a vengeance, grinding myself against him amidst our passionate fury.

I bit into his neck as he mewled deeply, arching against me in bliss. I didn't have the heart or the verbal wherewithal to remark that he'd need to wear something with a high collar the next morning.

I fisted my hands eagerly in his jumper, silently wishing for it to disappear. He cottoned on, lifting me fully onto the table and removing all clothes completely.

"We should probably stop… if you want to." he muttered, myself knowing it to be my last chance at salvation.

"You can't think of stopping now!" I was rarely one to get in a tizz, but I'd hope my tone told him that this was one of those moments.

"You've not made this easy for anyone, y'know." despite his words, he prepared me with a haste I knew bellied them tenfold.

My back met cold polished wood, and I moaned into the latest kiss. The Captain was being downright unfair.

"Please… don't be gentle."

If Tintin hadn't said it himself, I wouldn't have believed he'd ever want it that way.

I gathered his surprisingly tense body further into my arms and thrust home, delighting in the strangled sound that escaped my lover. Somewhere between a groan and an admission of love, but it was easy to tell which he'd been aiming for.

The cum that already soaked his stomach told me that he mayn't have just been reading when I'd walked in on him earlier that day. I couldn't even think of how something like that had possibly escaped my keen senses when he again sunk his jowls into my burning skin. I repaid him in kind, changing angle and thrusting against that spot which caused him to add to the wall of already drying seed.

If I'd known I had the power to make him feel this way, I would have given in to all his seduction techniques years ago. Part of me wondered how he had gained such intimate skills, but another little mystery of Tintin's life was being solved even as our bodies joined in solicitous embrace.

He came for the last time, and so did I, pausing to empty myself inside him as we both careened off the edge.

We came down from our respective highs in silence, mine taking a little longer than expected. I sagged against him, whispering something unintelligible into the juncture of his neck.

After a minute or so, I felt a tap on my shoulder and quickly removed myself from our entanglement, barely noticing Tintin look behind us at what I assumed was the door; It wouldn't do for a world-renowned journalist the be caught in naked activities with another man, especially in such an open setting.

He still sat on the table, seemingly incapable of getting up at the time (I chuckled in my head at my own work), and stretched to pulled something out from behind him that hadn't been caught in the crossfire of our lovemaking.

He laughed, and struck me gobsmacked when he pulled an unopened carton through the gap between us, "You know what? I think we forgot the milk."

A/N: Tintin hasn't been a big part of my childhood (I only really got into it last year) but baking has, and part of me was yelling 'OMG THE MEMORIES SULLIED!', but I had to write this after me and my mum did the very same thing sometime in half-term – that is, we completely forgot the milk. But the cake was still tasty! And at the end of half-term I had a dream about Thomson and Thompson as hairdressers so this was bound to happen.

I'd like to think I'm another person filling a rather wonderful niche in this 'dom we call fan, but it's probably just another PWP fic. Still, at least this isn't another one being hurled into the steadily growing pile of 'unfinished' in My Documents. And it's a long one! Writers block didn't blockade me into submission this time.